Oops!!! Did I just say that? But then being a dabba in Maths, I believe, this is the most apt and most honest word that describes my feelings towards the subject, SERIOUSLY. My Maths papers were always dripping with blood marks, sorry red marks, so much so that if you squeeze it, you’ll get enough red to fill an IV bottle.
Hmm…Did you say, I am exaggerating? Huh! You should have seen my answer sheets.
However, I believe, despite my huge dislike for Math, I might have hated this subject a little less, had my Maths teacher being a little less serious-minded. (She was a devil in angels clothing.) When she knew that three-fourths of the class is weak in Maths, instead of throwing her weight around, she could’ve helped us by being friendly and innovating new methods of teaching us. But no, she thought she was right in being stern and serious and it was our fault and fault in our stars if we were not doing well in Maths. (Perhaps, she took pride in the fact, that only the best and brightest could clear her question papers.)
Damnit!!! How could she find fault with students when all that she did was scribble some formulas on the board and then go blah…blah…blah…about them. Hello mam!!!This is something that even a kid from 12th standard could do. Being a teacher, that too a Maths teacher, you should’ve been more careful and devised ways that made Maths seem less devious and easy to understand. But no, you struck to your conventional methods and made life hell for us kids.
And yes, only my father knew how to put you in place during those PTA meetings. Was he not right in arguing with you, when he said, (no he shouted from rooftops for the entire school to hear), that when his kid could score good, better and average marks in rest of the subjects, how come she always failed in Maths. So, there was something wrong with the teacher and not the student. Of course, the Maths teacher used to go numb and dumb in front of my father. She had no right answers to my father’s relevant questions. Sadly, only when my father’s voice boomed across our school corridors, were the only times she realized that probably she could do something to help me do better. But the next day, she was her usual self, ranting out formulas to the board. Hmmm…some people never change.
Tenth standard prelims were just over. The teacher had summoned my father once again. Of course, there was no change in my Maths marks. AGGRRRRRR…SHE HAD LITERALLY PAINTED MY PAPER IN RED.
Who will talk down whom was the big question in my mind now? Will my father be the winner as usual, or my Maths teacher will have an upper hand.
Ohmigod…You won’t believe this.
For the first time in my schooling years, the Maths teacher and father spoke cordially. It was literally a bolt from the blue for me then. In face, all their seriousness had been swept off in thin air. My Maths teacher was in a jolly good mood and told my father that she had set the paper really tough, so all the red marks mean nothing. And since, I was able to reach the border line I am quite capable of scoring far more and better in the boards.
Her words seemed unbelievable to my ears. I stood there...simply stunned.
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