Teaching Surinder English was a nightmare. His handwriting was like ants doing a cabaret, pronunciation was a mystery since he avoided speaking to me in English and his marks were stagnant, like the puddle of rainwater, that never dried up. I dreaded correcting his test papers. His spellings, lack of structure in the sentence and the empty words filling up the page was no less than a horror movie. I was more than just worried and worried for myself, more than him. If he did not score well in the mid-term exams this year, the principal was going to be upset with me again. I would be beyond upset, not able to forgive myself for not being a good teacher. Honestly, I was doing my best. He was an average student, scoring fairly well in all subjects, except the horrifying ENGLISH. I stayed back after school hours, trying to make him read story books meant for younger kids, encouraging him to watch cartoons with English dialogue and sweated over translating every word in English from the
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