Technology, “Hereditary-Genes”

Prakhar Sachdeo

My brother and I bind together on many things.  A good book, a Federer-Nadal match, a game of football and mum made food are a few of them. But, there is one sphere of our lives where we are as different as chalk and cheese.  Technology.

 Since our childhood, my brother has always found technology easy to cope with while I forever struggled with it. As a baby, my brother used to crawl around the house in search of his favorite toy, torchlight. I never minded his playful acts as I used to be  busy with my books .Once in his hand the torchlight used get reduced into its finer components, which used to be littered all over our house then . As he hit double-digit he started watching videos on this website peculiarly named as “YouTube”.  I was once shocked when at the age of 13 he told me that he had formatted our personal computer. The joy of getting your favorite book delivered at your doorsteps is inexplicable. Well, my brother started putting “Flipkart” to good effect much before than I had even heard of it .

Needless to say, the pattern has remained pretty much the same over the years. I still find incorporating technical jargons like GB, RAM, and Apps et all difficult in my lexicon while my brother hacks our neighbor’s Wi-Fi connection with surgical precision. I still stick to paperback or hardbound edition of books while a close pal of mine has got accustomed to the Kindle editions of the same. I carry the print outs of the essays that are to be discussed in the creative writing classes that I recently joined. My classmates though carry the so-called “softcopies” in their mobile phones .

I will always remain a bit old-school when it comes to the use of technology. However, question that has irked me over the years is “Why?”. “Why is my brother so good at technology and I  so inept in keeping pace with this modern way of life?” The question has stayed with me for long .

Over the weekend, my parents were out of the town. In their absence, I had the responsibility of taking care of our house. I did all the household chores that my parents do on a daily basis. Both leading a retired life now, they find joys in these small things. I on my part needed to convince them for the last time, that I am no more a “baby” and have honed all the skills to live all alone. I did my level best as I washed dishes, watered the plants and cooked for myself.

The following Monday morning my parents started evaluating my performance. My father visited our balcony first. I was getting ready for my office.

“On Saturday, I watered the plants. It was the first thing that I did that day,” I said trying to impress my father.

“I also sprayed leaves with medicine”. I added further.

“Yes, good. I can see. The soil is still wet”. My father seemed impressed.

“I also wanted to add manure. But I left it for some other day”. I now wanted to build on the momentum.

“I will buy a book on gardening.”  Father adds. His recently developed liking for gardening was visible in his eyes.

“Why buy books? There is a mobile phone and an internet connection for everything”. My mother who had been a mute spectator until then joined in.

 I was surprised.

“Books are bulky. Mobile phones are portable,” Mother said, throwing her weight behind technology. I was surprised even more.

“There is only limited information that will be available in a book. Using internet we can have all our questions answered. ” She said

At this point, I was bemused as now I was questioning my own surprise.

The two sentences that my mother had spoken in favor of technology had sealed the deal. Nowhere was she wrong and she had my father and myself pretty much convinced. 

“She is absolutely right. Technology is portable. Technology is flexible.”  I said to myself. Ready for the office I was about to leave.

As I moved towards the door, I had a jolt. A moment of reckoning had hit me.  My eureka moment had finally arrived. A silly smile got plastered all over my face. All these years it was in front of me and I had missed it. The small family meeting that had just concluded answered my long-standing question. The question that had me irked. “Hereditary-Genes” the two words that had occurred so frequently all through my graduation years, now buried in some part of my brain came storming back on the surface hitting me hard

I realized that my brother is so my mother and I am so my father.

I opened the door and left for the office, happy and content for my long-standing curiosity had been finally put to rest.

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Being Teacher 

My mother is a teacher. Although, she is now leading a retired life but the art of teaching still has not abated her.  Doing household chores is mundane for her and she still plans to pursue her lifelong passion of teaching. “A mother is a child’s first teacher”, it is said. So, in my case this stands doubly true. Having a few “teaching” genes and seeing life of a teacher at close quarters, I have developed immense respect for teachers. All teachers, kindergarten to college professors, deserve a pat on the back. For me, they have picked up the noblest of professions.  In being a teacher they enlighten a life. In being a teacher they bridge the gap between dreams and reality. In being a teacher they are an inspiration to someone.

A teacher can do worlds of good to his student.  A student can rise from nothingness and achieve great heights of success if he is blessed with a great teacher.  From learning the basics of a subject to starting to construct his future, teacher plays a pivotal role in every stage of his student’s life. As Philip Wylie rightly says “One good teacher in a lifetime may sometimes change delinquent into a solid citizen”.

I have been a teacher for some time now. Being a volunteer at an NGO “The Candle Project” I am expected to teach English to some of the less fortunate kids of our society. I may not be a teacher by profession but the students of my class make me feel no less than a college professor. The respect my pupils has for me is reflected in their mannerism. Obeying my instructions, mutual respect for classmates, and a desire to learn is now drilled in their persona. On my part, I always enter my class with a sense of responsibility. Never in the past 20 months have I felt that responsibility as a burden. I enjoy my class. Those 4 hours are probably the most beautiful hours of my week. That feeling when I am able to solve a problem for someone from my class can just not be put in words. Right form teaching my kids niche of English grammar to explaining the mysteries of extra-terrestrial life,everything is discussed.  It is the heart to heart connection between me and my students that makes me wait for my class all through the week.

I treat my class as a social laboratory .Each week there is a different experiment to be performed. My students and I being the subjects. At times the experiment is about how to communicate well, while at other times it is about how well silence can be maintained within the four walls of the classroom. At the end,it is not only the kids who learn  but I too benefit  from the process by learning something new each time.

Like every other teacher I  want my students to learn their subjects well and have good grades. But I expect something else from my students as well. I want them to develop the ability to make good use of the space between the ears. I want them to grow into individuals who can think. Ability to think rationally takes you distance. We might have had a proper schooling, but if we are not rational we haven’t achieved much in life.  I want them to learn how to handle the small keys of life. The keys that open big doors of opportunity. Being a passionate about sports, “Never say die” is part of my psyche and I want my pupils to follow the suit. I want my kids to learn to stand for themselves and to have faith in their dreams. Also I want them to never stop learning, because the day you stop learning is the day to stop to grow.

In achieving my desired goals I try all sorts of things. I try to be soft. I try to be strict.  I sometimes be funny, I sometimes become all serious.  I am still learning the algebra of being a perfect teacher. I still don’t know what the exact formula of being a good teacher is. 1+1=2, is what I have learnt so far as I pursue to master dx/dt.

At the end of it all,if a kid remembers me  for the  grammar I taught  her, if a kid remembers me for the time I consoled him when he was all in tears , kid remembers me for the time I made them laugh and they remember me  for time we spent together in the class,I will then believe then that I did my part. I would be a happy and content man that day.

Prakhar Sachdeo