The teacher has a kind demeanour. She wears a summery dress that has butterflies printed on it. Her eyes dart around the classroom while she teaches grammar.
On the rather dusty blackboard, John eats a mango. A few lines below, John is eating a mango. Dangerously close to the edge of the board, in cramped handwriting, John has eaten a mango.
The children don’t care. They colour pencil shavings with wax crayons. They squeal for no apparent reason. They stand up and say, “Teacherwaterteachertoilet.” The teacher ignores them and calls on one tired looking boy to write out answers on the blackboard. He walks up to the front of the class, stopping on the way to thwack another child’s head. The class laughs manically. The teacher doesn’t look particularly kind anymore.
The boy stands near the blackboard, playing with the chalk, making geometric shapes with his finger. The teacher, in a calculated sweet voice, asks him to write out the sentences in the past tense. The boy turns to his classmates for help. They stick out their tongues at him. The boy who he earlier hit has a triumphant look and is raising his hand chanting “Iknowthenaswer”
The teacher gives up and sends him back to his seat. She has already taught them tenses thrice in the past week. She sits in her chair and looks defeated. One child stands up and holds up a picture of a mango he drew and coloured when he was supposed to be studying grammar.
The teacher sighs, turns her back to the class and starts erasing her writing.
By the time the bell rings, the children are throwing pieces of chalk at each other. John, his preferred fruit and the teacher grudgingly make their way to another classroom.
On the rather dusty blackboard, John eats a mango. A few lines below, John is eating a mango. Dangerously close to the edge of the board, in cramped handwriting, John has eaten a mango.
The children don’t care. They colour pencil shavings with wax crayons. They squeal for no apparent reason. They stand up and say, “Teacherwaterteachertoilet.” The teacher ignores them and calls on one tired looking boy to write out answers on the blackboard. He walks up to the front of the class, stopping on the way to thwack another child’s head. The class laughs manically. The teacher doesn’t look particularly kind anymore.
The boy stands near the blackboard, playing with the chalk, making geometric shapes with his finger. The teacher, in a calculated sweet voice, asks him to write out the sentences in the past tense. The boy turns to his classmates for help. They stick out their tongues at him. The boy who he earlier hit has a triumphant look and is raising his hand chanting “Iknowthenaswer”
The teacher gives up and sends him back to his seat. She has already taught them tenses thrice in the past week. She sits in her chair and looks defeated. One child stands up and holds up a picture of a mango he drew and coloured when he was supposed to be studying grammar.
The teacher sighs, turns her back to the class and starts erasing her writing.
By the time the bell rings, the children are throwing pieces of chalk at each other. John, his preferred fruit and the teacher grudgingly make their way to another classroom.
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