underprivileged

It was just another boring Monday after an exciting weekend. My husband was at the office and my children at their respective hostels. I had nothing constructive to do as usual, except for supervising the daily household chores being done by my maid, when suddenly I came across  ‘Teach For Change’ on Facebook, an NGO engaged in teaching  underprivileged children. I had plenty of spare time and so I thought of killing some.

I was super excited to get out of the house for a couple hours regularly on a weekday, for a change. But nothing seemed to work in my favour. I complained about the weather, about the traditional dress which I chose to wear and yes, waking up early was not my cup of tea. Well, my list of my grudges never saw a full stop.

As my car approached the gates of the government school, I saw from the tinted glasses, tiny feet walking in a line on a not so smooth road; crossing crowded streets, holding hands, each one taking care of his or her partner.

Most of them, unlike our children, could not afford to hire a cab or for that matter, a bus. Most of their parents did not own vehicles. So, they needed to walk miles before they reached their school whether it was sunny, rainy, cloudy or otherwise. But they did not complain.

School shoes were an item of luxury for the majority. They came to school wearing slippers. Perhaps that was their only footwear for walking, running and playing. But they did not complain.

I reached their classroom and there wasn’t a single fan. It was a hot summer afternoon. They were sweating, yet they wore a beautiful smile. They were still not complaining.

They were thirsty and their bottles were empty. Water was rare and precious for them. They had days and specific timings when the water supply came through the taps at their homes. So, after taking my permission, they went, one at a time, to the water cooler at the school, to fill up their bottles. They seemed happy and they weren’t complaining.

I can never forget the first time I stepped into their classroom. They were holding my hands and hugging me. They wanted a secure future, a smooth life, water running through their taps, a good pair of shoes, nutritious food and somehow, they found hope in me. Their eyes were twinkling with curiosity. There was an urge to learn something new, something that would iron out those wrinkles from their road to success. At such a tender age, they had already seen enough … poverty, malnourishment, domestic abuse,  parents separated, being orphaned, beatings on a regular basis, child labour… you name it and they had experienced it.

The bell rang and my class was over. It was their lunchtime. In fact, they came to school for that midday meal. Many of them were hungry since the morning. Still, no complaints. Instead, to my surprise, there were so eager to help me to arrange my things, carry my bag, open the door for me and so on. They were all excited to know more about me and my next visit to their school. As I climbed down the stairs, they joined me. They were waving at me when I walked out of the school gate. “Bye Didi (that is how we refer to an elder sister in India) are you coming tomorrow?” was still ringing in my ears.

No amount of shopping, fine dining, catching up with friends or even holidaying had ever given me the pure joy and happiness that was offered by these God’s Angels.

The bitter experiences, harshness, difficulties, insecurities which life had in store for them had failed to erase the twinkle from their eyes, the smile from their lips or the love from their hearts. Not even their hungry stomachs or the uneven ground on which they were standing upon, could stop them from waving and smiling at me.

Days have turned into months and I am, once again, getting ready to go to school. I’m all excited to teach my students so that I can empower them with education, so that they are not at the mercy of someone, so that they don’t have to use secondhand stuff given to their elders by households like yours and mine. And yes, the weather or that traditional dress don’t bother me anymore. My list of grudges have also reduced considerably. There is something bigger than these irrelevant complaints of mine. The trust which they have invested in me, without an iota of doubt, which, in turn, has brought about the most precious bonding with these little souls. Alongside I have also learnt some valuable lessons for life – to remain humble and evolving.

God bless them, God’s Angels in disguise.

Hello, this is Diya Sarkar from Delhi, India. I presently reside in Hyderabad, city of pearls, Nizams and biryanis.

After completing my Masters in Journalism and Communication, I worked as a freelancer at ‘The Indian Express’, an Indian news media publishing company. 

I am married with twins, a son and a daughter, who share their birthday with their father, who is also a twin. I have been a part time teacher in a couple of schools… in fact, a teacher to my children, both at school and at home. Now, I love teaching underprivileged children at a Government school. There is so much to learn from each one of them.

I am an avid traveller and have been on the move since my childhood, exploring different parts of the country, the cuisine, culture, landscape etc. In fact, unity in diversity is what defines India in one line. 

I like reading, writing, cooking, shopping for traditional items or garments, and also have an interest in interior decoration and flower arrangement. I am planning to blog in the near future too. Thank you. 😊