Just another woman at the end of the day

Every morning I saw her as she entered the train.

She appeared so smart in her well ironed police woman’s uniform. She seemed so much in control of herself.

It was not just her uniform. It was in her body language, the way she held herself, the way she walked. She seemed so confident, as if she knew exactly what she wanted to do and was doing it.

Every day when I saw her, I envied her. I wished I could be like her instead of the timid person I was.

I could so picture her standing up for herself and taking no nonsense from anyone whether at work or at home. I could never imagine myself having that kind of confidence. Everyone in life seemed to walk all over me. I never seemed to have a say in anything whether at work or at home. And watching her I would sometimes fantasize that I was as confident as her and could just tell everyone where they could get off.

One evening, I missed my usual train and caught a train an hour later. As I got off the train at Thane and climbed the overhead bridge to exit the station, I caught sight of a familiar face. It was the police woman who traveled with me in the mornings. But what a difference!

In fact, I really had to blink twice to make sure she was the same woman. She had worn a civilian shirt over her uniform trousers and carried a bag full of vegetables. Her footsteps seemed to drag as she walked wearily out of the station to the bus stop. Her shoulders were slumped with tiredness. There was absolutely no vestige of the smart capable woman who went to work every morning.

That evening as I watched her go home, I recognized the tired walk of a wife and mother who knows her days work is not yet done. In fact another shift has just started.

And I realized that she was just another woman at the end of the day.

The Beginning

I was all of fourteen. It was the 5th of September, 1979, Teacher’s Day. I was in the tenth standard and as usual the teachers had gone for a picnic, leaving us, the tenth standard students to run the school.

I was in charge of the kindergarten. I had been told to ensure that all the kids wrote down the alphabet. Everyone complied, except one little girl, Monica. She just stared sulkily at her note book. When I asked her why she was not writing, she just shook her head stubbornly, without saying a word.

But the rest of the class yelled out, “She can’t write. She is a dumb head.”

I was shocked to hear these little five year olds talk like that. “Who says she is a dumb head?” I asked.

“Our teacher, Miss Margaret,” they replied.

I felt an uncontrollable surge of anger towards Miss Margaret. “How can anyone call a baby a dumb head?” I wondered as I looked at little Monica who had hung her head in shame.

I put my arm around her and said, “You are not a dumb head. You are my friend. And so friend, tell me, what do you like to do?”

She looked up at me with eyes round in surprise and not a little fear. Then she whispered, “I like to draw.”

“And what do you like to draw?”

“Houses”, she said.

“Okay”, I told her, “Let’s see. If you can draw your ABC just like I am doing, I will let you draw a picture of a house for me. I will take that picture home and keep it on my fridge. Okay?”

Still full of wonderment, she nodded and “drew” the alphabet neatly in her book. After that she drew a beautiful house and garden for me.

I showed her book around the class and said, “See, Monica is not a dumb head. She is an artist.”

The beatific smile on the child’s face was all the reward in the world.

This was my first experience of how we as teachers can make or break a child. All it needs is a few words to build up someone’s confidence and confidence is a mighty motivator.

I tasted power that day in that kindergarten classroom. I realized that I had the power to change the way a person thinks about himself. I could make people believe in themselves. I could help people succeed.

And in that moment was born my dream. I decided there and then that I would be a teacher… not of academic subjects but a teacher who would teach people to be confident and believe in themselves. I would help people succeed in life.

Welcome

Welcome to “The Quill of the Phoenix”. Why the name? Well it’s a long story but it will suffice to say that I’ve had more than my fair share of knock me downs from life. I won’t bore you with the details, but the fact is that every time I reached rock bottom, I would bounce back, determined not to be defeated.

Once a friend asked me, “What is it that makes you bounce back when everything you’ve worked for is destroyed, and that too not once, but several times. And you always bounce back with the same enthusiasm and joy of life.”

I laughed and told her, “I must have been a phoenix in some past life. That’s why I can rise from the ashes reborn and full of life.”

Though I had answered her flippantly, the image of me as a phoenix appealed.
According to Wikipedia, the phoenix is a mythical bird that is a fire spirit with a colorful plumage and a tail of gold and scarlet (or purple, blue, and green according to some legends). It has a 500 to 1000 year life-cycle, near the end of which it builds itself a nest of twigs that then ignites; both nest and bird burn fiercely and are reduced to ashes, from which a new, young phoenix or phoenix egg arises, reborn anew to live again. It is also said that the tears of the phoenix are supposed to have healing powers.

The idea of being a phoenix appeals to me first because of its ability to resurrect itself and second because if uses its tears, (read pain, failure, experience) to heal others. And no matter what happens, I know that I will always use my disappointments and failures to my advantage; use the fire and ashes to be reborn in wisdom and understanding and love and use my tears to heal the pain of others.

The Phoenix