"You know why I like playing teacher-teacher? Because there is no angriness!"
But you do raise your voice and get angry? Oh! And some of the lines you use?!
"Yes, Amma. But there is no real angriness!"
This is coming from a Phoenix of a girl who had risen out of the ashes only two months ago. A girl, very much back on her track to being self driven, self taught although my direction she seeks at times and well motivated in her learning. And I mean learning with a capital L.
No studying in my home. I have consciously discouraged it. It'll be so out of character for the both of us.
I was talking of a 'Learning' you acquire out of mindful and mindless activities. Art, dance, reading, make believe, movies, theatre have always revolved our lives, indoors. Outdoors brought a whole new pandora's box of learning. And she oscillated between the two effortlessly. It defined the very rhythm of her day. I go about doing the things I love and she gets about with hers. Our sanctorium of a place turns into a haven of an incubator for creativity, quiet learning and fun. Or so I think is what seems to be churning here. It is a slow burner of a lifestyle that found us ages ago. And we're happy being together and being apart at the same time. Eclectically, speaking.
But only two months ago, July, to be precise, things took a not-so-good turn after a month at school. A transition was underway. And we all knew this was coming. After all, Grade I is a big deal for a not-so-old kindergartner. And she was riding the waves as they came. Boldly and confidently. Until.
"Why do they yell at us so much? It is so painful, it hurts my body!"
Are they yelling at you?
"No, the entire class!"
I gave her a side of what the teachers were going through. Particularly, the class assistant teacher who seemed to be notoriously topping the list of never-ending yell abuse.
Dealing with 40 odd children for 5-6 hrs is no small feat, I answered. She took my point and said nothing then.
But the story was the same the next day and the day after and the day after that. I soon discovered I was losing her in a strange way. Like as if, she were fading or turning grey. As much as I tried to acknowledge this ongoing unfairness with her, things stayed pretty much the same for her. I ardently avoided feeling corny around her.
"You know? I have a magic pixie, a male, who says you got someone laughing very hard today."
We're swinging at the park after school. She continued to swing as she listened.
"And that someone's name begins with a M."
"No, Amma. It begins with a K. It was Kapila. She was laughing hard at my joke".
And there, we broke the ice for the day. Every day of July was a series of luxuriously crafted stories of conversation starters.
I never in my life imagined creating so many stories to extract some information from a little big girl. And it worked miraculously!
Our conversations were meticulously spaced. It could be while swinging in the park after school or during lunch or as a bedtime conversation after a read-aloud/oral story narrations we do as parents of our childhood stories to the girl or during our mini walks in our beautiful residential society.
And soon enough, she began to volunteer snippets of her days. Highlights that her rainbow heart held ever dearly. She cracked open and started spilling beans.
It was a conscious, rigourous grind to get her back to her original, spirited, opinionated, confident self.
Since, she never had trouble getting up in the morning ( except to go to school), I awoke her on school days at her usual 6:10 and encouraged her to play, draw or whatever her heart desired then. She had close to an hour to warm up to the idea of a bath later and the "getting ready to school" part which she did willingly on most days.
Today I even had time to spare to read her a story in the morning !
By the mid of August, I saw her heart going all rainbowy and glorious again. She no longer wants me hanging about the park. Atleast, not in a clingy way she did in the month of July when this was eating the both of us from the inside. She lost that sulky attitude she had for her friends when we waited at the bus pick up point. Now that was a good sign! She even came home most days very much chirpy.
She restored her ability to feel vital and capable. She was replenished by a kind of invisible support she received from us as parents.
She grew out of her ashes, only more boldly, more compassionately and more deeply enlivened as a person. Her soul was revived thus. It is as if she is blazing in her usual techno colour we hadn't seen for an entire month.
"I will see if I can talk to your class teacher about the yelling problem. We need to know the teacher's side of things as well. Right?".
She nodded quietly, very assured, in her signature understanding way.
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