As I was preparing for my new show, The Empire, I happened to find myself at a fancy dress shop in South Mumbai looking for a sepoy uniform. That’s unfortunate in and of itself but I saw something even more unfortunate than that. The shop seemed to be mostly exporters of nonsense costume things ‒ a Phantom costume, Mangal Pandey’s moustache, a pig’s head made of soft fluffy cotton, freedom fighter whites.
While I was wallowing in my embarrassment about how I got to my late 30s and found myself sharing the professional help of those who dress children for amusing social events, a kid, about ten, walked in with his mother and requested a make-over as Jawaharlal Nehru.
The shop asked why. His response was this: “Teachers’ Day is coming up. We are putting up a talent show. My friend is going to be a Ninja Turtle. And my other friend wants to be Gandhiji. He will come to you for a skullcap and a stick. We are going to be singing Beyoncé songs, as a trio.” His mother beamed, as if to suggest, “Yup, that’s my son. Future Yo Yo”. My only thought, apart from the insanity of that image, was with the unfortunate teachers who’d have to witness this.
Friday was Teachers Day. Celebrated on different days across the world, it is celebrated in India on the birthday of our second President Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan who was tremendously well educated, and therefore safe to assume, well taught or definitely, taught a lot. The day, unlike other meaningless greeting card days, like Friendship Day or Mother/Father days (“Friend, here’s a document just to put on paper that we’re friends.” “Parent, here are some flowers because I need a specific calendar day to acknowledge that you are my parent”) is fundamentally, a good idea. Recognise people who’ve taught you.
What it has become however, is a day where the students decide to entertain their teachers by putting up some sort of talent or cultural programme, followed by snacks. This is supposed to somehow please them. That is up there with earthquakes and maybe cyclones, as one of the great tragedies of the epoch.
Celebrations get crazy. These are some of the things students put up.
1. Synchronised dancing to Norah Jones.
2. “Comedy” (which has now become a word that can mean anything).
3. “Western music” (which has almost become a thing like Continental food, no one knows what it is).
4. “Skits” that mimic a certain teacher (must be hilarious for that guy. Great, I’m a mockery on my day off).
5. Melodramatic speeches about how great the teacher is/was. These stories usually have the teacher dead and the child, now older coming back from the US and discovering this. Much crying ensues mid-narrative. (Brilliant think the teachers. Now I’m dead on my day off. Super.)
All of this the teachers endure with a nervous smile (read: fright).
My school used to have a tradition of the teachers returning the favor by putting on a talent show on Children’s Day. As Gandhi rightly said, violence begets violence. It becomes a vicious cycle. It meant my English teacher belting out his favorite Sinatra (“Help me make it through the night” specifically). A dubious choice of song in an academic environment because I think it was about sexual veracity. Back then the lyrics didn’t bother us, we didn’t know what was being sung, it was the pitch. Most of the Class 3 children, sitting near the speakers, were crying. There was a reason Sinatra was Sinatra and this guy taught basic grammar in a corner of Kolkata.
I would imagine the best way to recognise a teacher on Teachers’ Day would be to give them the day off. And maybe as an ex-student show up, in one’s middle age, on Teachers’ Day, at your favorite teacher’s house with a bottle of whisky and apologise. Just say, “I know you did your best. It wasn’t you, it was me. I’m just mediocre but look it turned out all right. I’ve got a home, a wife and kids, a place to go work for money that I hate. It could have been worse.” And proceed to get smashed with him/her and reminisce about this or that memory. Or an even better choice would be to leave the bottle of whisky and just say thank you.
Let them reminisce about their incorrect life choices. “I wanted to change minds, shape the future, create tomorrow’s leaders so India could have new thinking and all I produced were a generation of nefarious builders, middle managers and untalented performers. When he was dancing dressed as Nehru to Beyoncé that should have been a clue. Damn, I’m four pegs down. Damn some fool is coming over for tuition. I hope I don’t pass out while I’m teaching him Boolean algebra. This was a fun night. I like Teachers’ Day.”
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While I was wallowing in my embarrassment about how I got to my late 30s and found myself sharing the professional help of those who dress children for amusing social events, a kid, about ten, walked in with his mother and requested a make-over as Jawaharlal Nehru.
The shop asked why. His response was this: “Teachers’ Day is coming up. We are putting up a talent show. My friend is going to be a Ninja Turtle. And my other friend wants to be Gandhiji. He will come to you for a skullcap and a stick. We are going to be singing Beyoncé songs, as a trio.” His mother beamed, as if to suggest, “Yup, that’s my son. Future Yo Yo”. My only thought, apart from the insanity of that image, was with the unfortunate teachers who’d have to witness this.
Friday was Teachers Day. Celebrated on different days across the world, it is celebrated in India on the birthday of our second President Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan who was tremendously well educated, and therefore safe to assume, well taught or definitely, taught a lot. The day, unlike other meaningless greeting card days, like Friendship Day or Mother/Father days (“Friend, here’s a document just to put on paper that we’re friends.” “Parent, here are some flowers because I need a specific calendar day to acknowledge that you are my parent”) is fundamentally, a good idea. Recognise people who’ve taught you.
What it has become however, is a day where the students decide to entertain their teachers by putting up some sort of talent or cultural programme, followed by snacks. This is supposed to somehow please them. That is up there with earthquakes and maybe cyclones, as one of the great tragedies of the epoch.
Celebrations get crazy. These are some of the things students put up.
1. Synchronised dancing to Norah Jones.
2. “Comedy” (which has now become a word that can mean anything).
3. “Western music” (which has almost become a thing like Continental food, no one knows what it is).
4. “Skits” that mimic a certain teacher (must be hilarious for that guy. Great, I’m a mockery on my day off).
5. Melodramatic speeches about how great the teacher is/was. These stories usually have the teacher dead and the child, now older coming back from the US and discovering this. Much crying ensues mid-narrative. (Brilliant think the teachers. Now I’m dead on my day off. Super.)
All of this the teachers endure with a nervous smile (read: fright).
My school used to have a tradition of the teachers returning the favor by putting on a talent show on Children’s Day. As Gandhi rightly said, violence begets violence. It becomes a vicious cycle. It meant my English teacher belting out his favorite Sinatra (“Help me make it through the night” specifically). A dubious choice of song in an academic environment because I think it was about sexual veracity. Back then the lyrics didn’t bother us, we didn’t know what was being sung, it was the pitch. Most of the Class 3 children, sitting near the speakers, were crying. There was a reason Sinatra was Sinatra and this guy taught basic grammar in a corner of Kolkata.
I would imagine the best way to recognise a teacher on Teachers’ Day would be to give them the day off. And maybe as an ex-student show up, in one’s middle age, on Teachers’ Day, at your favorite teacher’s house with a bottle of whisky and apologise. Just say, “I know you did your best. It wasn’t you, it was me. I’m just mediocre but look it turned out all right. I’ve got a home, a wife and kids, a place to go work for money that I hate. It could have been worse.” And proceed to get smashed with him/her and reminisce about this or that memory. Or an even better choice would be to leave the bottle of whisky and just say thank you.
Let them reminisce about their incorrect life choices. “I wanted to change minds, shape the future, create tomorrow’s leaders so India could have new thinking and all I produced were a generation of nefarious builders, middle managers and untalented performers. When he was dancing dressed as Nehru to Beyoncé that should have been a clue. Damn, I’m four pegs down. Damn some fool is coming over for tuition. I hope I don’t pass out while I’m teaching him Boolean algebra. This was a fun night. I like Teachers’ Day.”