My mother examined the report card worried. Mathematics posed a challenge for me. She glanced at me, then at my father, who sat by the window observing the carnations on the front porch.
“We should send him to tuition,” she said.
My father examined the report card and wondered why I was dumb. He launched into his usual commentary. “I excelled in school, and Mathematics was my favorite subject,” he declared.
I stood there, uncertain. My mind drifted to dragons, owls delivering letters, and unicorns.
Kavitha mentioned that her mathematics teacher offered private lessons for struggling students. Kavitha was my aunt, who had avoided school because she feared this same math teacher, but now she eagerly recommended sending me to her. The hypocrisy of it all. The decision was made and I would attend tuition to pass my board examination next year.
On the first day, my mother accompanied me. Nerves consumed me. I feared everything I had heard about this teacher. I stood on the front porch, and my mother grew tense. I wanted to pee but I sensed her anxiety. After a minute, the door opened. A large woman with a peculiar moustache peered at us. Terror overwhelmed me. I wanted to faint. The first day she taught me one problem and sent me home. She was like a smooth spider inviting me to her web of deceit. Well, the next day, I dreaded going but managed to attend. She demonstrated different methods, and I discovered the lessons fascinating. I began improving. No one at school taught this way and so I went regularly.
Gradually I grew comfortable, until one day I rang the doorbell and she didn’t answer. I waited another minute, wondering what had happened, though I remained uncomfortable visiting there. Perhaps she was sleeping, I thought. I waited ten minutes. I examined the front garden and noticed enormous animal footprints. Even a dog couldn’t leave such marks, and even if it was a dog it must be a really huge dog.
I waited, but as I prepared to leave, the door opened and only her voice emerged.
“No tuition today, return in two days.” I assumed she was ill. I felt relieved…no tuition meant I could skip down the hill, singing while I crunched five-rupee turnip chips on my way home.
Two days later, I returned, and her face appeared hairier than usual. I avoided looking at her. That day, however, I got all my answers wrong. She became furious. For a moment, I glimpsed her face in terror. Hair covered her completely, and throughout her body, hair grew rapidly.
“Ma’am,” I muttered.
“What?”
She stood and within a minute transformed into a wild bear( I really didn’t know at that time). “Children who can’t do math don’t deserve to live.”
She growled and chased me. I slipped and fell, and my fingers touched her eyes. Thank God I had eaten those masala-filled turnip chips and forgotten to wipe my hands. The masala burned her eyes, and I managed to escaped. She didn’t dare leave the house.
Two days later, I developed a fever. My mother worried, but my father said, “He does not want to go tuition. When I was young, I climbed hills filled with leopards and panthers. I once heard a bear roamed the forest, and still, I attended school.”
Oh, dear God, if only he knew. That bear was my math teacher.
Incredible