Mrs. Biswas

I was at a school for a workshop, when I heard it for the first time in ages. It was barely audible above the shouting of children — the laughter and sound bubbling from the school playground into the classroom windows. But it was there: the swish of silk saris and the jingle jangle of bangles on thin wrists like wind chimes.

This is what learning sounds like. I remember. I remember my school.

I remember when I was 10 years old, the principal of my School was Mrs. Biswas. She was the size of a nightlight, and she glided like a sailboat through the hallways of our school.
Once, when I got close enough to grab a fistful of her draping
silk sari, I tried to see whether she had any feet at all.
I thought she floated. She was magical

I was scared to be sent to her office: (all the false stories we have imagined about her cabin) we used to think she is a lion roaring in  her cabin which was all surrounded by the hanging plants like a jungle
But it was all wrong she was lovely lady adjusting her bangles. Seemed she was waiting for me
The fear was gone
Deep down for her respect & love was born
Adults needed appointments,
but we did not. And even when she was in grown-up meeting,
all it took was a gentle knock on the door, a peek around the corner,
and she was off calling, “Sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.
I have to see someone else about a very important matter.
She listened to our problems, questions, confusion, dreams, mistakes, she listenes everything. She taught us how to listen. Before leaving the cabin, she told that we can come as many times we want. Whether It’s about a gold fish. It’s about a new diagram. It’s about a finished read book. Its about our fights, our health issues, she always gave us second chance So we can improve it the next time. No matter how terribly wrong we were, she would always say its fine.
Always taught us to Keep on working hard & hard & hard

Those who went off track used to get slapped, but now i feel, if she wuld have not slapped me, now no one wuld have clapped for me.
She visited every classroom, knew every student by name. She spoke to us like we were scholars. Artists. Scientists. Athletes. Musicians.
her world was the size of a crayon box, and she gave us every color to draw.
My world was the size of a classroom. It was tall & high whr I stretched my fingers, calling, Please! Let me be the one to read to Mrs. Biswas. Let me be the one to show her what I know.

17’s Table
Bones, Muscles
Martin Luther King
RabindraNath Tagore
Photosynthesis

Look Mam Look Mam How much i have learned
Wanted to tell her all

She floated from class to class, and we stared, cheered, laughed, and shouted. We Like always were shocked at her passion, “Miss, what is that? Where did you got so much energy ?” She made us wonder. She made us question. She made us proud of what we had learned.

17’s Table
Bones, Muscles
Martin Luther King
RabindraNath Tagore
Photosynthesis

She taught us to share. She taught us to listen when someone else is speaking. And then one day she let us go. We were dandelion seeds released to the wind, she asked for no return. We are saplings now with gentle hands.

The boy who loved to help others is now Army Doctor, The geeky girl who loved computers, is now a Software Engineer in Brazil. The girl with bright cheeks and messy hairpins now works at an orphanage in Pune. The boy with the color-ordered markers is now a graphic designer in Chicago. The one with the best diorama is now an animal activist in Argentina. The boy (me) who loved to joke & write is now a writer, a comedian in India. She let us fly.

So now I find myself at the front of a classroom.

I see whole bunch of wild wonders.
worrying about everything.
worrying about what to write.
worrying about their grades.
talking over one another until I cannot hear them.

I tell them, “Listen. Listen to one another like you know
you are scholars. Artists. Engineers. Scientists. Athletes. Musicians. Like you know you will be the ones to shape this world. Show me how many colors you know how to draw with.
Show me how proud you are of what you have learned.
And I promise I will do the same.”

Mrs.Biswas i still carry your thoughts & try to be like you.
Thanks for Everything.
Amit Borse (K N Kela High School 2005 Batch)

I was at a school for a workshop, when I heard it for the first time in ages. It was barely audible above the shouting of children — the laughter and sound bubbling from the school playground into the classroom windows. But it was there: the swish of silk saris and the jingle jangle of bangles on thin wrists like wind chimes.

This is what learning sounds like. I remember. I remember my school.

I remember when I was 10 years old, the principal of my School was Mrs. Biswas. She was the size of a nightlight, and she glided like a sailboat through the hallways of our school.

Once, when I got close enough to grab a fistful of her draping
silk sari, I tried to see whether she had any feet at all.
I thought she floated. She was magical

I was scared to be sent to her office: (all the false stories we have imagined about her cabin) we used to think she is a lion roaring in  her cabin which was all surrounded by the hanging plants like a jungle
But it was all wrong she was lovely lady adjusting her bangles. Seemed she was waiting for me
The fear was gone
Deep down for her respect & love was born
Adults needed appointments,
but we did not. And even when she was in grown-up meeting,
all it took was a gentle knock on the door, a peek around the corner,
and she was off calling, “Sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.
I have to see someone else about a very important matter.
She listened to our problems, questions, confusion, dreams, mistakes, she listenes everything. She taught us how to listen. Before leaving the cabin, she told that we can come as many times we want. Whether It’s about a gold fish. It’s about a new diagram. It’s about a finished read book. Its about our fights, our health issues, she always gave us second chance So we can improve it the next time. No matter how terribly wrong we were, she would always say its fine.
Always taught us to Keep on working hard & hard & hard

Those who went off track used to get slapped, but now i feel, if she wuld have not slapped me, now no one wuld have clapped for me.
She visited every classroom, knew every student by name. She spoke to us like we were scholars. Artists. Scientists. Athletes. Musicians.
her world was the size of a crayon box, and she gave us every color to draw.
My world was the size of a classroom. It was tall & high whr I stretched my fingers, calling, Please! Let me be the one to read to Mrs. Biswas. Let me be the one to show her what I know.

17’s Table
Bones, Muscles
Martin Luther King
RabindraNath Tagore
Photosynthesis

Look Mam Look Mam How much i have learned
Wanted to tell her all

She floated from class to class, and we stared, cheered, laughed, and shouted. We Like always were shocked at her passion, “Miss, what is that? Where did you got so much energy ?” She made us wonder. She made us question. She made us proud of what we had learned.

17’s Table
Bones, Muscles
Martin Luther King
RabindraNath Tagore
Photosynthesis

She taught us to share. She taught us to listen when someone else is speaking. And then one day she let us go. We were dandelion seeds released to the wind, she asked for no return. We are saplings now with gentle hands.

The boy who loved to help others is now Army Doctor, The geeky girl who loved computers, is now a Software Engineer in Brazil. The girl with bright cheeks and messy hairpins now works at an orphanage in Pune. The boy with the color-ordered markers is now a graphic designer in Chicago. The one with the best diorama is now an animal activist in Argentina. The boy (me) who loved to joke & write is now a writer, a comedian in India. She let us fly.

So now I find myself at the front of a classroom.

I see whole bunch of wild wonders.
worrying about everything.
worrying about what to write.
worrying about their grades.
talking over one another until I cannot hear them.

I tell them, “Listen. Listen to one another like you know
you are scholars. Artists. Engineers. Scientists. Athletes. Musicians. Like you know you will be the ones to shape this world. Show me how many colors you know how to draw with.
Show me how proud you are of what you have learned.
And I promise I will do the same.”

Mrs.Biswas i still carry your thoughts & try to be like you.
Thanks for Everything.
Amit Borse (K N Kela High School 2005 Batch)

Read More Poems, Stories & Songs https://iamitborse.blogspot.in

follow on twitter- @amit_borse

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2 comments

  1. It is a great memory! 🙂 But a suggestion, please share the complete post on WordPress as well. Perhaps people may not click that much, may be some will but…I clicked on the post thinking it had something to do with Naipaul’s Biswas, and liked the post. Thanks for sharing!

    Like

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