Just moments before the afternoon bell sounds, teeming chatter raids the halls as one by one our twelve girls spill through the door. “May I come in sir? May I come in mam?” they chirp, raising their hands in salutation, their knee socks already half way inside the room. Regardless of how high I manage to raise the pitch my voice, or how wide my smile might stretch, such genuine happiness cannot be matched. It is a gift that is their own.
I think back to my years as a “schoolgirl,” changing my clothes in the middle school bathroom so that my mother wouldn’t know, navigating lockers full of gossip about who was dating whom, wondering when it would finally be my turn. In this classroom social hierarchies certainly exist, but how harmful can they be in this strikingly innocent world?
For our boys and gang of grinning girls, these school days seem like some of the best they will know. Glory years. Not a time to look back and shudder, wonder how could I have made it through?
Navigating the streets of Hyderabad, and taking in the many walks of life that only a population of one billion can encompass, I consider, who will these students become? The two young men who drove our rickshaw arm in arm on a breezy Saturday night “on the town”? The twenty-three year old computer lab teacher who recently got married and is now pursing her MBA? The family of five on a motorcycle, the mother’s long braid whipping through the smog as she holds on tightly to her children dangling off the edge? Or one of a generation of software engineers, making the long treks to High-Tech city, and perhaps even beyond, the western passage to a dream come true? Who will make it? Who will not? And will we ever know?
It is clear to us that each of our students deserves a fair chance. As our project progresses, both the girls and the boys polish their shine. Last week at C. Ramchand’s, the girls nearly finished editing their School Day Video, and entirely on their own. Though it took some time to orient them to the new computer system, and get past the frequent eruptions of whispers and giggles, they did finally take control. The video team finalized the storyboard, discussing each edit and taking turns in making the cuts. I merely sat back and watched. When Prema Latha looked perturbed that one of the songs they were editing ended abruptly, I quickly stepped in to take control. But she was already a step ahead of me; she had an idea of her own. Prema Latha cleverly navigated the video files until she found another clip, which contained the ending of the song. Without instruction, she connected the two halves in the storyboard, listening closely and humming along to make sure that the cut was melodic and in tune. She beamed proudly as she played back her work, the song, once again, whole. I watched this fourteen-year-old girl skillfully edit video and desperately hope this isn’t her last turn.
Our boys are moving along as well, editing their “Day in the Life of” videos and preparing to begin their final project with us. It is a distant day when we had to show them how to view pictures on the computer, how to operate the camera equipment on their own. After two and a half hours of class flew by on Saturday, the ninth classers organized a farewell ceremony for their beloved tenth classers and somehow we became the honored guests.
As dusk fell onto the outskirts of Nalgonda town, the entire school, all fifty students or so, gathered with a handful of teachers and the principal on an open aired deck on the second floor. The tenth classers sat behind desks at the back of the premises, with the younger classmen seated in front of them. At the front of the display, was a long table with chairs, for the honorable principal sir, and who would have know, Remy and Piya too! So we sat, with all eyes upon us, and watched this simple and most endearing ceremony unfold. Three languages floated about, the principal’s opening in Telegu, our ninth classers’ statements in English, a teacher’s Urdu mixed in too. Trilingual, and still no guarantee. But these boys know how to steal the show. When Remy and I were put on the spot to make a speech, their eyes widened, finally the spectacles would speak! I fumbled along until I hit the keynote: “you boys are all very smart,” I sounded. “Thank you mam!” they shouted, their entertainment complete.
After a few more speeches bidding farewell to the tenth classers, and responses from the graduates themselves, each tenth classer was presented a gift by a ninth classer. Each time, the boys shook hands, and then posed for the cameramen (Remy and two of our students). When the boys chose to embrace, shouts would skyrocket from the crowd below. The students were here to celebrate and celebrate they would!
At the end of the ceremony, the boys gathered to take photos, as I paused to breath in the excitement rising through the air. Afroz, looking most handsome in his tucked in shirt and dress pants, leaned back against the sky laughing, his friends, lit in tow. There in that moment it shone. Happiness. They have all known.
