I was late by three minutes when I reached the class I had to teach and still I stood outside the door and took my time. As I had come running towards the class, taking special attention that I don’t leave any chance to be seen by the first year students, I was anxious to have a look at my appearance. Since I didn’t carry a mirror with me, I stood outside the class and ran my hands around myself to fix me. The fresh batch is generally the one who makes the most noise and this being the freshest, lived up to the mark. As I tucked in my shirt and fixed my hair, the class was self-contained as the youngsters caused an absolute havoc in the class. But still, I took my time. I recomposed myself and allowed my lungs to settle down again. With a final check and a deep breath, I stepped into the class with a confident stride.
As soon as I stepped into the class two changes were immediately noticeable.First and primarily, the hustle and bustle in the class. There was suddenly a mad rush as every student wanted to be on the seat before I have a look at him or her. Every student wished to have a gentle and sober appearance, regardless of the fact that just moments ago they were standing in the chair and imposing an image of themselves in front of their classmates. They didn’t want to be seen causing a mess around themselves and having seen by me as the guy with the paper planes in his hand. Rightly so, because I would have set them in a row if they were to do so. But not now. And the second thing which was noticeable was my anticipation of her. I knew that she was to be in this class and I anticipated her being here.
I kept my professing periphery at the table and looked up at the class. The first thing I noticed was how the class was decimated. The floor was flooded with paper and the new lot looked as if it was not a class of students but a group of athletes who have just returned from a marathon. How much can an adolescent cause mess in a time period which spans no further than seven minutes is a complete topic on which someone educated enough in the field of young adult psyche and Statistics can write a paper on. It can be a discipline in itself, believe me. But they are kids after all! They should be allowed to live their lives the way they want. I won’t scold them.
The next thing that I notice is her. First her pink sweater which stands out and then her raven hair. But right then I realize what I am doing is wrong. She’s half my age. These changes and these emotions… Emotions? Do I feel for her? What do I feel for her? Care? Protective? Love?She’s half my age. She has 75% of her life left and I am at my middle age. This ought to stop.
With this thought I looked up at the class and started to scold them for indiscipline.