I remember what a student told me some years ago: ‘Ma’am, I respect soldiers and teachers the most. Soldiers, because they safeguard the nation, and teachers, because they build it.’ Such words of wisdom from one so young, a mere 15 year old, gratified me and reaffirmed my faith in my chosen profession.Everyone wishes to pick the best in whatever they have to select – the best home, clothes, cars, a candidate for a political post, a job, an employee, ingredients for a recipe, equipment for a gym, toys and books for children, art installations, movies, music, technology related items, players for different sports teams, infrastructure and furniture for a building or complex...the list is endless. Everywhere there is a demand for the best.However, teachers do not get to pick and choose the students they want. They do not even wish to. They are happy with the students they get. And there is a beautiful and powerful reason for this. True teachers simply do not sift through the list of children to keep the ‘best’ for themselves because they think that each child is the best in something or the other. Each child is unique. Each child has a special talent. Each child has something endearing and lovable about her or him. Each child is a challenge and each child is eventually a winner.Teachers give endlessly of their love and knowledge. In return, all they ask for is love, respect, hard work and integrity.This is what a teacher is all about. With teachers’ day having been celebrated just about a week ago, let us all strive to make everyday a tribute to our teachers. Let it not be limited to a token day once a year.Let every day be a HAPPY TEACHERS' DAY!
Outside of books, beyond studies,
Outside of class, beyond syllabus,
Outside of marks, beyond grades,
There's that One,Who gives you time, effort, love and guidance.
That's your Teacher, like no other!
Be grateful, for the one you had.
Be extremely proud, if you are one!
You're precious! You’re special!
I got up in the morning with an unexpected flutter in my tummy. The first day of AS Level, the new chapter in my life after the gargantuan ICSE board examinations. Oddly, my mind was a tabula rasa. I wondered who my classmates would be. I felt apprehensive; a little clueless. I changed my T-shirt at least four times, confused. My thoughts were all jumbled up and though I disliked admitting it, I felt nervous - a feeling that was completely new to me.I walked into the school building. Familiar turf, comforting. It was now beginning to feel like just any other school day, till I dipped into the Spartan corridors of the 12th floor. Earlier, I simply traipsed here for VMUN, Greaders Club, EUMIND meetings and orientations and yes, for an occasional peep into my younger brother's judo pummelling.So anyway, I had a few minutes to myself before the others filtered in. Despite the presence of fifteen odd people in the space, the quiet, clean confines reminded me of a sanatorium. The strong whiff of a lemonish floor cleaner, the silently positioned ancillary staff added to the pallor. Where were the rush and the din and the chaos and the screaming that rather lustily laced the corridors of the 8th floor? This was a different world, serious, grim, business-like, bereft of warmth, seemingly a place where there would be no time for conversations, zero old familiarity, no backslapping... Instead there were new teachers, crisp books, ironed manes, and finely tuned timetables. I was already slipping into auto pilot mode.The flutter in my tummy grew into a monster by the time lunch hour arrived. My mother had packed my favourite foods in boxes. Chicken sandwiches, peaches, and biscuits........nothing worked. Suddenly, the food lost its lustre. There was more fun in snatching and bartering. Barter rights worked till the 10th grade: if you had a chocolate, it fetched a premium, you could trade it for anything ranging from half a chicken sandwich to schezwan rice with an extra dollop of sriracha sauce thrown in.The classroom was full of mostly new faces, trying to drum up an acquaintance rather awkwardly, and I did not feel like responding to anyone. Something was not right, my heart was missing. I felt...lonely, amidst a class of twenty eight students. I was used to roaming in the hallways and gossiping with my friends during recess. Suddenly, it was too civilised, too formal, too starchy, and it annoyed me at some level.The day was over, I had never been so glad to hear the bell ring. I wafted through a range of emotions that evening till my head hit the pillow. The next morning, I awoke fresh, my thoughts sorted. I strode confidently into my classroom, as if nothing had happened, slipped into a new daily routine, set up my locker, poured myself into work, articulated interesting conversations, made friends.....Perhaps this is what they call growing up.Anoushka Madan
AS Level, VIBGYOR High, Goregaon
In the background, there was an awful commotion, men’s raised voices and women screaming. There was a deafening sound, a gunshot. I was used to all this from my days in the military. I turned in time to see a figure dart towards a balcony of a theatre. On the ground, there was blood but I paid no attention. I took off after the fleeing stranger.I am Jacob Coulter, an army general and the first thought that crossed my mind was to give chase. I followed him up to the balcony. On reaching the balcony, I saw the killer vault over the balcony and onto the alley below. I jumped after him but unlike him, landed on my hands and feet. Without giving myself time to recover, I was up and on the murderer’s trail.I saw his shadow turn a corner. As soon as I turned the corner, he was clear in my sight. I had come so far, I could not afford to lose him now. He turned two corners; I did the same, hot on his trail. Finally he reached an old and dilapidated house. He ran in and barred the door shut. I grew certain that this was his hideout.Standing beside the house, I took a breather and called the police force for back up. They immediately sent two police cruisers to my location. After that I searched for a way to enter. I found a broken window on the second floor of the building and also a climbable ledge. I started my ascent. Soon I was at the window. I entered and got a small cut on my leg. I stealthily moved from room to room, always wary of possible ambush.As I reached the downstairs room, I heard a battle cry and I spun around to see a man wielding a butcher’s knife running in my direction. My reflexes took hold and I dodged the immediate swipe. He was reeling back for another strike when I backed up against an old cupboard. He struck again and this time, he nicked my bicep. Searing pain shot through my body but I ignored it. I knew if I fell unconscious now, I was dead meat. I was at the cupboard when I saw a pole lying by a window, presumably used to hang curtains once but had since fallen due to disrepair. In the meantime, he was ready for another strike, but this time I was ready too. I dived for the pole. Giving an enraged roar, he followed tail and in a split second I got hold of the rod and thrust it in his direction. It hit him on the head and he fell.The police had arrived in the meantime and had broken in. I spent the next few hours getting patched up in the hospital. The doctors told me that my arm would never heal completely and thus I would have a permanent scar as a memento of this dangerous self-proclaimed mission.The next day I was awarded yet another medal for tirelessly working towards keeping my country safe. I was extremely happy and received the award with great pride.Devdut Dutta
Student, VIBGYOR High, Horamavu
