-: The Last PTM:-

-: The Last PTM:-

I lost my control and as if it was a reflex and habit for me… I slapped the teacher…I slapped her hard…! The sound of it made me realize what I had done and the future implications of the same…I shouldn’t have done that… I said “sorry” I joined my hands and touched her feet and I left…

It was the sound of slap that brought me out of the trans … I was shivering, cold feet, and did not know what to do next…. teacher in front of me was now surrounded by team members and they were trying to figure out what happened… for them they had just heard the “shot” before they walked inside….and amidst the chaos I left fuming… people around me were too stunned and were not even in a position to move, may be they wanted to catch/ capture me and hand me over to police… but could not take any actions nor could they decide what to do next.

I went up to my vehicle and drove endlessly…. I was lost, disillusioned by life – the society-school, teacher and the way they were treating parents… parents like me… SO what if we were not so educated like others, like other parents of school… so what if we were not highly qualified…and well placed in society… but we too are an integral part of the society.. It’s all kinds that make the world and we are not?? “Dangerous people” my mind was brewing with thoughts and head was about to explode…. I just parked my vehicle in the parking lot and rested my head on the steering wheel… this is what I remember of that day….Is this how a school should treat a parent who drives Ambulances, or to say specifically carries “dead” to crematorium?

How I reached home is still not known to me, but when I reached home… a crowd welcomed me… there were Press reporters and Police… I was arrested for slapping a teacher and I knew the headlines in the news paper next morning…

· Do we deserve this for building the future leaders of the society?

· Is this what the society has to offer to the noblest profession on this earth?

· What has this society come to??
Policing needed in the school PTM?

· Now a parent assaults a teacher!! As if students playing truant was not enough

My neighbor’s were shocked and so were my co workers… my boss was there at the police station and he was the one who helped me most in getting the bail… ….

Everybody asked me the same question… again and again…with increasing disbelief “Did you really hit the teacher….” and “I cannot believe that you hit the teacher….”

I tried to recall what had happened prior to my actions on that day…

I was called for a parent teacher meeting. My child was not doing so well in studies; he went to a private school. This was his fourth year in this school. When we shifted in this area, he was enrolled to school in grade 2 that particular year. I had briefed the Principal, Teachers and Support Staff about the trauma that my child had been through… and I also shared that “our’s was a single parent home”. I had lost my spouse in a fire mishap that had gutted so many homes in our locality and may be our’s was the only house where there was minimum of loss, only one life…. While all others had a story to tell rather, horror nightmare to share …I had gone out with my child for a movie, may be that saved us both. My wife was not interested in the movie and preferred to stay at home to treat us later with a surprise meal. When we reached home what we saw was just ashes. Fire/ flames still haunt my child. My child remained dazed for months missing his mother; “trauma” is what his case paper said. I too was disturbed and together, we were trying to build our home again…in a new locality; Away from the Past. All this was told/ informed to school and school promised to support us, to rebuilds our lives.

On that day, when a tanker with petrol collided with an electrical pole near our locality, people could barely escape the uncontrollable fire caused by spilled petrol spreading everywhere…almost 80 people were roasted alive that day… My child felt guilty, guilty that he agreed to the fact that two of us would go for the movie, he wished/ longed to be with his mother…he was barely 8 years old then … I too suffered the guilt feeling…….But all that is past

I worked with “emergency dept” as driver who carried people from accident sites to hospitals and emergency wards, or the dead, dead bodies to crematorium. I was on emergency call….as Always…I wonder why and how these many accidents take place everyday. With these many safety norms and rules, why people still manage to be in these situations…. Also how these accidents and mishap change the lives of people involved. I see dead, nearly dead, crippled or sufferings everyday.

My child most of the time was alone, he now was lonely and was into a shell which was becoming like back of a turtle…appeared strong from outside but soft from inside. He knew my job was differently demanding … most of the times… I reached home to leave again… one never knows when will an accident take place and one never knows if that person will make it to the hospital or not…

During each funeral processions, the road seems never ending, though its the same, same lanes, same busy traffic…most of the times as we wait at the corner of the lane for the dead body to be brought to the vehicle…we hear the “cause of death” and it’s the metallic thin wall that separates the driver and the cabin, us from the emotive family…But do we really drive the vehicle, without emotions? Specially when people with us are so charged up with emotions, the journey through these eyes and in ambulances are very different on otherwise busy roads… Does one ever think of all these things? Maybe grieving is very personal…

That day, when I reached school, I was late by 20 min. I was on duty, the funeral procession was delayed… the person dead, was a very young man who was not even married, was the only son… and mother did not want to part with the son… it was heart breaking……. to see the poor father trying to keep his wife away from the dead body…who himself was not aware as to what should he be doing, being with spouse who needed him most or… we were mute witness to these episodes almost everyday. I could not tell anyone that “please hurry up” – I need to be there in school for my child…

I reached school 20 min late, the conversation started on a negative note… no one asked me the reason for my being late, this teacher showed in all possible ways, that she was unhappy as the meeting was delayed and now it would overlap with another appointment and the list of “issues” with my child were endless… I was meeting this teacher for the first time, she had joined the school recently…the way she looked at me, I understood that she was trying to be as polite as possible, she was uncomfortable talking to a person who was not even dressed like other parents, who looked, uneducated and was rather too simple,,, the security guards in school appeared smart partially because of the uniform that was given to them.. I was not haggard but style, I could not even afford…. may be she did not even know my profession… I felt, had she known that… she would not even talk to me…

She started in an authoritarian voice, taking charge of the situation; very confident… she ensured that my apology for being late was not even heard. Before I could complete… “I am sorry for being late…” She just said, “Don’t waste my time in these formalities” I have to complete this today and the list is too long…

“I am aware that your son was given admission to this school on humanitarian grounds, your son gets concession in fees, while others in his class pay much more than what is paid by him… mind you this is not scholarship…” …the way she said this… lowered my self esteem. I was thinking of my child now… what he must be going through in class everyday... She continued with same tone/ speed… was this empathetic? Was this said as concern or mere fact? She continued; about how my child has ‘…. still not come up to the mark in his class, and how he is the only one lagging behind in the class….how because of him the class average was going down and may be school results would get affected…’ She said, ‘...it was a school meant for performers…’.the monologue still continued now on my child’s behaviour ‘…How he stares blankly at the teachers… who are unaware whether he understood the concept or is lost…’

I was not much worried, till last year there were not many issue, in fact all teachers, if they had to say something for him was, “loner- with poor- average academics” His class teacher was a gentleman and spoke affectionately. I doubt if he too knew me/ my profession, but he was like this to almost everyone; re-assuring to everyone about their own wards.

This teacher and her observations were different, I wanted to ask what were teachers doing to help him, wasn’t this precisely is the job of the teacher, to help student to learn, work on his weaknesses and … but I could not open my mouth, her confidence rather non empathetic stance overpowered… she continued... “..He sits in the class like a statue, lifeless… she said… but that’s no excuse to “just sit”…. She was getting angry now… I wonder why he comes to school. I doubt if she had detailed history of my child. She was talking about “now and then” situation. Everything was right in its own perception yet was not true, mere factual; it did not gel with the larger picture. I was listening quietly… almost lost in my own world, not aware of what to do, say and help my child.

She started asking me questions like, ‘… do you teach him, do you spend time with him, do you take him out, do you…’…it was more of accusation than that of question, also it was more of monologue… wherein my answers were not needed … I gathered courage and said , almost ordering her to stop…

She was taken aback; she sat uncomfortably in her chair and said

“Ok…” what is it that you want to say…

I wanted to start from the beginning, how my child came to this school, what kind of trauma was he going through, how I was able to spend more time with him…I wanted to talk about the van that I drive- Ambulance , as driver, how we drive carefully yet filled with hopes from the site of accident sites, how on reaching hospitals, doctors and professionals take care, deal with the grave situations before, “ No Hopes”- “dead” or …for every critical case… irrespective of cause of accident, mistakes, mishaps… we never drive slowly or do our best if a driver who was speeding and meets with accident… we are no one to decide, we do our best in any given situation…

.My child, certainly was not so critical, he met with an accident long back, trauma of that event was shadowing him… but he needed time, more time to recover, may be he was different than other kids of his age…or what I go through when other in the lanes of the city drive for fun, joy, when I carry dead to crematorium… or when a marriage processions stops, for van to go further… gives way…to life….all these were in my mind but all I could say was

“Please try and understand him… may be he is weak but ….”

Before I completed my sentence she took charge of the conversation, again “you know your child cannot perform, he cannot be in this school, class, and he must change the school… he is bad influence on others… we do not want others to get affected by him…. he does not understand, what we teach…” she was again on her monologue trip…

My child was not so bad, I knew about his academic weaknesses, but behaviorally he was kind, gentle and emotional with friends; though he had fewer; they loved him. In no way he was bad influence on any one…. I felt strongly to protect my child… I asked her again, what made her say “he was a bad influence”….

She could not just take this… she felt challenged, she was at loss of words, she took a pause… waited for some time and said… firmly… arrogantly

“Ok, I will explain… it’s like every one is running, you are in a race, race in your class, and he is slow, slow as dead , he is like dead body … you have to be with him…wait for him to reach a point, while others are already there…. its not possible to hand hold all the time…it’s like, one has to be with the dead body… to take care …till disposed…you feel sorry…”

I could not hear further…rather I did not allow her to complete, may be she wanted to say something different, may she would come to a different point and may be she was genuinely trying to help me and my child….but the disgust and the way in which she started talking about my child and comparing him with dead…my reflexes were sharp and rest is known to you all….

My Story…

It was my first visit to Boston, though I had been in this country for many years now, my relationship with this man was to bring in some spring in my otherwise dry life. I had made him the most important man of my life… I came as illegal migrant to this country from Argentina, and do not ask me how we reached Argentina… from…Ok let me not get into that past…

I was looking through the window and as the never ending taxing of the plane ended I was the first one to get up, he looked at me questioningly, as if I was not aware of the rules of flying … but our relationship was at that level of strange category… wherein he could frame the questions… but not ask them… In all relationships how I wish, this stage stayed for a longer time.

He was taking me to his home for the first time, he was single and his mother was one who was pressurizing him for a wedding, unheard in this country. We knew each other for some years now. Initially it was an one sided love affair from my end. He wanted me to meet his mother; she was to approve of me, for my past was so glorious!! Was I nervous meeting his mother… was I in a hurry to finish this visit? Why was my behaviour so strange…?

He was the third man in my life; I had met him first, on the first day of my job in his office and on the third day after I returned from my honeymoon, with the second man in my life. From the first two I have children. Rather I was not even aware of any thing that was happening to me when I first delivered, I was barely 13, my mother was single and a widow and we stayed in Afro-American area meant for poor… I was shifted to juvenile home and after that I lost touch with my mother. She was not a bad mother, she was worried about me, my life, her life, and our never-seem-to-be-ending poverty… my father was brought to this country and was promised safe arrival in USA by his agent. Little did anyone know that Argentina was not USA and life was to take sharper turns before we land up in this dreamland. After his death, how we reached USA was a mystery to me… rather is still a mystery. When I look at my USA passport … I wonder how my mother managed all that… and that Afro-American locality…

I was not aware of what happens in physical relationships, even the boy with whom … “I slept” … this is how it was referred after that for a long time … I was not even aware… it just happened one afternoon. We were part of a project,” Cleaning Neighborhood”. I was with him, we started talking about our school and life and as I still had some more time after the project, we went to his house … and last I remember is… we slept together… next month he was to move to a different state as his mother, who too was single like my mother and had a job in a hospital. I came to know about my child in 10^th week of my pregnancy, my mother was shocked, abortion was not the option, and I did not remember anything about that boy except for his name. Also it took some time for me to really understand what was happening to me, my mother explained that “sleeping together makes a baby”. When I next slept with a man, things had changed….

I am told that my mother died, I am not very sure whether she actually died or was dead because of the stigma, I started studying and may be because I was brilliant… reached college. I completed my graduation and did my Masters with Law. He, the second man in my life, too was studying with me, may be my story/ past made him melt for me… and though I was initially afraid of this relationship, eventually I got into it. I married him.

It was after our honeymoon when I started working with a firm, I met the third man of my life…. he was “Prince Charming” … how could no one ever fall in love with him. But apparently no one had ever fallen in love with him; he was a hunk, stud, names that one can think of… I tried to dig his past… was told that “he is mama’s boy”! Exploring this man made me fall in love…. I was suffocating in the relationship that I got into...

For hours I could stare at him, ogle at him, appreciate his long fingers and pink nails, broad shoulders and biceps… his lean yet athlete like body…I started thinking of “sleeping’ with him…but was afraid of saying anything, verbalize my thoughts… I was ashamed of myself… how I could think of another man in my life, within a week after my marriage- honeymoon….. My husband was handsome man too! My friends envied me for finding such a hunk as husband … but they had not seen my boss….

For some days when I did not get much for or against my boss, I started thinking that he was “gay” and checked with other employees inconspicuously about his “orientation”. I was reprieved with the fact that my doubts were baseless.

I was so much engrossed in him… that I started talking about him to my husband…. I described him as a “man” he should know. Eventually both became very good friends and it was in the fourth year of our friendship, I blurted out “I like him’ during a lunch meeting with a client. I had one more child by now.

He was shocked yet the expression in his eyes said that he was “Pleased” I noted….

I decided to divorce my husband… for the first love of my life, my husband and he; both were shell shocked. He still wasn’t aware that it was for him that I have decided to divorce my husband. My husband wanted to know the reason…. and I had none what so ever… he was caring, loving loved my first child too, his family was so supportive… in fact they suggested if we could go for some Counselling. He checked with me if our married life was Happy!! I could not tell him that I fantasize about my boss/ his friend during our intimate moments nor did I want to share my love for his friend. I just remained silent.

My husband never doubted me … but our divorce strained my relationship with my boss too… though he was never close to me, the distance grew… he was more concerned for his friend.

He started looking at me “differently” after my ex- husband had remarried. This was “worth the wait”. I met my ex- husband occasionally as he was father of my second child, there was no bitterness in my divorce, but somewhere it was hurting… to both. After his marriage meetings became distant. My boss, now the third man in my life, my first love, changed. I had heard from the “love” of my life for the first time… I felt like a teenager…I wanted to tell the world that I was in love… my first child was half my age now and I kept my feeling under my wings… I wanted ‘him” to say something- to initiate the talk, lead the life for me…and the path was painfully slow .Or was there more pressure on him from his mother… He confessed once to me… that he liked my company and this changed my life….

He once, started talking about his house in Norfolk, town that touched the Atlantic Ocean. He was talking about his past for the first time to me….how from his house he “saw” the light house… the beautiful light house in otherwise grey and cold winters… and how he imagined a “light house” in his life… which he saw in me on the day I joined … but was disappointed to note that, I was newly married! His friendship with my husband was mainly to stay in touch with me/ us. He never wanted to harm us, and our relationship... Our divorce was disturbing but, satisfying event for him and now he was able to share his views about him with me…

After we came out of the aircraft, I was more nervous, I found him serious and pre-occupied. As if this visit was a strain on him. His house was exactly the way he had described. His mother was not at home when we reached; I was admiring the light house with him. He, watching me… I knew that… and I watching the beautiful light house…

The door opened quietly, I knew she had come…. I waited for a while, for him to introduce me… her gaze was piercing. It shook me. If felt guilty for no reasons… I had never seen such powerful gaze; I tried to be normal and continued talking to her about weather and her house….

He was also uncomfortable; dinner got over quietly. I could not believe that she was the one who was forcing him to getting married. May be he had shared my past with her and she was uncomfortable with this. May be she was reluctant that her son gets married to a person who has daughter half her age….or divorced a husband for no reason…

As if she was reading my mind…she asked me about my daughter…she wanted to know more about her, if she ever asked me about her father, about my marriage and subsequent divorce and reason… I was getting tense as the question continued …she wanted to know more about who raised my daughter in her initial years, was my mother instrumental in he upbringing… how close was she to my ex-husband, and if she calls him as “dad” and how they meet now… I answered all questions with utmost honesty… I never wanted to lie to her. In fact I never lied to anyone ever, to my mother when she asked me “with whom I slept” or to my daughter … when she first asked me about her father…

She asked me where I stayed as kid, whether I remembered the boy and his mother. I found questions strange. I had seen that boy, only once. We worked together for that project, on that day, may be the only reason I choose to be with that boy was he looked decent, and was not Black! I had no clue whatsoever how and where he was… I repeated “ I slept”… before I could complete … she said...if I could refer that as an accident…. you are not to be blamed for what happened with you at that tender age….

No one had ever talked with me about this issue in this manner not even my mother… or the counselor at the juvenile home, for most girls “ sleeping” was common… it took them my childhood to understand that I was innocent… but by then my childhood had a curse… I was a laughing stock in classroom, size of my belly was talked every where… I did not know whom to go and talk about my feeling, my counselor wanted me to “talk to my child” and I felt “no one hear me”

I was talking about those years of my life for the first time… after may be I lost my mother… I could talk to her… she was later, but convinced that I was innocent… I kind of relived those years.

He had never asked me about my past, I was rather blunt when someone asked about my children; I would blurt the truth without mincing words… My ex husband, when we were studying together in college, felt sorry for me… sympathized with me and he fell in love with me, made me his life partner… for me it was not love for sure. I wonder why I had committed marriage to him.

When I met him, in his office after I came from my honeymoon, I was transfixed, I was in love…. I longed for him and it took me so many years to take the decision, and wait for him to approach me… what made me wait? Why was he still unmarried? Why was he waiting for permission from his mother… bothered me but never asked… now that I was with his mother and she asked these questions…? I re-lived those years, agony that I went through … and felt humiliated. Tears rolled my eyes…

Is this the “price” one has to pay for being honest? I felt my decision to divorce my ex- husband for this man was wrong… he or his family never “questioned” me… rather they supported me, accepted me unconditionally… here this lady was not only questioning me but also was trying to trace years that I spent after words. She wanted to know all about my life, my pain, all that was buried long back… I was a different human being, had forgotten the scar that it left on me… I felt victimized…felt why would one want to know all this and hurt…

I left the table and went straight to my room. The conversation stopped. There was pin drop silence and the mother son duo also left for their respective rooms.

Next morning we were to leave… I wanted to be alone; I hated the man I loved… I hated to be in this situation… I craved to be with my ex husband … his family… “How could Love be so hurting”… there were many attempts of conversation from mother and son…But I was silent, did not speak to anyone, I was hurt…I was crying… bleeding… I, myself was responsible for this… in earlier situations I was not responsible at least! … this feeling made me sicker and tears started rolling again… I was meek- wek… my strength and struggle of previous years had gone for a toss… the question that bothered me was… “What made me do this to self…

We left …I was all alone… now… he did not exist in my life as co –passenger also.

I came home, my daughter looked at me… my expression said everything… her hug said… what words could never have communicated… she was darling… may be she was the only partner of the struggle that I went through and my soul mate… … May be we were more of friends than mother and daughter… she kept comforting me and I kept pouring my heart out… I was yelling screaming… sobbing, we cried together for hours… and slept in each others arms.

We got up late next morning; I did not want to go to that office ever again… I was drafting my resignation… my daughter came and gave me an envelope. I opened that it was a very short letter dated yesterday; I started reading it mechanically…

“Dear Daughter”,

I am glad that we found you…. it was crucial for me to ask those questions, to ensure that our wait, was worth. It wasn’t like our attempts to search you… we were unable to locate you and your mother… Yes, My son was not aware of his actions…he too innocently told me about, how you had spent that afternoon… it was an accident. When his friend from the same locality wrote … about “the girl with the belly” and how they left the place… we realized…. and tried to search for you and your mother… he promised me to search “his Love- guilt” and only then marry… or not marry ever.

It was after your divorce he told me about you, he does not know the reasons of your divorce, nor he wanted to disturb your married life, he in fact respected your husband for accepting you… he watched his daughter from distance and did not want to harm your , his daughter, your relationship with your family….

It was only after your divorce and your communication to him about “your love” towards him… we decided the meeting. I am glad that we found each other…

Rest of the words melted, there were many more lines…. but they got washed away in tears… my daughter, too was reading with me…the door bell was ringing and so was phone… may be a bad dream was over…we hugged each other… unable to decide the direction to follow...