Maths and punishment

Like other school mates I also feared teachers who severely chastised or commanded us to "stand up on the bench" as punishment. But we dreaded most the ‘Maths Sir' who stood out because of his qamchi (smoothed tree branch) he used to strike our little palms with.

Occasionally, during the recess, we surreptitiously watched the goings on in the staff room. And we found that while other teachers would be munching something, sipping tea and gossiping, our Maths teacher would take out a small pocket knife and sharpen his ‘cane'.

Unmindful of the discussion taking place around him he would hold the stick vertically and run the knife downwards, removing the ‘pimples' on it. Maybe he thought these would hurt more. (How considerate he was!) Concentrating on his ‘weapon', he did not bother about the snacks in front of him. He would finish his job first and pick up some snack if there was anything left for him by his colleagues. Teachers slapping an errant student on the face or hitting them with a wooden scale was a common practice. But our Maths Sir had a penchant for his sleek cane.

I did not know whether he readied a new qamchi every day. But it appeared plausible as he used it liberally. It became a bit flexible and looked like a smaller version of the leather whip.

In cooler moments, I felt that more than the hurt it actually caused to the boys, it was its psychological impact that worked more. The very sight of him sharpening the cane sent shivers down our spines. Thus, half the job would be done already. The remaining half depended on a student's performance.

He would invite the qamchi treatment if he failed to learn maths to his full satisfaction. With the all-pervading fear some of my classmates did not hesitate to express their helplessness and virtually with tears in eyes would explode to say that they hated maths. (Shh shh… I was one of them but in a short time I started liking it.)

Honestly speaking, I got the qamchi only once. But that single dose worked effectively. The Maths Sir was kind to me and spared me even when I might have deserved it. That could have been for two reasons. One, I was the youngest and shortest boy in the class. Two, my family was closely associated with the school's managing committee. (Was it partiality? Yes.)

Today things have changed completely. Corporal punishment has become a thing of the past worldwide. Let a teacher try it and the kid will complain to the police and turn the tables on him. Instead of the boy, the teacher might get corporal punishment from the police.

During my younger days parents would tell the teacher not to spare the rod and punish their ward for any lapse. Today, some parents might take the teacher to task for punishing their child. Nevertheless, it is also true that sometimes today's teachers become ruthless and inhuman. They have caused public outcry by inflicting permanent injuries on kids.

Without delving into a debate on the merits and demerits of corporal punishment, I must acknowledge the fact that the qamchi taught me one of the three R's in a way that astounded even me.

One day while buying several items, the new generation grocer started doing the total with a calculator (which did not exist in my early days). Watching the cash receipt from the other side of the counter, I started doing my own mental calculation. Before the shopkeeper could finish his job, I told him that the total amount came to such and such figure.

Seconds later the man looked at me with wide eyes. "How could you calculate faster than me and that too looking at the figures from the wrong side?" he asked. I smiled and told him, "Courtesy my Maths Sir and his qamchi." 

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.