My eyes shot open. Perspiration coated my cold body. I was shivering. That dream..that face..it was there again. I dreamt of her often waking up similarly numerous times before. Unsure whether I should tell it to anybody, I'd force myself to fall back into sleep again.
"You're a thief, a liar" she was howling in front of the class. "You're the one responsible for stealing the coloured chalks!"
We were in Grade 3, little girls in one of the most recognised and best boarding schools in the world.
They didn't. We were too obedient to even know what disobeying meant.
They'd laugh. I knew it. But now after 14 years, I still cannot let that memory go. I can't get over it. You may call me hung up on it, if that pleases you but, that'll just show how lucky you've been to not understand why am writing this, and that too now, after all these years. I didn't have the courage back then..to do anything..anything at all. I know, something should have been done but I was just eight at that time. I should have told someone, anyone, back then, but I couldn't, I was too scared, too scarred, too afraid.
I stood there in the corner pulling my own ears as she'd directed me to. It was nothing new, it happened everyday and with the whole group of us. But one thing that had begun to alter lately, was it was only me now, every single day. I didn't know why. I still don't. I couldn't understand. I still haven't.
"You're a thief, a liar" she was howling in front of the class. "You're the one responsible for stealing the coloured chalks!"
The school didn't provide coloured chalks back then.
"I've got my own set of slate and chalks ma'am. You can ask my house-mother." I said, teary eyed.
"Yes ma'am, she's got it in the dorm. We all know. She brought it from home." Some of them tried to reason with her.
"Keep quiet. Do you all want to miss your lunch like her?" she threatened them. I don't know if they remember now.
"None of you are going to speak with her from now on." She continued.
We were in Grade 3, little girls in one of the most recognised and best boarding schools in the world.
They didn't. We were too obedient to even know what disobeying meant.
And like most of the year, that afternoon I spent my lunch hour in the corner of the class pulling my own ears till they were numb. In that grade, I spent most of the academic session that way.
She primarily taught us Maths and Science. All the Maths teachers I met after her will be very clearly able to tell you that I shiver and go speechless in their classes. The very presence of a Mathematics book can send chills down my spine.
My parents very lovingly named me 'Prajoyeeta' which roughly translates to 'THE ONE WHO WINS EVERYWHERE' and 'THE UNBEATABLE'.
No, I do not recall being hit by her, EVER! Though yes, I very clearly remember this one incident where she had lined the entire class of 3B and struck our palms with a long wooden scale the school provided to each class, in an attempt to aide the teachers in drawing lines on the blackboard. We were hit that day because of a misunderstanding that had cropped up between one of her favorite students and another classmate of ours. The entire class was punished because, we should have put our foot down for her pet. But we didn't. That day, I wasn't hit. I was busy in the corner pulling my ears. That was the rule. Whenever she took our class, that was my duty. I had to oblige her. When you are in the junior school, it's your class teacher who teaches you most of the subjects, which in turn means she occupies most of your day. Yes, she was my class teacher.
There was this display board that ended in the corner I occupied each day. She'd put together a chart that showed our academic progress with the weakest pupils' graph being dominated by brown marks. My graph had only brown like the others in the lot I belonged to-the 'P' lot.
"I HATE THOSE WHOSE NAMES START WITH A 'P'" she'd announced one fine morning. "Raise your hands if your name starts with a 'P'!"
None of us did.
"None of you?" she seemed confused.
"Be honest, I have the register. I'll get to know anyway." She reasoned.
We reluctantly did so. At first I thought she was kidding. Turns out she wasn't. And the fact that she wasn't, was made crystal clear to me when we tortured our ears in the corner simply because she despised us. Though, am yet to figure out why, after a while I was being singled out and found myself alone in the corner.
It had taken a toll. Those seconds, minutes, hours, lunch breaks and all of it spent in the corner. And I don't remember who I was before my relations with my friends got strained owing to them being forbidden from mixing up with me. I don't remember not being humiliated or embarrassed by her in front of the other teachers as well. I don't remember not being described as not good enough. I don't remember even a single moment of not being laughed at by her. I don't.
It had taken a toll. Those seconds, minutes, hours, lunch breaks and all of it spent in the corner. And I don't remember who I was before my relations with my friends got strained owing to them being forbidden from mixing up with me. I don't remember not being humiliated or embarrassed by her in front of the other teachers as well. I don't remember not being described as not good enough. I don't remember even a single moment of not being laughed at by her. I don't.
She had joined that academic year and the last I saw of her was a month after we were promoted to the next grade. She left the institution but never my mind...never my dreams. I've never seen her after that but she's never left me. I guess you can't forget easily, if you spend each day standing in the corner for about eight and a half months, every single day, out of twelve (we had winter vacations for 3 months with summer vacations being negligible) because of your identity. Your name is what defines you. It is you.
I stumbled upon her friend request on Facebook last year and she asked me how I was doing and if I am still the kid too mature for my years like I was in Grade 3. I said I hopefully was and that was the only conversation we ever had with each other. EVER!
Why am I talking of it now, after 14 years, though my eyes well up each time I am transported back to then, I don't know. But somewhere, am glad I am doing so. I feel lighter. I hope I don't wake up crying or shivering any more.
Why I won't name her today? I don't know. But yes,
Ms. M, YOU PSYCHOLOGICALLY ABUSED ME. And all I hope and pray for today is that, like me, you never forget it too. That you dream of me there in the corner with your spiteful words nesting in my mind and soul, like I do of you. And I hope you know, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU! EVER!! YOU SCARRED ME!
Ms. M, YOU PSYCHOLOGICALLY ABUSED ME. And all I hope and pray for today is that, like me, you never forget it too. That you dream of me there in the corner with your spiteful words nesting in my mind and soul, like I do of you. And I hope you know, I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU! EVER!! YOU SCARRED ME!
P.S.: A child's watching, and she'll never forget. Don't do it.
Wikipedia describes Psychological Child Abuse as:
"Emotional abuse is defined as the production of psychological and social deficits in the growth of a child as a result of behavior such as loud yelling, coarse and rude attitude, inattention, harsh criticism, and denigration of the child's personality.Other examples include name-calling, ridicule, degradation, destruction of personal belongings, torture or killing of a pet, excessive criticism, inappropriate or excessive demands, withholding communication, and routine labeling or humiliation."
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