Teachers, you are not allowed to punish!

Every day, when I see schoolkids trudging toward their school, I am filled with nostalgia. However, I am not one of those people who say, “Those days were the best days of my life.” One would definitely not utter that sentence if they had been made naked in a classroom filled with forty-odd students. A chill still runs through my body when I remember that day from around twelve years ago.

This is my candid account of the harassment I faced when I was in grade 7. Now, after all these years, I have decided to recount the event that marred my confidence and affected me psychologically. It’s not that I made a huge blunder; I, along with two classmates, didn’t submit our assignment on time, and the teacher decided to punish us by exposing our bodies to the class. Thankfully, he was sitting at the back of the classroom, and we were asked to remove our clothes there. I remember bowing my head and refusing to follow his instruction. At first, I thought it was just a reprimand, but only when I looked into his eyes did I realize that he was serious. The other boys were also reluctant to undress, and that is when it dawned on the teacher that we wouldn’t comply on our own. 

Three students were called out, and at the teacher’s insistence, they began to tear our clothes, leaving only our underwear. The playfulness on the teacher’s face and his evil smile still haunt me. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I stood frozen on the cold ground, unwilling to move an inch. “Oe Bahun!” the teacher called out, pointing at me. My eyes, blurred with tears, were not ready to meet his gaze. It was my first year at that school, and as I approached him, I imagined spending three more years until my SLC examination under his dark scrutiny. When I stood near him, he made an angry face and ordered me to walk to the front of the classroom. Not believing what the teacher was saying, all the students turned to look at me, and my eyes met countless pairs of eyes. At fifteen, I was not daring enough to protest that he was in the wrong; I was not brave enough to tell him that I would not walk to the front of the classroom. My powerless legs dragged my body slowly and tentatively. To my surprise, I heard the teacher shout “stop” when I had crossed two rows of students. The naked boy standing at the end of our line had literally joined his palms submissively, pleading with the teacher to stop sending us to the front of the classroom. I don’t know what triggered the teacher, but he called us three out and made us stand in a semi-circle. “I am forgiving you all now. Repeat this next time, and I know what to do,” he said. Those words echoed in my ears not just until the end of that day but for years, and I still remember them vividly, along with the twitching of his facial muscles as he proudly forgave us.

It was the only time I was made naked during my school days. However, that does not mean the teacher stopped imposing that very punishment on others. The following year, when I was in grade 8, one of my classmates became the victim of his rage. This time, he did not choose the back of the classroom. The boy was made naked in front of the entire class. It goes without saying that it was for a petty reason. Plastic pipes and bamboo sticks were his main weapons; that’s how he dealt with students. The whole school committee endorsed his actions, and perhaps the parents were also assured that it was the best way to treat students. As for me, I never broached the topic of punishment at home. At school, I began to feel insecure and, for days, couldn’t hold anyone’s gaze. I couldn’t stand the sympathetic looks my friends offered. I started overthinking. From that incident, I now remember that I feared going to the front of the classroom and facing my fellow students. 

Whenever the teachers would ask me to stand up and answer a particular question, I would feel everyone’s eyes boring into me, and I couldn’t voice a word. If something came out of my mouth, it never sounded clear because my voice was always shaky. My legs were just as shaky. Without realizing it, I shied away from participating actively in the classroom. I kept my interactions to a minimum, and I became an introvert, an overthinker, a shy boy with extremely low confidence. The person I am today is partly a result of that incident. I never knew that its repercussions would be so long-lasting. I know it’s not an excuse when I blame that incident for my inability to speak in public. The memory of my naked body, of students peering into my downcast eyes, always lingers in the back of my mind. That teacher, who punished me, also didn’t hesitate to shout “Oe Bahun” when the atmosphere was filled with non-Brahmin students and staff. I could never complain or express my discomfort to anyone. But then, it wouldn’t have mattered. The school backed him and his methods, and the students were fearful of his shadow.

I often wonder what he is like today and how that school functions now. I suppose I am not the only person who faced harassment in school. Instead of promoting fun learning, teachers are instilling fear in students’ minds. 

Why do teachers think they can treat students the way they want, overlooking the laws and disregarding students’ sentiments? A mistake made by students, whether knowingly or unknowingly, should not be deemed a crime. Yes, students do not commit crimes; they don’t deserve punishment involving bamboo sticks, plastic pipes, and insulting threats. When teachers are recruited, school management should not only focus on qualifications but also monitor their temperament. Additionally, parents must closely track the teacher-student relationship to ensure that their children are being educated in a healthy environment. When I grow older and become a parent, I will not allow my children to face the harassment I endured as a child. If my kids are physically punished in school, I might just give the teacher a tight slap across the face before seeking legal recourse.