It’s been a while since I first began hearing about women reporting harassment complaints against teachers. Every time such a case comes up, we are triggered, and we feel strongly that the teacher must be punished. For a few days, these cases dominate headlines, then slowly vanish. Only a few are followed by the public until the court announces its verdict.
But most times, we fail to hear the victim’s side of the story. The victim hides behind the mask of confidentiality.
Today, I want to share an incident I personally witnessed—an incident that broke and rebuilt me. It happened in a place where I once felt the most comfortable and protected: my school.
I don’t know if what I went through would legally be considered “harassment.” But I do know this—it made me feel uncomfortable.
A Flashback
It was September 2021. I returned to school after months of being away due to COVID-19 lockdowns. Class 11 felt special. I was in the Commerce group, something I had chosen wholeheartedly, dreaming of becoming an entrepreneur (back then).
We had a young, energetic teacher—charming, different from others, almost a Gen-Z kind of teacher. He spoke in Tamil, our mother tongue, and his classes were interactive and lively. Out of 42 students—16 girls and 26 boys—almost nobody disliked him. He was popular not just in our class, but across the school.
Things went well until Class 12.
Favourite child
Ms X and I were his favourites in the class. We sat right in the first row, and over time, he started sharing his personal stories. I don't and didn't find anything wrong in that. But over time, he started sharing his love stories with his girl students in the previous batches. An air of discomfort started surrounding me then. Sometime later, there was a doubt if he was flirting with both Ms. X and me. Once he had consumed alcohol and came to class, and asked Ms. X if it was evident from his looks that he was intoxicated. That was August 2022. As a child open to her parents, I told my parents, who later made a complaint to the principal. After the investigation, I was proved right and the teacher was suspended.
Image generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E via ChatGPT
Alienation and the Yearning for Acceptance
After his suspension, the teacher entered the class and said, “The girls in the first two benches have broken my trust and ditched me.” Though the school tried to protect my confidentiality, my classmates soon figured out that I was the one who complained. The same classmates who once hailed me as "the princess of the class called me a 'stray dog'. Few cursed me. The entire class alienated me. Anything could be tolerated, but for the very first time in my life, I endured what was called ‘caste-based assault’. Words might not be sufficient to communicate the complexity of emotions that such behaviour triggered in me. After this incident, my other teachers respected me more than ever. But my peer group never accepted me. I yearned for social acceptance. Words like ‘disloyal', heartbreaker', and Immature’ made me feel guilty. Let me be frank, I was broken internally, and I believed that I broke someone’s trust. This incident, in fact, eroded my innocence, teenage charm, confidence, and my gracious smile.
Appreciation
Days passed with anxiety and loneliness. I finally passed out from my school with high marks, and when I was felicitated, our correspondent, principal, and vice-principal appreciated my parents for nurturing me with ‘good character’ [I don't boast here]. But I learnt something deep from it. We all talk about character-building, but honestly, a good character isn't enough to survive this world of snakes. It is a character strength, I believe, that is important to survive. It took me 18-20 months to realise that it is not most Important to be a ‘good girl' to the world, but the difficult, yet significant thing is to be honest to ourselves, after all, the only person we'll be with forever. To call a spade, a spade needs courage, and the best part is that it is embedded within our inner selves.
Men are not bad.
Let me be clear that I don't mean men are bad, and male teachers are demons. Even now, the best teachers I have had included men who gave me the space and dignity I deserve as a student. I just meant that every teacher who makes a kid laugh and enjoy is not a hero, and every teacher who asks a kid to read and do assignments is not a villain. Every generation might have its own style, but teaching must never lose its traditional traits. A teacher should be strict and friendly. And modern-day philosophers, kindly stop preaching stupid facts, that teachers must suit the generation by making classrooms fun-filled and serving what students ask for. Remember that teachers generally are more mature and experienced than students, and they ‘good teachers’ know how to serve a good cup of tea. Creative learning, which my teacher promised to cultivate in our classroom, failed miserably because discipline was nowhere in the picture.
How would it affect women's education?
I grew up in a city with progressive parents and a school that protected me and my student rights. I am blessed to have a principal who guarded me like an infant in the uterus.. But what if such an incident happens in a village where education is a dream for girls, what if the accused faculty is from a dominant caste and the victim is from a not-so-dominant caste? The answer is scary. And this honeytrap is scarier than you can imagine.
Why did I write it now?
After this incident and a subsequent verbal harassment in college, I began to become more reclusive and observant. As I walked farther and longer from this haunting incident as a teen, I now feel the urge to unmask myself. I now tear all these masks I’ve been wearing in the name of confidentiality and protection. I can now show my face to the world, and I know it is not beautiful. I know, I have scars. But I wear them, I don't have an identity crisis. I don't write this blog to gain sympathy or attention, but to urge girls around to weed out those uncomfortable weeds when they are young. I still respect him for the ‘human’ he is, may not be for the ‘teacher’ he was. For now, I know what it takes to be a ‘human’, after all, feminism or women's rights is nothing but humanism. My story might not be scary for some people; it might be silly and stupid. But folks, incidents can be judged, but not scars.
No comments:
Post a Comment