I would like to start my blogs with a poem.
My first English teacher:
It was my first day in boarding school,
My English teacher was so not cool.
I can’t recall her name
But me and my friends named her the flat-chest bitch,
For her breast size was practically nil.
I was sitting on the last bench
Talking to a friend
When she asked me what “disturbance” meant?
I answered her question in an innocent tone
Which if structured went,
“Mam, Can you explain the word ‘meant’?”
She got really mad at me and thought that I was being over smart,
Even though I tried to convince her that English was one of my weakest spots.
She pulled my ear and dragged me to the front of the class,
And told me to kneel the way a chicken does.
So I sit the way we do when we
Shit in the bathroom,
Which people prefer to call “The Indian style”.
And I take my hands between my legs,
Lift them up till they reach my ears
And pull’em hard.
She told me to stay like that in each of her class,
Till an egg was there right below my arse.
At that moment all I could think of was
‘Shit man, I am fucked.’
So the next morning I walk up to the cook of our kitchen
And ask him for an egg, tell him its for an experiment.
Now before she enters to take our next class,
I take my chicken position and
Put the egg right below my arse.
I ask her if she wants me to sit on top of it until it hatches
The joke did not seem to go down well because she sent the principal a message,
And the next thing I know is I am right outside his office.
The principal took a note of this incident
And asked the teacher,
‘Why did you give a 4th grader such a harsh punishment’?
She had no reply to this,
For she expected the principal to side by her on this.
But she did not let me go off the hook,
Because now in each of her class I took
The position of a chicken or a dog
Hell, sometimes even a frog!
Like this went our summer and the monsoons
And soon I became her favourite student.
Then came the winter,
Which brought an end to my first year.
I went and said good-bye to her,
Told her I would love to be taught by her next year.
When I came back for my 2nd year
I asked if we had the same English teacher.
My friend said that the she was no longer here,
Died in the New Year
Of breast cancer.
She was one of the few people I shed a few tears,
Get a guilt feeling
Every time I think of her
I can’t recall her name
But she was my first English teacher.
My first English teacher:
It was my first day in boarding school,
My English teacher was so not cool.
I can’t recall her name
But me and my friends named her the flat-chest bitch,
For her breast size was practically nil.
I was sitting on the last bench
Talking to a friend
When she asked me what “disturbance” meant?
I answered her question in an innocent tone
Which if structured went,
“Mam, Can you explain the word ‘meant’?”
She got really mad at me and thought that I was being over smart,
Even though I tried to convince her that English was one of my weakest spots.
She pulled my ear and dragged me to the front of the class,
And told me to kneel the way a chicken does.
So I sit the way we do when we
Shit in the bathroom,
Which people prefer to call “The Indian style”.
And I take my hands between my legs,
Lift them up till they reach my ears
And pull’em hard.
She told me to stay like that in each of her class,
Till an egg was there right below my arse.
At that moment all I could think of was
‘Shit man, I am fucked.’
So the next morning I walk up to the cook of our kitchen
And ask him for an egg, tell him its for an experiment.
Now before she enters to take our next class,
I take my chicken position and
Put the egg right below my arse.
I ask her if she wants me to sit on top of it until it hatches
The joke did not seem to go down well because she sent the principal a message,
And the next thing I know is I am right outside his office.
The principal took a note of this incident
And asked the teacher,
‘Why did you give a 4th grader such a harsh punishment’?
She had no reply to this,
For she expected the principal to side by her on this.
But she did not let me go off the hook,
Because now in each of her class I took
The position of a chicken or a dog
Hell, sometimes even a frog!
Like this went our summer and the monsoons
And soon I became her favourite student.
Then came the winter,
Which brought an end to my first year.
I went and said good-bye to her,
Told her I would love to be taught by her next year.
When I came back for my 2nd year
I asked if we had the same English teacher.
My friend said that the she was no longer here,
Died in the New Year
Of breast cancer.
She was one of the few people I shed a few tears,
Get a guilt feeling
Every time I think of her
I can’t recall her name
But she was my first English teacher.
