DAV DIARIES – THE SADIST
Yesterday after I wrote the last post, I could not help but think about the many school days and the various emotions I still carry when I think back. And that is when the title took a shift from the DAV DIARY to DAV DIARIES. If there is a lot to share, then why not?
Today, I am going to talk about my unpleasant memories. In fact, the most unpleasant one – There is a woman who I have hated so much that the evil guilt follows every time I say that, and that is because I have meant it all along. She was our biology teacher in the 10th grade and perhaps, one of the most liked ones, because – 1. She was damn good with her subject. 2. She was a celebrity. Not, the autographed-one-type, but for any school with children in their early teens, she did look like one. Her airs, the personal space she maintained between her and the students, her cool abuses and most importantly, her below the waist sari. Everyone loved her.
In spite of all she was, there was a devil inside her. She would slap students for no reasons, resorted to violence if a guy proposed a girl rather making them understand the difference between right and wrong. Was I a victim of her nuisance? I will come to that later. She would hit people because they didn’t complete their homework in front of an entire mass of 60 students, and I used to find it so damn ridiculous. I mean, we were 15 year olds and knew not to repeat the same mistake because it came as a warning, but violence? She would chose to be angry for a second and the moment her one foot comes in front of the other, she would be smiling at someone else. I always wondered, if she had ever thought of visiting a psychiatrist.
Then, more important days followed and I forgot about her. I was 17 and in my 12 grade when she came back into my life as my invigilator for the mid exams. One strained morning, we gathered for the prayer song along the corridor, when a fellow classmate asked me to move a little left and I said there was no space, but before I could really complete the sentence, she occurred out of air and slapped me. I still remember my shocked expression when I stared back at her with the equal intensity with which she glared at me. She asked me to keep my eyes low, and I stared again. It got her angry, but the prayer started and she stormed off.
I controlled myself and repeatedly convinced my face to stay composed, but it didn’t, it couldn’t. Five minutes later when the oath was being taken, she sauntered to check nails. For the first time, I was afraid of her, because something told me that, she was going to hurt me again. She checked for long nails and whoever had it a centimetre bigger than the usually chopped off gay ones, she would snap the nail on the middle finger, out with force, revealing the layered pink skin that made a person equal to a handicap when they were supposed to write an exam in 10 minutes. Yes, she chose the right hand selectively. She reached me, stayed there for two seconds, I showed my nails and looked straight, her anger was absolutely seething and with twice the force she snapped my nails off. There was no reaction from my side, because the pain had got my nerves and the uncontrollable urge to slap her but the thought that it could probably get me thrown out of the school got me my composure, at least the external one.
Even today, I cannot forget that moment. I have been punished and may be slapped a few times, but the day’s incident, brought in a never ending dislike, for that one lady. The following days, I would greet every teacher like I do but her. It’s a sincere request to all the teachers, lecturers, and the people reading this, might actually be the would be ones – Never EVER hit a teenager when there is not enough reason. They never forget.
By being violent, she did not bring any change in me. I kept my nails growing, I love talking and I never stopped, not even before the prayer, and I stared at teachers without retorting whenever I thought something was unfair. The only thing she got, was the hatred, which I do not justify as obvious. I have thought of forgiving and letting it go, so many times, and today, I did let it go, but it’s still so hard to forgive. I know it might not be a big deal, but if it’s not, then why does it matter so much?