Masterji

Hello! I am Qausar Nissar and this is my little story. I live in a chawl in Bangur Nagar in Mumbai along with my two younger sisters. My father is a carpenter and works in a furniture shop called Fine Living. My mother works as a maid in four flats in the big, tall, beautiful building adjoining our chawl. I study in class IX in a municipal school where the teachers do not come on most days and when they do come, they hardly teach us anything other than making us do a fixed set of questions and answers that we have to learn by rote and write the same in the exams.  Had it not been for the street school, which helps kids like us who have no one to guide at home on studies, I would never have understood any concept or been able to write answers applying logic and understanding. This is a school run by a few good, old men who arrange for volunteers to teach the kids and  then there are some Samaritans who financially contribute for the essentials for running the school. The best part about the school is a wonderful, healthy, hot meal we all get on all days except Sundays when there is no school. This school has no roof above; there are no benches to sit on. We sit under the open sky on plastic mats at street corners and municipal parks with makeshift black boards. This is our open street school.

Arun Sir was one such volunteer teacher. He was studying in college and would come on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to teach us English. He was easily the best teacher of all for he would never get angry and was very patient with all of us. He would often give us chocolates when we did well in the tests he conducted. I would never miss his class for anything. I would only study English at home and come prepared for his classes. I would quickly raise my hand to answer the questions he asked and soon the other children knew it was no point competing with me. I loved going to him and showing my note book for corrections. Seeing my interest in the subject, he even agreed to devote some extra time on some days to help me speak English. Sitting with him alone, I tried to concentrate on what he was teaching without getting distracted which was not at all easy. This was by far the best part of the day for me always.

Arun Sir was also good in dramatics and would always help the children of our school put up shows on Independence and Republic Days. While I am otherwise a shy girl and, despite resistance from my parents, I made sure I was in the group where Arun Sir would be the director. This year on Independence Day, we planned to enact the story of Rani Laxmibai and I wanted to play the role of the Queen. Sir however asked Rukhsat to play the same while I was given a small role of a soldier who fought for Jhansi. That night I cried at home and I wanted to ask Sir to give me the central role but did not muster enough courage to say anything. I kept going for all the practice sessions and stood there watching Sir devote all his time and energy to Rukhsat. I felt jealous but was happy that I was with him for an extra hour of practice beyond study time which my parents would never have approved otherwise.

Everything was going fine till suddenly the good old men of the NGO announced that it will not be possible to continue with the school as a lockdown had been declared in the country. As soon as things would get better, the classes would resume, they assured.

I heard about online classes for children on television. This must surely be for rich kids studying in expensive schools and not for children like us. We all have smart phones but you cannot study with them….our municipal school teachers are not equipped to teach online and none of us have computers to enable us to do so. We started spending time at home, initially enjoying the holidays but then started doing the chores at home. With father’s workshop also getting shut, he suggested to Ammi to arrange for a couple of houses where I could do the cleaning and dusting work.

Par Abba mujhe jhadu-pocha nahin karna hai…meri padhai ka kya hoga?

Zinda rahe toh pardai kal bhi ho jayegi….aaj paisa chahiye jeene kel iye.

So off went the books into the bag and in its place came the mop and the broom in my hands. Some homes were good. They would treat you well and offer you tea and food at times while in the others, you were shouted at and abused. You were told how bad your work was and threatened to be fired so that I over-worked myself to keep my job. When I used to return home after work, I never complained. I would simply smile and hit the bed early. I looked forward to my sleep for often I would dream of Arun Sir. He would wake me up and take me away for a walk in the garden or the Marine Drive. I even dreamt of him singing for me and me joining him in a duet. The other day we went to a nice restaurant where he ordered my choicest food of noodles and chilli-chicken and in the end he even ordered for butter-scotch ice cream. I hated the mornings when Arun Sir would have to leave me but he was, possibly, my only source of happiness in those difficult times.

One day, in one of the houses I worked, a young boy of eight was creating a huge ruckus.

I want a laptop and refuse to work on the desktop anymore. All my friends make fun of me.

The mother spoke, Beta listen to me. The PC is working fine and you can do all you work sitting in one place. You do not have to carry it around to another which is what you need a laptop for.

I said no, and I will not switch it on even if the school marks me absent….the boy folded his arms in front of his chest and turned his face away from the pleading mother and started sobbing.

Bahu, let us buy him a laptop. I will give it to him for his birthday which is a month away. It will be his advance present this year, said the loving grandfather.

And what will we do with the desk top, Papa?

Give it to the kabadiwala. No one will give any money for this old obsolete thing.

Quasar, you want this thing? You can take it for free, the house lady asked.

And so the desk top came home. Late in the evening, I started working on the machine along with my sisters and we were delighted at the unexpected arrival of the gadget in the house. It surprisingly seemed to work well. It took  us some time but with a little help from some friends in the chawl and a shared wi-fi connection, we learnt how to Google, open Gmail accounts and without telling our parents, we even opened our Facebook accounts. So far WhatsApp was a good companion but FB was far better!

After everyone in the house went off to sleep, I would quietly open up the magic machine and go to my FB page. I would go to the ‘search friends’ option and type Arun and I found about a hundred thousand Aruns popping up. I would patiently eliminate a hundred Aruns a day. It was a long and tedious process and disappointed I would go back to sleep but my search for Sir continued silently and secretly.

One day walking to one of my places of work I met Raghu Uncle who was one of the key organisers of the school for street children.

Hello Qausar, how are you and how are your studies progressing?

I burst out crying and hugged the old man tight in a state of helplessness. When he heard my story, the old man wiped the tears from his eyes in his great helplessness. Thanks to the pandemic, the street children were now sadly turning away from the school and pouring on to the streets, something they had worked tirelessly to prevent all these years.

You cannot give up on your studies Qausar. Here are the mobile numbers and email IDs of the teachers and you can approach anyone of them anytime. They will surely help you with your curriculum gladly. You were so good in your studies and it will be a tragedy if you have to give it up.

That night, I opened up the sheet of paper given by Raghu Uncle and my eyes lit up seeing Arun Sir’s number and email id. I quickly opened up my Gmail and carefully typed the gmail id and started composing. It took me very long for I carefully thought over every word, after all it was my first mail.

Hello Arun Sir.

I got you mail from Raghu Uncle. I am good. I am missing school and there are no studies now for me and my sisters. I now work in two houses. School was good with friends, food and teachers like you.

How are you Sir?

Yours respectfully,

Quasar

I wanted to write in the end what my friends often wrote to their boyfriends…with…but I just could not get myself to do it. What will he think of me? I smiled as my heart skipped a few beats as I pressed the button for send. This is the first mail, maybe will write more openly to him later.

Next evening, I returned home and switched on the PC to check my mail box. There was no reply. I switched off the machine and rebooted it to check once again but still could not find any reply that I was looking forward to. Disappointed, I shut the set off and went to sleep without having dinner saying I was not feeling well. The next two evenings also were as disappointing and now I had accepted my fate that Arun Sir had either forgotten me or did not think it important to answer my mail. I once thought if I should send one more top up mail but then held myself back lest Sir would think of me as someone desperate and crazy.

After a few days, I had given up all hope and stopped checking my mails. I even stopped playing with the PC and checking FB which I found very dull, boring and full of people trying to show off anything and everything. I felt so out of place in their midst with nothing to talk about.

On Saturday, my youngest sister, Salma, who was working on the computer, ran to me in excitement…Qausar Baji, come and see. You have mail from Arun Sir.

I got up in disbelief and walked slowly to the screen hoping it must be another hoax my little sister was playing but was pleasantly surprised to see the mail. I clicked on it and read…

Dear Qausar.

I read your mail today and could not reply earlier as I was down with fever and cough. Now I am fine. You were my best student and I always felt you would do well in higher studies especially in English but now feel very sad that you are no longer pursuing studies. This is not fair. I will come and speak to your parents. Before that I want to meet you. Please come to our house at the address given below when you can and then I will see what can be done.

As I used to tell you, never lose hope. All will be well in the end.

Regards,

Arun

I read the mail…again and again and felt so happy that I grabbed Salma and kissed her tight to her complete astonishment. I decided to go to Sir’s house tomorrow as it was Sunday and surely he would be there. Next day, I got up early, had a bath and changed into a clean set of ironed clothes…the best I had. I quickly gulped my breakfast and walked to the address given in the mail. At the gate I was stopped by the guard who asked for my name and flat number I wished to go. The guard called up on the intercom which a woman on the other side asked…

Kaun hai

Madam, koi Qausar hai

Achch aaane do…

I signed the register and took the lift to reach the 16^th floor….I was feeling restless, afraid and my throat was drying up. What will I say to Arun Sir…. I had actually practised all the answers to his possible questions in my mind while pretending to sleep last night.  And now the time had come and I hesitantly rang the doorbell.

A middle aged woman in sari opened the door and before I could speak, rattled off…

So you are the one Bela Madam spoke highly of- ok we will see. Remember there will be no chhutti and I will deduct from your pay for every day of leave you take. You have to wear clean clothes every day, come to work on time and must do the work properly. We will pay you 2000 rupees per month and give you 500 rupees on Diwali. I hope you are honest and will not steal anything from the house. My son is careless and leaves everything including his wallet outside. Chalo, you can come to work from tomorrow.

I did not utter a single word and just turned around and took the lift back to the building reception. I signed the register again and walked out. I went to the nearby bus stop which was vacant and put my head between my palms and cried, first softly and then uncontrollably. After a while I calmed down and walked back to my house, changed into my regular clothes and went to the kitchen to help my mother.

Now I know for sure that Cinderella stories happen only in fairy tales.

SS