The not so mellifluous sound waves that involve 'last bench' hit Nysa's eardrums and it has taken just a fraction of second for her to understand that the worst has happenned. It's HER – NYSA – as she is the only one on the last bench and for that matter in the last row.
Nysa's eyes open with a stark, which are brown (little towards darker shade) just like nearly 80% of the world's population, and instinctively, she gets up only to realize that everyone is not just staring at her but few of them are even judging her with their evident nauseatic and repulsive look as to how she couldn't know the answer to one of the simplest question.
NOTE - These "few of them" even include few of those who helped in charts/posters/models.
This is a total nightmare for Nysa. She has never ever wanted to be the centre of attention of the class, doesn't matter if it's for praise or for criticism. Her presence is unnoticeable except in class attendance when her name is called. She has maintained her metaphorical invisibleness in the class for more than five months since the start of the session in March 2019. It's rare to cross path with someone like that and NYSA IS RARE. She doesn't even want anyone to know that she exists.
And that's why she has always tried to conceal herself in each and every class by silently sitting on the last desk behind. No raising hands, no asking questions, no giving answers, no uttering a single word. 'Standing in the midst of her classmates like a culprit standing in a dock and waiting for the public prosecutor – who in this case is Mr. Satyam – to bombard with questions' is the last thing she has ever imagined to be happening with her. She wishes to vanish in thin air but not every wish comes true. Nervousness permeates her demeanor as her eyes meet Mr. Satyam's. He has been eagerly waiting for the same.
"Sorry for disturbing your little nap Miss, but can you please tell me, assuming that your hands are perfectly fine, why didn't you raise it when I asked the question?"
His tone and words are not confined to the realm of sarcasm anymore. It has become disdainful. Nysa knows that she needs to reply to him. The situation can go out of hand anytime. She lowers her gaze away from him, looks down at her desk and ponders about telling him the reason for not raising hand. She discards the idea the moment she even thinks about it because SHE JUST CAN'T.
Who is going to understand that she doesn't want to be noticed and it's not because she has some kind of public speaking anxiety or stage fear, but because she wants to hide herself from the world? Who is going to understand that she doesn't want to be seen and it's not because she is scary or horrid looking, but because she feels that if people see her then somehow, they would see her secret too? Who is going to understand that she doesn't want to be in limelight and it's not because she is not smart enough to deserve it, but because if that happens, HER STORY would be over? Who is going to understand these reasons of her for not raising hand inspite of knowing the answer? Nobody. She decides to remain quiet.
"Are you deaf? Can't you hear what I am saying? Or do I need to decode your silence?"
His high-pitched voice has incurred an insulting tone. You can't expect any better from him. It might be the first time for Nysa but it's nothing new for him. He has always been always-looking-for-opportunity-to-insult-students kind of teacher. And that' why most of the students, including me, hates him. No doubt, he is a talented teacher as far as his degree and knowledge are concerned, but 'TALENT' is not a certificate for 'NICENESS'. He can be anything but nice. I guess insulting students gives him some kind of sadistic pleasure.
Afterall, teaching is not an easy job. The same kind of routine day after day, month after month, year after year with the same kind of lessons and students take a toll on your mind. The only way to cope up with all the frustrations is to take them out on the weakest link of the EDUCATION CHAIN (just like the food chain) i.e. students by insulting them. And that's what the 42-year-old, formally dressed, clean shaven, potbelly and round specs bearer, short-dark-not so handsome teacher is used to successfully trying to pull off and is trying one right now with Nysa.
"Please come out here in front of the class."
Mr. Satyam authoritatively tells Nysa gesturing with his right-hand index finger in an upward circular motion like you do when you beckon a dog to come to you. His voice is harsh. Nysa's eyes go wide, her lips are dry and face flushing red out of fear, her whole body starts to quiver subtly.
Every cell inside her feels like bursting and dissipating into it's constituting component of cytoplasm, mitochondria and nucleus. She has not envisaged herself walking down the classroom with all eyes on her. She has no choice now.
She hauls herself out from her desk and stands along side it. She is an above average height around 5'5'', slim build, good-looking teenage girl with sharp attractive features – straight edged nose, big eyes, dimply cheeks.
She has distinctively long hair which is tied in a high pony with a white scrunchie and the scruffy, disheveled tip is touching her waistline. The green (skirt) and white (shirt) school uniform is totally complementing her fair complexion. SHE LOOKS NICE. It's a shame that she wants to hide herself from the world.
She struggles to breathe normally as she stands at the rear end of the classroom. Nervousness can have a drastic effect on your breathing pattern. And she is unable to control both – neither the nervousness, nor the breathing. It's just a few feet walk from the last row to the front but for Nysa it's going to be her longest and toughest walk ever. It's not a classroom anymore.
It's like an arena for her where she has to walk on fire – 'the passage between the desks leading to the front' acting as an alley for the same and 'the eyes lurking at her' representing the silent yet curious audience. For the first time she is cursing herself for sitting on the last desk. It would have been much easier if she is in front.
She looks down and starts walking anxiously. Each step heavier than the previous one. She can feel her heart beating faster and faster as she approaches him. She surpasses the front desks row and stands in front of Mr. Satyam, still looking down. The greenboard behind is acting like a giant green paper with these two standing in the middle of it as two parallel lines facing each other. She deliberately avoids any kind of eye contact with him, but it doesn't last long.
"The answer is not on the floor. Look up!" he slags her off.
Its not in his eyes either but who is going to tell him? Nysa's choices are limited here. Either she keeps looking down and wait for another verbal attack from this middle aged, irritated, constipated teacher, or she looks up and wait for the same. She looks up. He starts affronting Nysa and this time he is really really mean.
"It's evident that you are a pathetic looser, not stupid not dumb but a Looser and what you people say these days...ah...yes...looser with a capital L. It was not a rocket science. It was a simple question, MY SIMPLE QUESTION! How could you not know the answer? Your kind of students put down my image. Your kind of repulsive breed of students make me look bad that I don't teach anything. You insult me. you disgust me. How could anyone give you admission in the first place in this prestigious school where I teach? You don't deserve to be in this school. You don't deserve to be in this class. You don't deserve to be a student of class tenth. I just can't bear to see you in my class anymore. You need to learn a lesson. Go and stand outside the class and don't show your face till my class is over."
A pin drop silence follows the jeering and it's so silent that one can listen the heavy agitated breathing of Mr. Satyam, unnerving hasty breathing of Nysa and unsettling frightening breathing of other students. Nysa seems to freeze like a mannequin gaping at the teacher in shock, her eyes not even blinking. It's just too much for her to bear in one day – first getting the attention of the class, not in a good way and then the horrible humiliation in front of the class, again not in a good way.
Each and every nerve of her can feel the atrocious piercing hateful words of the teacher. Her body feels like it has gotton into a state of numbness. She can't feel her hand, she can't feel her feet. Everything around her seems to fade and blur. She hopes it all to be a dream but hope almost always disappoints, here too. She has not yet fainted and that's no less than a miracle.
Her classmates are just stunned, terrified. They are feeling bad for Nysa. They are feeling bad for themselves too. Because every other day it's the same story. Someone is taught a lesson, more or less (mostly less) in the same way Nysa has just been taught by Mr. Satyam. They are silently praying to god to end this spell of humiliation and insults. Little do they know that their prayers have been heard AND IT'S GOING TO END TODAY BY NYSA. They just have to wait for the wind to change its course.
CITEȘTI
THE GIRL IN CLASS 10TH
Polițiste / ThrillerNysa, unlike her simple name and appearance, is a very complicated girl. She sees the world in a very different way. She feels what others can't even imagine. And her knowledge is not confined to class 10th which she is pursuing right now and nobody...
