It was just before the Assembly that Meto Seldon came upto me,”Sir, I don’t wanna take part in the Selection. I ain’t well-prepared.” I wasn’t happy but there was nothing I could do about it. Back in lass, Dawa and Sonam Lepcha, confronted me with quite a different request altogether. They wanted to be given a chance to tell their stories.
I didn’t see much of a problem. A handful of story-tellers was better than one of them being selected unopposed! I have always tried to make up for my poor qualifications, by being punctual, impartial and so on. I wrote down the numbers 1-4 on some small pieces of papers and let the participants decide their fate.
Dawa was the first one to break the ice. I was very impressed with his story or the way he narrated his story. I was really moved by his confidence and fluency. Next came Phub Wangdi and I was in a fix not knowing who was the better of the two. He told the very popular story of a girl acting rather hastily to bring an end to her life when she heard the news of the crash of the plane her fiancé was supposed to be on, on his way to New York. I was just going round the class to make sure that all were attentive when Monish halted me. “Sir, I’ve a story to tell. May i?” “Fine.” One more student wouldn’t make much difference. I looked at the watch. Still 15 minutes more for the class to be over. I had hardly walked past the row that seated Monish, when something caught my eyes. It was Meto trying to draw my attention by raising her hand hesitatingly. “Sir, I wanna tell my story. Will you let me,please?
The pleading voice did me in and I nodded. Apprehensive this time as one more participant had to be fitted in the little time at our disposal. Meto did not disappoint me and narrated a very heart-touching, self-composed story.
“That was a nice story,Meto. Had I been in your place, I would have started with the last part first and the rest of the story could be told in flashback …….” She seemed satisfied with my comments. Finally it was Sonam Yangki’s turn and she charmed her way into our hearts and consequently into the Inter-Class Story Telling Contest as the representative of XII Arts, with her impeccable English and sweet voice.
I had barely time to announce the name of the class representative, when I had to dash out of the class feeling guilty and looking crestfallen, hoping to push past Mr.Rameshan, the Maths teacher, waiting outside.
It was not till I had taken my seat in the Staff-Room when the realization dawned on me. I realized only then what had transpired in the class. Eight students, including some not-so-confident first-timers, had enthralled the rest of the class with some truly memorable tales voluntarily.
True,we had sacrificed one important period of our instructional hours. We had even dared to forget the Bard of Avon and his classic sonnets, but what we all gained in the process _ the confidence, the creativity, the keen sense of healthy competition and the rapport of the teacher and the taught far outweighed everything else. Even the Great Master for sometime at least!
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