A fever? Why not?

I was waiting for my usual sticks of gladiola and carnations and feeling rather amused at the humdrum around. The local flower shop is small and that Friday evening it seemed filled with rushed customers eager to carry away a pretty bouquet.

The couple at the counter insisted that their bouquet be wrapped with orange paper instead of the rather common place red. “Bring the papers down, silly boy! Don’t be slow!” Eager to please his customers, as he should be, the shop owner, Chander ji, commanded the young worker, Bishu, to pull the bundle down from the shelf above. He snatched the bundle from the boy and began flipping through the sheaf in great speed to find the desired colour.

Alas! What catastrophe! There was no orange! There were all possible colours but there was no orange! The lady let out a heart-broken moan, her husband frowned for want of better expression of his irritation, young Bishu stood expressionlessly and Chander ji, a good and honest man, growled menacingly at the young worker. “All day sitting with your phone, you useless boy! All day playing games or at Facebook! As if you are very educated! You ignorant fellow, Facebook doesn’t help you keep your job! Get your mind together and pay attention over here!”

My ears cocked up like my little Simba’s ears. What did I hear? Young Bishu? Facebook? Is that what Chander ji said?

The boy busied himself with the red paper without a flicker in his eyes. The owner addressed me, his regular customer. “You see madam, what the young generation is up to? A young boy of 17/18 years whiling away his time with Facebook, pretending to be very educated…He!” I nodded as glumly as I could, though I didn’t see at all. “When we were of his age, we worked hard to make money. Look at him, look at all the boys. They study till class 5 or 6, come to work but no honest effort at all….” I expressed my solidarity with Chander ji by pulling a grim face and shook my head in great defeat.

I haven’t stopped thinking about it. The young helpers of a local florist are victims of the Facebook fever! Is that the extent of the spread of the epidemic of a social net-work site? I know the boys read and write enough to earn a living…but they are on FB! They buy a good smart phone with their monthly saving and the world opens up for them. Lo and behold! They are sucked into the FB fever!

Personally, I am not a social net-work fan and I only use FB to delve into other people’s private lives rather vociferously as they would like me to. I never forget to click on the “like” button when middle-aged couples serenade one another on the site. I am equally prompt in writing an eloquent comment about the beautiful friends who change their profile pictures every alternate day. I can hear them screaming out for attention…so there I go…

But let’s get back to today’s Bishus. If these young boys can drown themselves in FB, what is the harm? It keeps them away from causing trouble, from loitering around and from a host of other undesirable activities. Firstly, the youngsters save money to buy the smart phone instead of smoking it away. Secondly, though they do forget to buy the perfect coloured paper, much to the wrath of their employers, they keep themselves engrossed in a fever that is not quite so bad. The more I think of it, the more I feel a surge of happiness bubbling in me. May the FB fever engulf the young boys and open a new world for them! Amen!

Fingers Crossed!

I have done it again! I have dunked all my knotty fingers in all the scrumptious pies around me! I am nose deep in work and adore every moment!

I love to teach, I love the language an\d I love the students whom I teach. They fascinate me. I enjoy talking to them, listening to them and understanding them as enthusiastic members of the human race.

For 3 months every year, I teach administrative officers at the HIPA (Haryana Institute of Public Administration). They are mainly police officers and each batch of officers is sharper, better read and more versatile than the other. I am amazed at their keen sense of humour, their humility and forthrightness.

“More classes of French? Surely not!”, I exclaimed in my last class. “You are essentially police officers, not students of French!”

“Even police officers have high sensibilities, ma’am!” retorted my student, IPS officer Imran, rather dryly.

I couldn’t hide my smile which was lurking naughtily at the corner of my mouth. I am overjoyed as any other teacher would be. The students are thirsty! How good is that!

Each time that I walk into the immensely imposing auditorium, I find my group of young officers patiently seated, waiting for their short, flat-heeled, sari-clad, silver-haired French teacher. The sight fills me with warmth and I am ready to do better than my best.

As I brandish out my pen drive and try to retrieve the ppt presentations, I have eager students and technicians at my elbow, all ready to help. I give up with a sense of relief. My pen drive connected, I begin my lesson. In a few moments I notice that, along with my students, I have the technicians seated at the back of the class, intently listening to what I say!

These intelligent officers enjoy discussing books, films, music and a host of other things. They strive to read and speak French as smoothly as a native. I am humbled at their desire, their effort and their gracious behaviour.

While I am ecstatic every moment of the sixty minutes that I teach, as I pack up my computer at the end of each class, I am left with a sense of utter confusion. Would these sharp, witty yet polite officers who impress me each day, transform themselves into lethargic, pot-bellied officers, slumped at their desks, all gruff and grumpy in the years to come? I cannot visualize it, though I know of it.

In the thorny path of life, would these starry-eyed young officers stumble and fall? How many of them would rise from their fall? How many of them would lose themselves on the way?

My students are fine officers and gentlemen. If they can hold their heads high what a fear-free nation we would live in!

I can do little else than keep my fingers crossed.