Erasing the Fs

Maya was unusually quiet this morning. And that was unsettling me. I kept trying for over an hour to make eye contact with her, but she deliberately kept her gaze locked, away from me. Something was cooking in her mind and I could sense that I was the culprit.

Typically, she would brighten up the class with her chirpy voice and lively chat. From the time she arrived by the school bus, she would obediently heed my instructions and complete all her work on time, neatly and perfectly. Nodding and smiling, she would go about her work like an officer in charge, ticking off one task after another with casual ease. Then she would walk around purposefully, offering to carry the homework books, arrange them neatly on my table, even help some of her classmates who were struggling with their writing and drawing. I was amazed at how she reminded me without fail about replenishing the chalks or commented on my clothes. “It’s a beautiful pink churidhar you are wearing, Miss,” she would beam.

Every day, she enlivened me with her clear and confident updates on what happened at home the previous evening, cracked jokes on the silly gimmicks of her little brother, expressed displeasure over how her mom scolded her for not finishing the egg and narrated an anecdote from the not so faraway past – such as what happened when she was as little as a new born baby.

What struck me was she was always driven by a purpose – an i-mean-business attitude and approach. In her mind, she was crystal clear that she was here by a carefully planned design, her presence in LKG D was important, and what she did and said mattered.

She loved to be the nucleus of the class. When the spotlight was turned on her, she glowed casually and that meant, “Oh this is just the norm. Nothing great about it!”

But today, she was glued to her desk, trying hard to look busy with her books or colors. Her face was wiped off any trace of her signature smile or happiness. When her closest pal approached her with her book asking for help on choosing a colour for her doggy, she shrugged and pushed aside the book saying, “I am doing my work. Don’t disturb me.” Her friend stared at her for a fleeting second with confusion and retired to her desk disappointed.

Maya sat fidgeting her alphabet book aimlessly, or so I thought. She kept staring at the book and that was my cue. I gingerly went to her and kneeled beside her. Even then, the little one did not turn to me or budge from her position one inch. She expected me I guess. There she sat like a lady cross with her lover, waiting for him to apologise and appease her.

I softly put my hand around her shoulder and asked, “Maya, what’s wrong?” Not a word. Not a movement. Maya continued staring at the open book, tightly clutching the right page and squeezing its top corner. Suddenly, a drop of tear fell on the bottom of the page. Right at that second, Maya let go of the page and started wiping her eyes vigorously with both her hands, a soft whimper escaping from her throat. My heart ached for her as I started wondering the reason for my darling student’s anguish.

I pulled her close to me and turned her tear-soaked face towards me. Her usually glinting big round eyes were now filled with sharp red veins floating inside a huge bubble of tears. I carefully wiped her eyes with the end of my dupatta and held her close to my heart in a tight hug. “Maya dear. Tell me why you are crying.” 

Without further ado, Maya blurted out in a painfully sad, choking voice, “Miss, you fully erased all the Fs I had written on this page last evening. I had sat on my new study table and chair and written each F carefully and slowly, while my granny and brother had gone down to the play area to play on the swing. Now look at my page. It is empty and dirty. All my Fs are gone. Why did you rub it off fully?” I was afraid I would cry too. While her innocent words fell on my heart like huge boulders one after the other, I wished her original Fs would magically reappear and surprise her.

I smiled faintly and told her, “Maya, I am sorry. Your writing was beautiful and neat indeed.” Pointing to the page before her, I explained, “But in a four line page, your letter must touch the third blue line. Like this.” I wrote a quick F and showed her.

She nodded vehemently and picked her pencil from me with her long teethy smile, saying, “Ok Miss. I will now write my Fs properly and show you.” Off she went about the task with determination, ignoring me and forgetting all about the morning’s incident. I sat there for a few minutes watching her, while a host of mixed emotions flooded my mind.

I knew I had learnt a hard lesson from Maya and her Fs that I had erased that morning.