CHALK IN HAND

"Destiny is what you have always wanted to accomplish . Everyone , when they are young knows what their destiny is. At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible. they are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives" Paulo Coelho ( The Alchemist)



A dreamer. Thats what everyone called me. Thats what I was. Still am. I wanted to make my dreams come true. My dream to pursue theatre, art and writing. And I needed money for it. I contemplated working in restauraunts and fast food joints just as I had worked at Burger King in the US , during vacations. But the fast food joints in India only had full time positions and I couldn't squeeze in the time amidst my busy college schedule. I sat in my room dejected, wondering what other course I could resort to. Thats when I hit upon the idea of taking tutions. I printed a poster to advertise for the coaching classes I intended to take. Armed with a big bottle of fevicol, my friends and I went around the campus and the living quarters of the hospital personnel to stick the posters. We returned to the college mess, our hands sticky with glue, laughing like little children. I waited for a week. Noone called. No inquiries were made. As I was walking by the Old Doctors Mess, wondering what to do next, I heard a boy shout out to me. I waited for his cycle to catch up with me. It was Blesson. A young school going boy whom I had met perchance. He asked me if I was interested in taking tutions. I nodded excitedly. That was when he led me through the corridoors of the Old Doctors Mess. He stopped right outside the faded door of a house. The door opened and I entered expectantly. The dim, fluorescent light from a tube illumined the room, exposing the clothes that were piled up on a bed and around the couch. Kindergarten books lay strewn all over the place and a young girl sat at the foot of the bed, on the floor. A short, stocky man with a moustache greeted me. I squared my shoulders and greeted him in my most confident voice. " So, what do you do?", he asked. " I am a third year Nursing student and live in the hostel adjacent to the hospital". His eyes glinted approval as he sized me with his eyes. I smiled confidently, enunciating my words to impress him. " Why do you want to take tuitions?" , he asked. I answered , making sure my accent was accentuated, " I would like to be independant and make enough money to pay my hostel fees".He seemed satisfied with the answer.He pointed towards the girl who sat by the bed. "She will be your student". I glanced at the girl , taking note of her mussed up hair, her jet black eyes that stared unblinkingly at me. I smiled. She smiled shyly and then looked down. We decided to have classes at 4pm everyday for an hour and a half.

I ran back to my hostel, pumping my arms and legs, a smile stretched taut on my lips, my breath coming fast.I did it!I finally have a job! Now I never have to ask anybody for money again. I am my own woman. Not a damned soul will ever pinion me again! Whoopee!! I jumped high into the air and landed on my feet only to come face- to -face with my hostel warden, Mercy Ma'am. Uh oh. I smiled my brightest smile and wished her good afternoon. She gave me a quizzical expression. I told her abt my new job." Oh, I didn't know you were interested in coaching students", she said. I told her I was very enthusiastic about it. " Well, if thats the case, then I might have a couple of children for you to teach. I know a few people who are looking for tutors" I couldn't contain my glee. " Ma'am, I would be delighted"

The ball was rolling!!! And thus began my endeavour with teaching, little realising that it was I who was going to learn....

Each day the urge returns. To climb higher, seek a new meaning, watch the world from another perspective, explore possibilities....its in my heart, beating a slow, steady rhythm, feeding my fountainhead of inspiration. I know not why I feel compelled....a restlessness that makes me set out each day at daybreak. I look for a sign in the sky, a design in the world around me. I return home only to realise that another day has gone by and I am nowhere near realising what I want to be.

" Each day you push yourself to climb higher. When you hurt, you comfort yourself and double your efforts. Know why? When you'll reach there, you'll find out"

"Remember the Lord in everything you do and he will show you the right way"

I hope you will show me the right way. I so desperately seek it. Obsessed with always being right and proper, I loathe to make mistakes. I am turning into a coward. Running away from life, from myself , from you. Cringing, writhing. Life has retreated and I am left cold as a stone. Unable to feel, incapable of dreaming. My wings lie folded by my side, the remnants of flight receding from their feathers each day. My heart twists and bleeds in agony in fond remembrance of the days gone by. Shackled and weighted down, I kneel at your door. Open the doors, Father. Let me feel once again. Show me the way....I cannot bear to close my eyes and let my life slip away.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXmlJQN5Pm8

I finished reading " Teacher" by Sylvia Ashton warner. Tears streamed down my face when I read the closing lines

"5 year old tears on an autumnal face

....Thats why somebodies they broked my castle for notheen; Somebodies
...Nor all your tears wash out a word of it"

Strange how I read the above lines only once but they have imprinted themselves on my mind. These were the only lines which I did not write in my "lines -that- affected - me" book. Not strange. Only the organic and abstract at work. My Teacher. But Ma'am, I feel so stuck in this world where I have to write words which mean nothing to me. Words were glorious but they have lost their soul. I do not set them graciously; only repetitively. But I'll remember what you've taught. I will not let what you 've discovered and which you tried to teach disappear like the repeated, insignificant words that are pushed down my throat and which I inevitably regurgitate. In my minds eye, there loomed the image of a hand that moulded the substance which I am made of . Society has always crushed and pulverised so that I can become formless, shapeless....ready to assume the shape that the world has carved out for me. An insult to my intelligence. And yet, I am most revered and venerated when I insult my own judgement and uphold those of society. I have always searched for a teacher like you but my search has ended. I will write and write till my hands have no more strength. Organic, abstract, natural. I will, one day, know what it is to follow you in your foosteps. I may not tread the same path but the pattern of walking and the layout of the roads would be the same. A cresendo