Stammering In Japanese !
Love is the drive to do good or terrible things.
I sit in the middle of this Japanese Learning Class, inert of all teaching going around, grinning along with frequent eruptions of impish glee luring my instilled attention into a gaze at these smiley faces, in often failing attempts to reckon the meaning of those words that fall on my selectively sterile ears towards the Japanese language only to find something funny in their English translations latter, for one of us often ends up saying things insanely funny or unintentional . Seldom do I utter anything on being prompted by the teacher, stumbling upon every word I say like only I can do, things which make all of us laugh but really meant as much.
Should I be a bit more participant?
Does learning Japanese matters at all to me?
If not so, why am I attending this class?
I was never good at maths, living up to the miseries of my father being prolific at it. The well established fact, by my academic performance all the way through junior high, about me being an average student was the only relief. But I struck a new found interest in the subject in early days of high school. Not only did I started doing well in exams, I actually spent hours at home solving problems that were yet to be discussed in the class. Soon I grew in confidence, and threw away my bashful self to answer some of the most challenging questions posed in class that others had no clue of. For the first time ever I experienced how contagious confidence can be, for my extravagant display of skill didn't stop at maths only, but extended to poetry, something that I have always been in love with. There were few pretty girls in my class, but the reason for this turmoil was someone truly beautiful, my maths teacher.
Back then, I didn't know why I felt an urge to get noticed or why those two most beautiful eyes I have ever seen held me bewildered, gaping at them as if I were the dumbest guy she ever met or she was talking in some foreign language. I do confess there were grey sides to my innocent kiddish mind feeling deep infatuation, like fantasies that I had involving her, but no dark side. It is really hard to avoid painting her verbal portrait here, out of the assortments of memories that come flashing to my mind, but any such attempt would only mar the decorum of my first ever confessions of these feelings.
I do not come here to learn Japanese perhaps, not that I am averse to it, but for sure, it is not that brings me here, but the doting tenderness purging us all of the accumulated stress that the teacher showers. Her elegant ladyship dressed in traditional saree so pleasant to watch that reminds me of my mother, and an epitome of perfect Indian lady she is.
Despite my poor performance, I am sure she has not yet given up hopes on me, this is evident from the way she keeps on prompting me to answer, the disappointment on her face when I handed back a blank answer sheet for the last quiz, the enthusiasm with which she teaches making a thousand gestures with her hands to imbibe in our memories the meaning of every words she says. And that is what draws me here, in a hope that stammering though, I may actually end up uttering meaningful sentences in Japanese !
Amit Kumar Koshta
PM 02:22
