Prayers do Heal

Ma’am: I am leaving for Delhi tomorrow
Me: [L]..m not there…
Ma’am: will stay for one month…Sir is not well…
Me: what happened? Wait m calling you…
Ma’am: Don't call now. I cannot talk right now! Just pray for sir. We are going for emergency check-up. Just pray dear!
Me: I love you ma’am….I will pray. For years I haven’t, but from now….I will.

***I restlessly shifted from one side to another. The scorching month of summer, the humid air and above all, I am perspiring like a pig. The entire IV-B was eagerly awaiting Sir Paul, the most craved teacher of St. Paul’s to come and announce that he was our class teacher. On boy! I loved him! Perhaps the budding writer in me knew that this English mentor, was the only person I could crave for…For two years, I had imitated his handwriting, following the curves and slants of his unique stylish calligraphy. Those who got his class were considered lucky, auspicious and the best students. Such was his craze and as I sat down, drooling over the new notebook, still smelling afresh…I kept on glancing here and there. Perhaps, no one else was waiting for him. Well, hey…I forgot to say, I am Shubhda, your friend…just a bit younger…Suddenly I saw a lady (I had never seen her before in our colossal campus), clad in sareee…entering the class, along with our section in charge. I though, she might have come for those testing classes in which the poor teacher explains a topic, in short, gives the audition of his/her teaching skills and gets marked by the grim faced devilish principal or other authorities. So sad…I thought to myself...this lady would definitely take one hour…so I have to wait for Sir Pauls’ advent. I already had a trampled marigold to gift him. I showed the disgust on my face and controlled it my making funny faces in my neighbour’s brand new copy.“Good morning children (imagine this in a monotonous sing song voice.)” said our section in charge. She was about…hmmm…thirty or so… (Can’t tell actually, m very bad at maths and figures and anything that revolves around numbers)I loved her too, because off her cool. Imagine…a whole tree falls on your new Maruti 800, not even one month old...the roar of crashing echoes in every corner of the huge campus…and you have the guts to smile…great man!!!“Well students…here is Poonam…your class teacher. She would teach you maths. Just don't be naughty and make her feel comfortable. Its her first day in school.” revealed the section in charge.I was ready for a heart attack…at the tender age of …hmmm, see, again I said, m not good at figures…may be…nine years old…My goodness! How could God do this to me? I was shattered. It was the worst thing that could have happened to me. I had prayed regularly, never left my food, always bought vegetables alone…was innocent, never harmed anyone(don't include those torturing classes I did to some younger children in my colony). Tears dwelled in my eyes. Why did this teacher, need to come in our year. She could have joined the next year…She looked young and I hated her, there and then. She teaching me maths was just another shock. I would definitely fail. As such my rank in class was 63rd…out of around 80 students…and I had promised myself that will Sir Paul as class teacher, I would improve. But God…how much I hated God!The young charming teacher, who, looked as a ideal combo of Juhi Chawala and Aishwarya Rai… (I hate Aish…)…beamed. Her smile was downright fascinating. The other girls were busy in noticing her sareee, her bangles, her long black hair…Even her spectacled eyes looked beautiful. She looked beautiful and awesome. Because I know about so many adjectives now, I can reveal her better. But right then, I cursed her. Though, Sir Paul did come during the English class (imagine…in was taught that day that darling is not for girlfriend and boyfriend only…)Days went off. Everyone praised the new teacher. She was innovative, always excited in hearing children and very affectionate. She knew me for two things. First, Shubhda is a painter. Has painted Mona Lisa when eight years old. The whole of St. Pauls’ loved me for that. And secondly, I recently had undergone an operation (The whole class had gifted me, around 43 get well soon cards).That day, I was busy in fighting with Danish, the second tallest and cute boy of your class. My fighting with guys, or with anyone, was a bit…hot! We both were literally left to snatch each others hair off…when by mistake; the poor dude pushed me a bit. I got hurt and my operated wound pained. I looked at him with abysmal pain and he gathered that he had hurt me. I clutched my waist and sat down.“Sorry Shubhda…I…did not mean to…” he tried saying. Words were not coming out of his mouth. I was imagining that my whole skirt will now be wet with blood. Miss Poonam cam running and took me to the loo. I was damn shy! She asked me to show my wound. How could I? I had never changed clothes in front of my very mother and this maths teacher, asking such an impossible thing. But some thing in her innocent eyes made me give in. My wound was not bleeding. The pain was just temporary…I smiled and she smiled too…It was the first time, someone in my small life, had cared for me.That day, the whole incident kept repeating in my mind. I smiled whenever I saw the maths teacher…perhaps, she was not that bad! I don't know how, but slowly, I waited less for Sir Paul but more for the boring, horrible, creepy and disgusting maths class.“If ever mosquito bites you, don't rub the skin very hard. That reddens the skin and loosens it. Then it’s easier for the poison form mosquito to enter in your blood.” revealed Poonam Ma’am, while I was busy killing a small mosquito and writing a big bold “S” with its blood! Yuck!My marks in maths improved. Now, I could read the pages of my maths book rather than smelling its fresh odour. My love for maths had increased so much that I kept waiting for ma’am near her hostel, secretly waiting for her glance. She made us to yoga; she even made me wear a green sareee and green flowers on the Independence Day. Every day I plucked flowers from my school (I hope my principal doesn't red this) and gift the bouquet to the section in charge. But never did I feel that I should gift ma’am also. One day when she amazingly entered my school bus, as she had to travel to my township side. The bus was jam packed. Something in me could not see her stand. I stood up and gave her seat. She took me in her lap. I did not sit properly…just acted like I was sitting, so that my little burden did not pressurise her.Even when it was her bday…the entire class was ordered to bring flowers…“And listen…we will sing happy bday to you…just as she enters.” I said, standing in front of the whole class. When she entered…she was shocked, amazed and emotional. Everyone gifted her flowers…and I gifted her whole bunch of jangli yellow flowers. There were other hand drawn comics and cards for her.“Hey Shubhda! Why do you fight with Sneha yaar? She is your best friend. You should understand that you both have a strong bonding.” contemplated ma’am. I had disclosed her mine problems, my personal life, my likes and dislikes…She talked sense and I respected her. I promised her to correct myself. I hated disappointing her.I loved painting…and she encouraged me like anything. She always said “Dear Shubhda. An artist can draw his entire life with a line. Studies will never be a burden on you.” The painter in me loved this. I gifted her Mira Bai, sceneries, Japanese girl…so much. My favourite pastimes were taking her autograph( I had already 13 of them) and gifting her cards. When she gifted me the first card, the one word which captivated me was “virtue”…I could make out that it meant quality…but it spelled better, with Ma’am giving that word in my life.When I was sad after the stupid fights with girls, based on envy, she used to say “Don’t compete with them. Let them compete with you. You are enough for yourself.” It’s amazing how life moves but words remain…lost in the universe…One day, ma’am left the school. She had to pursue her MBA (I hated this acronym)…I was lost and this time, the pain of loosing her, still feels fresh in my heart. I cried. Since she had a celebrity status in school, just like Amir Khan had in Taare Zamin par, no one liked to reveal her address. It was the top most secret. People said she would move to Calcutta. It seemed so fast, so bad and so unjust. I had not met her the last day and this pain was eating me up.I collected her address from the different autographs I took and wrote her. After one month, she replied. Oh my goodness! I danced, madly... I knew…I was lucky at last. I got her phone number, called her sometimes but out contact through long letters continued. I was very possessive about them. I had preserved them in photo albums. Earlier many students wrote her…but after one year…only I remained.I called her up, when one of her letters told that she had to break some wonderful news to me.“I am going to get married” she revealed, her words teeming with joy , anticipation and hope. “He is in army…a major..” she said…I was shocked. I started crying on phone…felt that my ma’am was going away from me. Now she would have her own kids, her own family and forget me. Anyways, with my final exams in just fifteen days …I did go for her marriage. I saw her…clad in a bride’s attire. Her beauty, her glow, her innocence, everything revealing her excitement. She looked so beautiful that I could have painted her there and then. I saw Sir, he was smart, but I did not look at him further. He had taken away my ma’am.My letters continued, with the same speed. She never delayed responding to me. I could not bear it, if she ever did.“It’s a baby boy” she revealed. I could imagine the tears of joy, which would have dwelled in her eyes. My brother( as I love him like hell), was born on 8th dec, four days after my bday. Virenn , as they called him, had a special place in my heart. Anazingly, I did not despise him. I did not have a younger brother…but now I never thought that. Even Ma’am husband, used to love and admire me. “She is different”, was all that sir said.Years, passed and Sharvik (Ma’am second son) was endowed life. We had not met, it was seven years, now… Then one day, as I joined by college in Delhi, ma’am announced she would come… with 7:30 as the evening reporting time, I ran to meet her , hardly considering the chances of me being late. I was nineteen now…Ten years have gone by.I stood at one corner of the road, checking the heavy traffic of the July evening. And suddenly I saw ma’am, sir and their two kids, crossing the road. The entire transition of these years bought tears in my eyes. I was at peace. I loved seeing the family…Again after seven months, I met them, bunking my classes. Nothing mattered to me more, not the disgusting and appalling railway station which bugs me…the crowd…the shrieks and shouts. What mattered was meeting Ma’am.I later went all alone to her place in May to meet her. I can still feel the excitement running in my veins.“I am not your teacher anymore. I am your friend, your sister, your mother.” She said. I knew this, and felt that these words were also less to describe her. My ma’am is a lady of rock hard strength.“Didi, please don't leave us and go…see I have drawn his rose for you.” Said Virenn, ma’am first son, hardly five years old. He was painting and I could remember my childhood in him. Sharvik, the younger one, was busy pushing and elbowing me, kissing me and rolling in my laps. It felt so complete. I thanked my childhood which had endowed me with the crazy love for ma’am. It was my first love of substance.Sir and ma’am have a unique chemistry. Being in army is difficult. But, the worries were always masked. They love each other and are a made for each other couple. Both are each other’s strength…..***Dear readers, the chats that began in the beginning of this blog, were what my ma’am conversed with me tonight. Things are not good at her side. She needs a lot of strength and blessings of god. I request all you to pray for her…pray for sir…pray for those innocent kids who cried knowing that their father is in the hospital. Whenever I have showed my love for her, I have showed her in tremendous amount. I want you all to join me in this prayer for her. May god bless her family! Amen!