“Oh Hello ! ”
I was in the habit of greeting people , even those who didn’t want to be greeted . By me , that is . Me , in my plain T-shirt and jeans , was the other end of the socialite spectrum .
There was a momentary confusion in the overdressed lady's eyes . Should she wish back , or shouldn’t she ?
She made up by an exaggerated purring ,_”Ohhh, hellllooo dear .” That accompanied by furious batting of eyelids and an insincere pout. The eye shadow was light green , matching her dress; and the lipstick blood red , as her stilettos.
A dream for a cartoonist . I made a mental note of the few drops of sweat on the tip of that heavily powdered nose . Perfect.
Last week , they had had a terrible fight . My daughter , and the lady's . They called each other names , threw some things at each other , and of course , the fight spilled the boundaries of the school gates . It reached their respective homes , where each child presented her side to her parent, and decisions, judgements were made and recorded in the parents' brains . I, in the true christian spirit , had forgiven , aided by my extremely scant memories for kids' daily school warfares. The others , as I routinely found out , were neither forgiving , nor forgetful. I sighed . It was the same story at every PTM .
Teachers told me , my ward was doing extremely well , despite me fully knowing the percentages garnered and the vast scope for improvement , which grew vaster each semester. The faces of teachers remained inscrutable, smiling , pussyfooting . Dangerous areas , like misdemeanours, fights , were side stepped . Not mentioned .
One mother droned on and on about her sons' whatsapp addiction . She kept pleading with the teacher , "Please , please , please , do something . "
The teacher promised to do some thing and tried , in vain , to look sternly at the boy in question , standing next to his mother . His shoulders shook . Once , twice . then continuously , spasmodic heaving . All other parents gasped . Thinking he was sobbing . he wasn't . he was hysterically laughing . After some time , the mother joined him and they smilingly went out of the classroom .
They met scowling faces , on their way out . They had wasted teachers' precious time. The teacher took some time to regain her composure and shook her head as she took two large gulps of water.
Downstairs , a large blackboard told everyone of their class /subject teachers whereabouts. The teachers were dressed in sarees with nameplates, and welcomed you with folded hands , like air hostesses. Everything was sleek ,glamorous and glitzy from shiny floors to kiddie murals on the walls.
My kid's teacher was having a bad day . After the laughing boy , came our turn . I had just introduced myself , when another mother swept in . She was dressed in a brown saree with zari border, and was sleepwalking. Literally. A fawn coloured bag swung in the crook of her elbow , and she had a permanent fake smile plastered across her face . Her pallu , draped on her arm , swept behind her , and got snagged on someone's purse zip. The purse owner ran behind her , trying to furiously dislodge the offending pallu , but the lady in brown swept ahead , oblivious.
Monica ma'am , for that was the teacher's name , sprang up at the sight of her . I wondered if I should too . She might be an important personage , you never know !! Turned out she was the mother of a child who was a chronic absentee in Monica Ma'am's class. Apparently, the kid in question was a bright child , and was seen in all classes, excelling therein. Taking serious exception to Monica ma'am's class , when he would make himself scarce . The brown lady was a member of the school administration , making the poor boy's scope for fleeing disagreeable classes, more thin.
Both talked at length about the boy , as one would about a jail escapee. Monica ma'am holding forth with increasing degrees of vehemence , so much so that her spittle flew across the table and graced the visage of several by standing , eaves dropping parents. Her frame , a bulky one , shook with indignation , and she grabbed the edges of the table to steady herself . A minor earthquake was unleashed on the table , and her penholder toppled over . Some pens rolled underneath the table , out of sheer fright .
Several parents and kids took this delightful opportunity to dive beneath the table and retrieve the writing implements , thereby getting a momentary reprieve.
A mother ,an army officer,walked in , in army uniform ,her arms laden with story books of all shades. All eyes swivelled towards her .
Having lost her rapt audience , Monica ma'am quietened down , and patted her shoulder pallu , adjusted her specs and smiled genially . The lady in brown , turned back , her plastic smile in place , and swept back , the same way. This time , her pallu snagged on a gold button in the Army Officer's resplendent uniform , and from the corridor, harried sounds of "excuse me ma'am", were heard , as the lady in olive green followed her , scattering enid blytons and harry potters on the way.
I smiled , signed in two registers and wrote satisfactory , where ever comments were solicited. There was nothing to be unsatisfied about the wholesome entertainment.
I was in the habit of greeting people , even those who didn’t want to be greeted . By me , that is . Me , in my plain T-shirt and jeans , was the other end of the socialite spectrum .
There was a momentary confusion in the overdressed lady's eyes . Should she wish back , or shouldn’t she ?
She made up by an exaggerated purring ,_”Ohhh, hellllooo dear .” That accompanied by furious batting of eyelids and an insincere pout. The eye shadow was light green , matching her dress; and the lipstick blood red , as her stilettos.
A dream for a cartoonist . I made a mental note of the few drops of sweat on the tip of that heavily powdered nose . Perfect.
Last week , they had had a terrible fight . My daughter , and the lady's . They called each other names , threw some things at each other , and of course , the fight spilled the boundaries of the school gates . It reached their respective homes , where each child presented her side to her parent, and decisions, judgements were made and recorded in the parents' brains . I, in the true christian spirit , had forgiven , aided by my extremely scant memories for kids' daily school warfares. The others , as I routinely found out , were neither forgiving , nor forgetful. I sighed . It was the same story at every PTM .
Teachers told me , my ward was doing extremely well , despite me fully knowing the percentages garnered and the vast scope for improvement , which grew vaster each semester. The faces of teachers remained inscrutable, smiling , pussyfooting . Dangerous areas , like misdemeanours, fights , were side stepped . Not mentioned .
One mother droned on and on about her sons' whatsapp addiction . She kept pleading with the teacher , "Please , please , please , do something . "
The teacher promised to do some thing and tried , in vain , to look sternly at the boy in question , standing next to his mother . His shoulders shook . Once , twice . then continuously , spasmodic heaving . All other parents gasped . Thinking he was sobbing . he wasn't . he was hysterically laughing . After some time , the mother joined him and they smilingly went out of the classroom .
They met scowling faces , on their way out . They had wasted teachers' precious time. The teacher took some time to regain her composure and shook her head as she took two large gulps of water.
Downstairs , a large blackboard told everyone of their class /subject teachers whereabouts. The teachers were dressed in sarees with nameplates, and welcomed you with folded hands , like air hostesses. Everything was sleek ,glamorous and glitzy from shiny floors to kiddie murals on the walls.
My kid's teacher was having a bad day . After the laughing boy , came our turn . I had just introduced myself , when another mother swept in . She was dressed in a brown saree with zari border, and was sleepwalking. Literally. A fawn coloured bag swung in the crook of her elbow , and she had a permanent fake smile plastered across her face . Her pallu , draped on her arm , swept behind her , and got snagged on someone's purse zip. The purse owner ran behind her , trying to furiously dislodge the offending pallu , but the lady in brown swept ahead , oblivious.
Monica ma'am , for that was the teacher's name , sprang up at the sight of her . I wondered if I should too . She might be an important personage , you never know !! Turned out she was the mother of a child who was a chronic absentee in Monica Ma'am's class. Apparently, the kid in question was a bright child , and was seen in all classes, excelling therein. Taking serious exception to Monica ma'am's class , when he would make himself scarce . The brown lady was a member of the school administration , making the poor boy's scope for fleeing disagreeable classes, more thin.
Both talked at length about the boy , as one would about a jail escapee. Monica ma'am holding forth with increasing degrees of vehemence , so much so that her spittle flew across the table and graced the visage of several by standing , eaves dropping parents. Her frame , a bulky one , shook with indignation , and she grabbed the edges of the table to steady herself . A minor earthquake was unleashed on the table , and her penholder toppled over . Some pens rolled underneath the table , out of sheer fright .
Several parents and kids took this delightful opportunity to dive beneath the table and retrieve the writing implements , thereby getting a momentary reprieve.
A mother ,an army officer,walked in , in army uniform ,her arms laden with story books of all shades. All eyes swivelled towards her .
Having lost her rapt audience , Monica ma'am quietened down , and patted her shoulder pallu , adjusted her specs and smiled genially . The lady in brown , turned back , her plastic smile in place , and swept back , the same way. This time , her pallu snagged on a gold button in the Army Officer's resplendent uniform , and from the corridor, harried sounds of "excuse me ma'am", were heard , as the lady in olive green followed her , scattering enid blytons and harry potters on the way.
I smiled , signed in two registers and wrote satisfactory , where ever comments were solicited. There was nothing to be unsatisfied about the wholesome entertainment.
No comments:
Post a Comment