Smita moves her fingers tenderly over the green wall; a strong feeling of nostalgia capitulates inside her. The color of walls was baby pink, some thirty years back. Ah, everything has changed- the roads, the office, the gate keeper, the classrooms- everything. She puts her thumb imprint on the digital screen to mark her presence. She misses using pen for signatures. She looks around her. She wonders how they point out the difference between students and teachers. All teachers and students are dressed alike. She, in fact, misunderstood one student to be the teacher! She has re-joined the school after a long break of thirty years in succession. She’s nervous like a teenager who’s to stand for her viva. The bell rings and she leaves the staff-room.

She’s a short and thick set woman of late fifties. She has worn a purple Banarasi sari. On her wrists are bangles of red-lacquered counchshell, round her neck a chain. She peeps inside the classroom thru the window. There are about ten girls inside. “Only four?” She questions herself. The subject Sanskrit was every much loved during her days. In fact, she did her doctorate in Sanskrit so that she could impart knowledge to a wide range of students. The girls’ college has verily met its breakthrough in her absence. The girls are sitting quietly in their places. She recalls the days when girls used to talk to each other, like they’ve never met before in the absence of teachers. These girls are so disciplined. She finally came across a change that’s good. She sighs. She enters in. The girls seem not to notice that the teacher has come.

She says humbly, “Good morning!” Thanks to the Lord above that a girl collided with her in the morning, else she would not have known that these girls don’t know “Shubh Prabhat”. No girl shows any movement. She’s a bit taken aback. After fifteen seconds, a girl looks up at her and rolls her eyes.

“I said good morning.” She taps the table of the girls sitting in the first seat.

“Whatever!” The girl is constantly tapping the screen of her mobile phone. Bewildered Smita looks through her rim glasses at the girl.

“Hey, wait! Are you our new Sanskrit professor?” Another girl, sitting on the nearby table, asks her.

“Yes. I’m here to teach you Sanskrit. Let’s begin with the introduction. So, what’s your name?” Smita randomly points at one girl.

 “Me? I’m Nik. I mean, Nikita.” She stutters.

“OMG! New professor? I need to update my status,” Elle looks at her, “Oh, I’m Elle.”

“Sonali.”

A girl wearing an off-shoulder olive green top and pair of white denim enters. Her hair are shabbily tied into a pony tail. She runs like a fourteen year old who just walked in on her parents doing the horizontal hula dance. Smita is perturbed at her carelessness. First of all, she’s late and to top it she’s entering the classroom with her mobile phone in her hand, without teacher’s permission. Has the word ‘manner’ lost all its importance in the year 2050?

“Hi, Priya!” Sonali waves at her.

“My name’s Sandy, not Priya!” Sandy goes to her desk.

“Oh, whatever!” Sonali husks.

“Why are you late?” Smita prods.

“Because I woke up late.” Sandy replied.

“Why did you wake up late?” Smita questioned her.

“Chill, babe. I always come late. I sleep late at night and so waking up early isn’t my cup of tea. It’s a shame that this college starts at ten. It’s time for sleeping.” Sandy shoots back.

“Will you not tell us your name? What shall we call you?” Nikita asks, impertinently.

“Oldie, she’s.” Sonali speaks bluntly.  

Is this the way to talk to teachers? She wonders. Wasn’t she called “Ma’am”, “Miss” or “Madam”? But that was thirty years back. Times have changed. These are smart students, smarter than teacher maybe. That’s why they’ve no word called “respect” in their heads.

“I’m Smita Kaushik.” Smita smiles. Ria looks at her, wordlessly. She was irritated beyond words.

“Okay. So take out your Sanskrit book. And let’s begin with first chapter.” Saying this, Smita takes out her book from her handbag. It’s the same book that she’d read while pursuing her graduation. In fact, it was not merely a book, but definitely something more to her. She opens the book. The crisp pages and its pleasant smell- she feels twenty again. She looks in front of her. Oh, for a moment she completely forgot that she’s in the class.

Keeping her feelings at the bay, she orders, “Open your books, everyone.”

“Book? We don’t have any.” Nikita says.

“Books? Oh, I completely forgot about their existence! I need to update my status.” Elle scratches her head.

“Then how do you study?” Smita asks in utter disbelief.

“Internet and ebooks, fatso.” Ria says.

“I’m allergic to the smell of books. It’s so tacky! Yikes!” Nikita is disgusted.

“Yes. We don’t have to carry huge bags on our shoulders. Tablet is easy to carry. Books are a burden. Right, Sandy?” Elle pats Sandy’s head, who has been sleeping with her head on the table.

“She’s senile guys, lemme sleep!” Sandy yawns and goes back to sleep.

Smita is appalled. She notices the classroom and the girls closely. The walls of the room are so perfect, the blackboard has been replaced by a white screen and instead of chalk and duster on the table, there’s a laptop lying there. None of the girls are talking to each other. One is busy in sleeping rest are busy with their smart phones and tablets. One girl is inured to updating her status. Ironically, the smart phone that keeps them connected with a person miles away is the reason why they’re ignoring the ones who are sitting with them. Children are being bound in rooms which have no place for creativity. Mugging up and jotting down answers on the answer sheet is all one has to do to score. We’re bringing up dumb children with smart phones. Irony, indeed! She’s skeptic if she should carry on with her job. When she put forth her dream for joining the college, her son laughed aloud. He told her that she won’t be able to match the fast pace of the year 2050. But she was adamant. Was he right? Oh, he so was! The subject Sanskrit which once was loved so deeply had lost its charm today. Even her son studied engineering. “Engineering is money, mom!” That’s what he said. The subject as beautiful as Sanskrit, failed miserably to stand against the lucrative offers provided by engineering course. And oh, how can she miss their thoughts on books? Burden? They called books burden? Books are man’s best friend, aren’t they? The anticipation that runs towards one’s spine after seeing his/her book after many years is worth feeling. E-books? Can they soak your tears when you’re reading something deeply emotional? No, they can’t. Times have changed, indeed. But now she’s hired and she’s in a bond with the institution according to which she can’t quit before three months of teaching. She drags herself out of her line of thoughts.

“Okay, attention here!” Smita croaks. The girls look at her.

“Can anyone of you tell me who broke Lord Shiva’s dhanush?” She’s asks, hoping from now on they would get along with each other. At least, a proper conversation!

“Don’t look at me like that! I haven’t.” Nikita shrugs.

“What? Someone has broken dhanush! I need to update my status.” Elle taps the screen of her mobile phone. She’s stunned at their ignorance. Maybe she expected too much from them.

“I haven’t. I always sleep in the class. How can I break it?” Sandy points at Nikita, “Nik must have broken it.”

“What the hell, Sandy? Are you out of your mind? Damn you, sleepy head!” Nikita stands up in her place.

“What did you call me? Sleepy head? How dare you call me names?” Sandy goes near Nikita’s table.

“Yes. I called you sleepyhead. ‘cause you always sleep.” Nikita rushes Sandy out. Sandy retaliates. They both soon enter into physical fight.

“Nik and Sandy are fighting over dhanush? I need to update my status!” Elle is again busy with her mobile.

Smita tries to pull the girls away but they push her and she falls on the floor. Both the girls hit each other. The noise brings in the teacher from the nearby classroom.

“What’s this noise all about?” She shouts, entering the room. She’s Miss Jasmine a.k.a. Miss Jas. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and cream colored top. What’s the need to wear high heels when you’re naturally so tall, wonders Smita, looking at her red wedges

“Will you two stop, Sandy and Nik? Stop, I said!” She screams, only louder this time.

They repel. She asks again, “Why were you fighting?”

“She hit me first, Miss Jas.” Nikita points at Sandy.

“And you? You called me sleepyhead!” Sandy shouts. They indulge in a verbal argument.

“I asked you two stop, didn’t I?” Miss Jas scolds them.

Elle intervenes, “I have updated my status. You may check it, Miss Jas.”

“Oh, okay. Wait, Elle!” Miss Jas switches on WhatsApp of her mobile. She giggles. Smita wonders what was there to laugh about. Seeing her looking at her questioningly, Jasmine says, “Oh, boyfriend’s message, you know! He he!”

Smita’s head begins paining. She messages her temples. She feels as if she has lost her vitality.

 “Whosoever among you has broken dhanush admit it yourself else you’ll be dismissed.” Jasmine says sternly.

“What? Even she doesn’t know about dhanush?” Dumbfounded Smita mumbles and stampedes forthwith.

Nonetheless, all the girls refuse. Jasmine checks the list of issued items to them in her tablet.

“Ohho, how can they break dhanush for it wasn’t issued to them in the first place?” Jasmine pats Smita’s shoulder. Enervated and traumatized, Smita falls down on the floor.

“Hey, what happened to her?” Sonali wonders aloud.

“She has fainted! She must not have got proper sleep yesterday night.” Sandy yawns.

“She fainted! OMG! I need to update my status.” Elle begins tapping her smart phone.