Bags and Baggage...

She carried her bag to the first floor of the school building every day to join her Year 3 friends in class. Most children had been companions since kindergarten, but she had joined them recently. She came across as a quiet, soft-spoken and shy girl. Her language skills needed a lot of support and her preference was to have fewer friends with somewhat the same language command.


She never raised her hand to answer a question or participate in discussions. I would have to drag her out of her silence to engage her a little mentally. At first I believed that the change of school, loss of old friends and the language barrier were primary reasons for her solo act. The only subject that she marvelled at, was her optional subject ‘Urdu’. When I asked the teacher about her presence in the Urdu class, she pretty much had the same picture to relate.


My first meeting with her mother happened a month after she had joined. I was facing difficulty related to her books and timetable. She seemed to lose her notebooks and reproduced them magically in a few days. I was quite hassled with her excuses which more or less appeared as made up stories.


The mother listened patiently and when she spoke, there was worry in the conversation. She said, “She has been doing this with me also. I have a little baby at home and it’s so difficult to keep track of her activities. I ask her about homework and she says she left the diary at school. I have no help at home so she does get ignored a little. I will speak to her and hope this will not happen again.”


“What about her father? Can he find some time with her? Or maybe the baby. I’m sure she will feel better at getting a little more attention.” She said her husband was a doctor and was very busy with his clinic. By the time he came home, the children would be asleep. She paused for a moment and decided to share some information.


“Actually, I’m not her real mother. I’m her step-mom. Her real mother passed away when she was five. I try very hard to meet all her needs but she doesn’t seem to accept me very well. Soon after my marriage, my baby son was born. I have to take care of him and always have to try much harder to balance the situation for her. I’m trying my best to make her happy but she doesn’t really respond with any warmth. She visits her real grandparents often and I don’t know, maybe they fill her up with negativity, but I cannot stop her from going there.”


For a moment, I felt incompatible to comment. It was a huge revelation, one I had never encountered with such blatant honesty before. She gave the impression of a kind lady with a very worried mind. She admitted to her helplessness at resolving the issue without offending the child or the father. Clearly, she was asking for help and as always, I couldn’t refuse. I knew I would need to really work through this one as it was beyond my experiences and knowledge.


I started to speak to her a little more. She was very respectful and always tried to escape too many questions. I spoke to her about being responsible about her books and she agreed to increase her vigilance. In a matter of a week, she again started coming to school with no notebooks or incomplete work. I wrote a note to her parents in the diary and asked her to get it signed. The very next day, she came to class without her diary saying she had lost it. I was aware of the scenario and so quietly gave a call to her mum to ask her. She as expected had not seen the diary. I left the matter to rest for the day, as the mother said she would find it at home.


The whole story unravelled in a few days. She appeared to have a hiding place near the elevator of her building where she lived. She often deposited the books before reaching home to avoid work and this mystery was solved by the watchman of the building who came to deliver the books at home.


I was still in the process of finding a solution when another puzzling game began in class. Everyday one child would complain of missing lunch. I decided to watch the classroom for a while and so one day, I sat in the class at break time and shut the door. Children were not allowed to come up during break. I had a small glass opening on the door and walked up to see the cubby holes that were filled with student bags and jackets. There I saw her, placing her friend’s bag back and leaving hurriedly. I didn’t stop her and she didn’t see me either.


When the children came back and settled, her group mate complained of not finding her pack of biscuits. I asked the children to open their bags and see if anyone may have carried it in their bags by mistake. ( ofcourse, I didn’t want any one being labelled ) and so it was found in her bag. She kept on defending herself saying it was hers. I allowed her the benefit of doubt, though my mind had started to work faster now. I knew soon I would have her open her heart to me.


I discussed the situation with my supervisor, who advised me to call her mother and confirm my doubts about her lunchbox. I did that and as expected, she had not carried any biscuits that day. Her mother was close to tears and said, “I’m so sorry about this. I don’t understand why she is doing this. I have a shelf that’s filled with what she likes to eat. But of course I stop her from indulging too much as any mother would. But she is not deprived.” I knew it was time to involve the father, so I asked her to inform him and if I could speak to him. She felt hesitant and said, “I don’t know how he will react to me saying this about her, so could you please call him yourself and inform him. I will speak to him after that.”


The father was a gentle man who was equally taken aback. He was apologetic and asked me how to take the matter forward. I told him, “ You really need to speak to her and let her know what your expectations are from her. She has been behaving rather strangely since the past three months and I have been in contact with your wife, informing her about her attention seeking acts.” I was about to say more when he interrupted, “You see Ms. Shama, her mother passed away and the lady you spoke to is my second wife. She is a good lady and I know for sure that she is a kind woman. My daughter is very confused I believe and I have been very busy. The new baby and my absence may have lead to her disorientation from the family itself. I will surely speak to her about it and you are permitted to reprimand her for her actions.”


I felt half the battle won. I called the wife and informed her about the conversation. I felt it was better she let the father deal with this one situation alone. She agreed and thanked me for the help.


In the meantime, I found an opportunity, which I am always on a look out for, to melt this little heart. I called her out of the class and we sat face to face. She knew she had been caught and mostly hung her head in shame. I spoke like a friend, “You have everything. You are intelligent and kind. Your classmates like you. You have a dad, a mum”, she cut me short, “She is my step-mother. My real mother is dead.” These were her exact words. The pain of that loss was still intact and there was visibly no acceptance of reality. I did not blink and continued, “ That is sad. I do understand how you feel. I lost my mum too. It’s really hard to fill that place. But you have been lucky dear. That place was filled by someone for you. Imagine how your real mum would have felt seeing you alone. With no one to take care of you. For her, your step-mom must be like a blessing to be thankful for. Isn’t it?” She nodded as all children do. “Try to be grateful my dear. Your mum and dad, both are worried about you. To have that kind of love is a blessing. You must promise to try and be more honest and work hard to make them proud. Starting from now!” I gave her a casual smile that indicated all was forgotten and it was time to move on. She smiled back and the smiles were more often in the second half of the year.


The final exam report was an amazing academic jump for her and was collected by both mother and daughter. She stood by her mom, her hand on her shoulder, enjoying the proud moment of achievement. I asked her if she was lucky to have a mum like that, and her smile stretched to her eyes. After she ran out of class, her mother held my hands and shed tears of gratitude thanking me to help discard baggage that had long been tagging along their lives.