**This is my final post to the NEF blog, as my internship is now finished and I am back in DC for another school year. The following is an entry that I wrote several weeks ago while I was visiting Bombay before returning to the United States. Thank you for reading, and I hope you will continue to follow the exciting stories that the Nanubhai fellows post throughout the year!
Dear Reader,
Because all the girls were wearing such beautiful clothes to school during Aluna (see my previous posts for details), I was feeling slightly underdressed in my simple salwar kameez. So on Teacher Appreciation Day, I decided to “up” it a little and wear a sari to school for the first time!
Wearing a sari is quite an ordeal for the inexperienced foreigner. It was only after some practicing and weekend coaching/tough love from my friend Dimpal that I was able to pull together something that looked even remotely like how a sari should be on a person. So to prepare for the worst, I woke up an hour earlier than usual to wear a sari to school for Teacher Appreciation Day. After some miraculous maneuvering (and, I admit, a little help from Jhaya-ben, our cook and Dimpal’s mother), I was ready to go to school!
I was astounded by the difference wearing a sari made. Despite my constant fear of tripping or my sari unraveling, I was surprised by the students’ lovely comments of “Teacher, you are looking very fine today!” The amount of respect I got from the usually very rowdy 12th standard boys was incredible. Hina-ben, the secondary school Gujarati teacher, said to me, “Now you are looking like a real teacher!” It made me contemplate wearing a sari every day to school.
As I was sitting, these thoughts running through my head, students began to trickle into the staff room. Little did I know that Teacher Appreciation Day also meant Students-Mob-the-Staff-Room-Day; within minutes, every R.V. Patel school student, from Junior KG to 12th standard, was rushing to the staff room, pushing to get inside until a teacher ordered that there be a line winding through the staff room and trailing outside the door. So in a single file line, the students went around to each teacher and honored them by touching their feet. In turn, the teachers touched each student’s head, giving them their blessing. In India, teachers are highly respected—they are gurus, and the source of knowledge.
I felt like I did not deserve to be treated with so much respect from the students; should they have to touch the feet of a lowly college intern who, for some, is not much older than them (although I tried to hide my age for as long as I could)? But the other teachers kindly assured me, “No Milly, you are a teacher, you are one of us!” How could I reject the smiling faces of the students as they bent down to touch my feet and secretly gave me flowers and candy? I am here to share my knowledge of the English language with them, and that is the least I can hope they get out of me being there. So why not? I wholeheartedly accepted all the students, giving them all the blessings that my inexperienced years had the capacity to give.
Namaste and thank you for reading,
Milly
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