HIHMYMY – Chapter 2 – Teacher’s Daughter (Ms. M)

As a kid I used to have terrible handwriting as I mentioned in the previous post. Homework was a burden which had to be dealt with even before I got back home from school. My mom and teachers tried everything from carrots to sticks to get this problem fixed but to no avail. I was in fourth standard when a new teacher came to our school. She used to teach English as well as another subject called SUPW. I don’t remember what that abbreviation means but it had something to do with paintings, handicrafts and copy writing books. I used to do the painting and the crafts alright. But when it came to copy writing books, I sucked big time. I had to curl the Gs properly; my Os had to be circular and not amoeboid. It was too much to handle.

Since the external impetuses to improve weren’t working, I guess my mom and this new teacher conspired to use another potent weapon, “Shame”. During those days there was no shame to a guy than to be made to sit beside a girl as a punishment. The other boys would giggle at you. You couldn’t look at anyone but your own feet for the fear of crying and making a bigger fool of yourself. Crying was serious business those days, you would be labeled a pussy and cry baby and people would imitate your crying and girls would whisper while you pass them in the play ground. Any self respecting 9 year old would be left with no choice but to change schools.

So one fine day, this new teacher of mine tore the 2 pages of copy writing book I had finished in 5 minutes and asked me to sit beside Ms. M as a punishment. I was horrified; I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, the giggles had already started. With great reluctance I made my way to the bench where I was supposed to sit. While I was about to sit, my teacher made me feel even worse when she said maybe I could learn a thing or two about hand writing by sitting beside Ms. M whose hand writing was nothing short of calligraphy. I was fighting hard to control tears by then, was concentrating hard on a spot on the desk.

After a few minutes I mustered up the courage to look at her copy writing book. I couldn’t tell the difference between what was printed on the top of the page and what she had written. Then I looked at her face, she was intently writing. She was a pretty lass alright, but what attracted me to her was her eyes, she had cat eyes. She caught me looking at her and smiled coyly. I went back to concentrating on that spot on the desk. She said “Let me help you with your homework”, my male ego was swelling, I replied rudely “I don’t need a girl’s help”. She was shocked by the rudeness and her eyes started getting all teary. I was scared shitless because I knew she was teacher’s daughter and if I make her cry, I would be in big big trouble. I said “I am sorry, please don’t cry. I would let you help me with my homework”.

From that day onwards, she used to help me with my copy writing home work. She would hold my hand and curl those Gs and round those Os. I would feel very shy and look around hoping that nobody was seeing this. To everybody’s surprise I started making progress. My hand writing was getting readable, my Os were getting elliptical. By the end of the year I had improved by leaps and bounds. So during the last SUPW class my teacher held a hand writing competition. We had half an hour to copy one passage from the English text book. The winner would be based on handwriting and the neatness of the page. In the first 5 minutes I tore 4 pages because I had to use an eraser. After half an hour of arduous effort I was done. I was pleased with my effort. Then I looked at Ms. M’s page. It was immaculate. I still don’t know why I won that year’s competition and why Ms. M came second. When I went to receive the prize I looked at her, she was happily clapping. At that instant I fell in love with Ms. M.

Ours was silent love for the lack of a better word. We used to talk only using eyes and smiles. Both of us dint have the courage to speak to each other. And it was considered lame to play/talk with a girl. Girls played using dolls and men played outdoors, was the unwritten code. Then after a couple of years I left to Chennai. We used to write to each other for a year or so. Letters started getting infrequent and one fine day they stopped. We teenagers weren’t strong enough to handle the stress of long distance relationship. And of course that was the time I met Ms. A.