A Privileged Teacher

Sreekumar K

We, my wife, my daughter and myself, had gone to bed when the call came. Whoever called had no sense of time, I thought. Torrential rain and a chilly wind had made us curl up inside our think blankets.

My daughter attended the call and came over to knock at our bedroom door.
“There is a shortage of volunteers at the corporation office to pack and load. Shall I go?”
“Yes, sure. Wait a minute I am also coming.”
“Mom will be OK?”
“Just unleash Luna. She will take care of her.”
In a minute we both got ready and jumped on my scooter. Lekshmi said she could manage.  I said yes. I don’t ride anything anymore. I have to take care of my injured foot.
It was not raining much. Only a very slight drizzle. We rode down the narrow street and entered the broadway that leads to the corporation office.
Near the zoo, she slowed down at the spot where a journalist had got run over by a car two days back. I noticed my daughter moving back on her seat to be closer to me. The wind was very cold.

At the corporation office which was a collection centre for the flood relief operations, tons of materials lay around unsorted. Towards the corner a truck was getting loaded by some young men, most of them known to my daughter.
I left my daughter with her friends and went in. The guard gave me a strange look as if he suspected something. Then he looked at my foot and smiled at me.
I was not an enlisted volunteer and could join any group. Contrary to my expectations, there was no chair to sit down and work. I decided to stand. My foot might swell again. That is OK for tonight.

Towards my left there were a wife and her husband busy unpacking, sorting and packing. Their three little children looked with curiosity at what their parents were doing. Obviously, the kids were feeling very happy about this late-night outing. They were also commenting to one another on the things they found in the packs.
I too found it strange how generous people were.  I decided to work with some young men sorting clothes. My God! People had bought clothes without looking much at the price tag. And they were all meant for people they had never seen and would never see.

 
There was some cheering outside. The fifty-fifth truck was being flagged off. It would travel about 500 kilometers in the bad weather to reach the northern districts Kerala where landslides had devasted several villages. 55 trucks loaded with love.
I heard my daughter voice rather loudly towards my right. I looked up from my work but could not see her. There was a small crowd there. She had obviously met one of her old classmates. Probably someone I too had taught. She is good at keeping contacts. I am not.
After an hour a lean handsome boy came near me and bend down to stare at my face as if he was attending to a sick person. I looked up. His face looked familiar.

“Do you remember me?”
“Of course, I do”
“Then, say my name.”
“You are Shambhu.”
He laughed out.
“But I cheated. I recalled your name because I heard my daughter call you so. But I remember your face.”
He laughed again.
He too began to pick up the clothes and pack them in cartons. He was neat and he looked tall.
He had been a headache for me in his high school days.
He never did his homework and scored poorly in all his tests. It was impossible to reach him.
Later I heard that when his parents sent him to get a demand draft for him to join the college, he ran away with the money. He reached Chennai and got employed as a guard at an ATM. The next day, his old-time classmate, a girl, spotted him in his khaki uniform. She had heard that he was missing. She informed his parents and he was taken back home.
“What do you do now?”
“I joined for MA.”
“What have you taken?”
“English literature.”
“Then you should come to me for tuition.”
He laughed again.
Maybe he didn’t sense it, but I wanted to teach him.
It is a privilege.
An honour.
Outside, the crowd had lined up in two rows passing heavy boxes to be loaded on to the next truck.
One was my daughter, the others were my sons.