Chapter 5: The Final Straw

I was so angry my neck started to ache.

Yes, the students work hard, but that’s because I forced them to develop those habits.

Let’s be honest, Class Six’s students had a weak foundation and no initiative. If it were any other teacher, less responsible or less capable, they’d have sunk.

These past two years, I’ve pulled countless all-nighters designing personalised study plans for every student.

Gave up my own rest to provide one-on-one tutoring, often surviving on a samosa and water for dinner. Sometimes my wife would scold, “You care for your students more than yourself.”

Tutored students for free at home on weekends and holidays.

Spent my own money on study materials and prizes. I’d roam the stationery bazaar lanes, haggling, picking up extra notebooks and colourful pens.

I dare say, I put in more effort than any teacher in the school.

But now these parents say their kids’ grades have nothing to do with me.

Nothing at all.

I shot back: “Since everyone thinks the students’ grades are all their own doing, then what I do in my personal time can’t possibly affect them, right?”

The parents fired back together:

“What, only grades matter? What if my child doesn’t eat enough at school? What if they forget to drink water? What if they don’t dress warmly and catch a cold? What if they feel unwell?”

“The kids are already exhausted from studying. Cleaning and chores should be the class teacher’s job too.”

“Evening self-study ends too late. I say, the class teacher should be responsible for taking the kids home.”

Teacher Meera messaged me privately:

“Are these parents mad? Do they think the class teacher is their nanny?”

Watching the group chat explode, my temples throbbed. I could almost hear my blood pulsing in my ears, louder than the pressure cooker whistle from the neighbours’ kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, I used my last patience to reply sincerely:

“Dear parents, less than half a year is left before the board exams. Please trust me, give me a chance, and I promise I’ll do my best as class teacher.”

Kabir’s mother’s reply broke my last defences:

“Besharam ho gaye ho. Ab kya, revenge loge hamare bachchon se?”

Alright, fine. I quit.