THE HEADMASTER

When I think back on my childhood, there is one image that stands out in my mind. When I was in upper elementary school, our respected principal, we call him Headmaster, tried to teach us the ins and outs of English grammar. The teacher towered over the students, and his stern eyes seemed to reach right into their hearts. He was a powerful leader whom we all feared. In our childhood, he stood out from the rest of us because we believed he could think in English. We used the name of our respected headmaster a lot when we wrote Hindi compositions. Composition writing in our school days was filling one page somehow. Teachers gave us "impositions" too to improve our memory power, especially for Hindi.

Our Headmaster liked to wear the traditional Mundu, which is also called a dhoti, with a simple half-sleeved shirt. His walk differed from everyone else's. As he walked down the street, a tall cane stick with a tip that reached for the sky stood over him. The headmaster held it in his right hand and put it behind his shirt to look like he didn't care. He might have thought that kids wouldn't notice. In a quick, trained move, he raises the cane high above his head, getting ready to hit with power and accuracy. The students shift in their seats because they know that if they make a noise, they could get a harsh punishment. This teacher wants to be respected and obeyed, and he is not afraid to make sure that happens.

Even though I was the most shy person there, I didn't have any worries. As I looked around the busy playground, I couldn't help but notice our strict headmaster, who was holding a cane. It was common to see naughty students get in trouble for their actions, but it surprised me how good it made me feel. As I watched my friends get punished, I couldn't help but feel like they had taken a weight off my shoulders. I knew the rules were being followed and that order was being kept. As he walked into the classroom, everyone stopped talking. All eyes were on him because just being there made people pay attention.

He told the students in front of him that he would teach them about English grammar. The students leaned forward in their seats, ready to listen to every word he said. As we gathered in the classroom, the air was full of both happiness and sadness. Our favorite English teacher had just arrived, and we couldn't help but feel happy to see him. But he got our attention when he put something big on the table in front of us. We couldn't help but stare in amazement at the long cane. We knew this would be a class that people would talk about. Soon we heard the sharp crack of the cane hitting the ground. We closed our eyes and bent our heads. But instead of listening to what the teacher had to say, we all prayed for forgiveness. It was a minor act of defiance against the overwhelming power that ruled us. And at that moment, we took comfort because we were all standing up to them.

As he started his talk, the first thing he talked about was the difference between the active voice and the passive voice. In a confident way, he told us it would be easy to understand this idea. As he thought about what he had to do, he couldn't help but compare it to the skill of flipping a thin "dosa." This South Indian treat, which is made with a mix of rice and black lentils, needs a light touch and a sharp eye to get the right texture and taste. In the same way, he needed a steady hand and a precise method to complete the job at hand. Just thinking about it brought back a lot of old feelings.

The smell of the food wafting through the air, the sizzle of the pan as it cooked, and the warmth of my mother's love as she made it for us It was a simple dish, but we had a special place in our hearts for it. We didn't have natural gas where we lived in the country. Instead, she had to rely on simple firewood to keep her house warm and cozy. As the clay ovens popped and cracked, she heated a big iron pan that was just the right size to hold two round "dosas." My mom used a brush made from the threads of a coconut and a steady hand to spread fragrant sesame oil over the pan's surface. She reached for the wooden cup and spoon and measured out the right amount of batter with a deft hand. As she poured the batter over the hot iron stone, the smell of the cooking dosa filled the air. She waited for the bubbles to stop moving before turning the pan over and finding a round-shaped red dosa. I couldn't figure out how this dosa linked the active and passive voices. None of the pupils I was with had either. Nobody dared to ask.

In the first class, he beat me with the cane twice, which was a very hard punishment. The first strike was because I didn't answer correctly, and the second was because I was too slow. Do you remember the prayer I said with all my heart? Alex, whom I trust the most, sat in the first row right next to me. I was hoping he would get two, but fate had other ideas. Even though he responded, which was a good thing, he gave the wrong answer and lost a gift he wanted. As I looked at my friend, who received only one caning, I couldn't help but feel confused by the strange world we live in. As luck would have it, he had given me two whacks with the cane. Such is the randomness of life, where the whims of fate can lead two people in the same situation to have such different results.

The answer came to me all at once, like a bolt of lightning. Tutors benched those who could not catch up, asking them to repeat: they didn't pay any attention to them. I begged them with a shaking voice to hide me from the danger that was outside. In return for protecting me, I promised them a sweet (ice-stick) treat that I knew would make them happy. Because this kind of thing didn't happen very often at our country school, it was easy for everyone to agree. Even though our parents and teachers told us not to eat the sweet ice sticks, we couldn't resist their appeal. The bright colors of red, green, yellow, and others made us want to taste their sweetness. (And no, I'm not talking about the latest creams.) Our teachers used to tell the salesperson to go away. But if you hit a dog with a dry fish, would it run away? Even though it could hurt children, he didn't care because it was the biggest source of his income.

The next step was to think about the different ways to pay for the project. Even though I was at home, I had to work hard to get just 5 paise (cents). I couldn't stop thinking about how to get the money I needed to buy an ice cream treat. I looked down at my sloppy writing with a sad heart and felt like I had failed. My problem-solving mother helped me out by giving me a shiny steel pen we called "steel" that had to be re-dipped all the time( like a quill). She gave my older brother his own pen, which made me wonder if I could ever write as well as he did. When I was a young child, jealousy was my companion. What do I choose? My dear mother couldn't keep up with me buying new pens all the time because I always broke the nib within a week or two. I was only thinking about the money I promised for the ice cream. I broke that steel tip.

As my mother scolded me for what I had done, I told her, "Mom, the times are changing, and the steel we bought is just not good enough." She contemplated me and suggested that I get a new one from the small shop of Rajappan Nair. He still owed us money for the areca nut he bought from us, after all. I fell, and my trick didn't work the way I wanted it to. As I walked to school, it drew my eyes to a group of tall, proud, thorny bushes. Young children would often tie knots around the thorny twigs as if they were protecting themselves from something they couldn't see. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of punishment awaited the students. The bushes seemed to be a quiet warning that there would be strict rules inside those walls.

I couldn't help but feel a little envy as I watched the girls move their fingers. Their moves looked almost like magic, and I knew I could never do what they did. As I walked into the classroom, fear and doubt were making my heart beat fast. I trusted the people who said they would hide me among them on the side benches, and all I could do was hope they would keep their promise. As I looked around the room, I saw familiar faces, which gave me a bit of hope. There was a lot of stress in the air, but a few quiet words of comfort broke the stillness. I took a deep breath and made my way to the place where I was supposed to be. My friends were there to protect me and kept their promise. I'm sorry, but I didn't tell them how little money I had.

As soon as the headmaster walked in, he pushed me hard towards the front bench. I wondered if he liked it more when he fixed my grammar or when he hit me with the cane. As luck would have it, two packages showed up on my doorstep on the same day. I didn't know it, but it turned out to be a good thing. As luck would have it, I could get away from the offer of ice cream. "Necessity is the mother of invention," as the old saying goes. With this in mind, my young mind cried out, "Why, oh why, do you want two lashes when your friends are happy with just one?" I sucked in a big breath and tried to calm down. "Just answer the questions he asks," my mind told me. When he asked the next day, I quickly responded, and my plan had worked. I should have gotten two smacks on the wrist, but I only got one. The headmaster lost one. A new English teacher had just shown up, and she saved us all from such punishments. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" should be used only to discipline a student.