“I know what you
are doing, I am as media savvy as you,” I growl. Its insulting to my
intelligence when girls think I don’t know what they are doing when I catch
them staring at the insides of their bag with sudden interest or worse smiling
at their crotches. These days one cannot
bear the urge to respond to a funny text. However everyone is silently texting
and not jabbering loudly, sparing teachers from comparing them to ‘fish markets’
like they have done since time immemorial.
What is it like
to be a teacher in the era of media explosion? Grey clouds hover over the Bangalore
sky and a mild rain wets the windowpanes. Just as I cuddle further into the
folds of my comforter, I am woken up by a string of beeps. Not the chiming of
my alarm that I expect to hear but texts that read” Hello ma’am, do we have college
today?” and other variants such as “Maaaaa’am, the road outside my house is
flooded.” One kind soul throws in a “Good Morning”. N stirs in his covers, as
he sees me furiously typing away, “If the government declares a holiday, it is.”
An answer well known, but yet they badger thinking their 30-year-old mentor in
pyjamas through some divine intervention will grant them one.
The more media
savvy you are, the more accessible you are and therefore the cooler you are
considered. With the death of text messaging, Whatsapp has changed the student
–teacher dynamics. Classes have groups, so instead of laboriously texting every
sleepy girl, I post on the group, to which they respond with beaming smileys or
crying yellow faces. Now they catch me ‘online’ and clarify their doubts.
Virtual tutor to the rescue.
Writing notes has
now become passé. I’m either asked to mail the ppt or let them take pictures of
my notes, to be posted on the group. While sitting at the library the other
day, I caught one of the class nerds roaming around with an iPad. She was busy
leafing through a book and taking photos. Bigger images and better resolution
you see. Well, I am just happy she was visiting the library.
As exams draw
closer, the Whatsapp messages become more frantic. Photos of the exam timetable
are now circulated. As the clock ticks, answer papers are anxiously filled with
feverish scribbles that I have to play detective to decipher. Acronyms go on a rampage. Sry mam no time. Hv
to rite ASAP.
Facebook cannot
be far behind. Everyone waits for that one girl to test waters and send you a
request. I quickly scan my profile, hunting for any unsavoury photos or tawdry conversation
and contemplate if my dress could be a few inches longer in the display
picture. For once you press ‘accept’, the floodgates open and there is no
looking back. I get a sneak peak into their colourful lives, their vociferous rants
and interesting alter egos, just as they do. The stalking becomes mutual. 
Internet
inter-connects and reconnects, especially after a class graduates. Come
teacher’s day, the same Facebook wall is splattered with messages of love and
fond memories, reassuring me of my love for the job. Students from various
batches write in from diverse parts of the globe to say hello. Lines blur as we
chat and exchange stories It’s always nice to hear the ping of an email,
especially when it’s from an old student, who writes in to say that she is
studying journalism from Columbia University. Strangely it invokes maternal
feelings, seeing her fulfil what I couldn’t. Sentiments overload, computer
crashes.
While I am revelling in this euphoria,I receive a tiny envelope by post that reads “Dear Shakti Ma’am’” in
beautiful calligraphic handwriting. From Shreya it says.Shreya was one of the
quietest girls in class.She sat in the left corner,made eye contact at times,
and rarely smiled. But her assignments oozed
of creativity and a very rare mind. She hardly spoke in class and I barely
interacted with her too.
A little handmade card emerges and
reads “ Dear Shakti Ma’am, Thank you very much for your classes. I really miss them.”
Media be damned.This feeling is unparalleled
-Originally published in the column 'Pop Pourri' The New Indian Express, Bangalore on 26th Sept 2015.
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