His Mother Cried

For no fault of his

Words: 1993
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"Quotation Inspiration: Official Contest" 
Quote Prompt for November 2025:
"Everyone thinks of changing the world,
but no one thinks of changing himself."— Leo Tolstoy

He was eight years old, and he stood there, clutching the sheet of paper. He didn't say anything so I tried to read his eyes, the expression on his face. But these told me nothing. It was odd to see a child sent to my office registering no visible emotion. No fear, no defiance ... nothing.

Something told me not to break the silence. Instead I gestured and he handed the paper to me. It was a test and he had scored one mark out of a possible fifty. The sheet was festooned with the teacher's red pencil marks. I looked at it and then back up at him. He met my gaze. He was the one to break the silence.

"I didn't get a zero," he stated.

It was a starting point and I picked up on it. "No, you didn't get a zero. You got one mark," I elaborated.

"Yes. I could read all the words in that question and I got the answer right."

I frowned. Then, leaning over, I picked up the intercom and buzzed the Staff Room. "Is Ms. Gyarah in the Staff Room? Ah, Ms. Gyarah. This is Sharanya in the Resource Room. Would it be possible to come over now, please, bringing the recent third grade test questions with you?"

The child and the teacher sat next to each other, across from me at my desk. The teacher read the questions aloud to him and he answered each one perfectly.

It was thus discovered that Nishad had dyslexia and needed help with reading and writing. His comprehension and memory were actually above his age level.

I worked overtime that day to type up a report about Nishad while my observations were still fresh in my mind. First thing the next morning I requested Ms. Gyarah to co-sign it and together we submitted it to the Director of the school. We hoped that she would take a report signed by the Head of the Special Needs wing and the Head of the Languages Department seriously and take immediate action. Nishad was a gifted child and with some extra attention he would excel, we were sure. It just needed the Director's permission to move him from regular class to the Resource Room, under my care.

Well, the Director did take prompt action.

And I found out about it when Nishad's mother barged into my office that afternoon without knocking. I was about to reproach her when I recoiled at the sight of her face. Her cheeks were blotchy and there were tears flooding down them to the floor.

I leapt off my chair, went around to her, took her gently by the shoulders and sat her down. Then I reached for my spare cup and the water jug. Her hands were trembling so much that I had to help her gulp a few sips.

She steadied herself and turned sad eyes on me. "Why did you do it?" she asked.

"What did I do?"

"Give a report about my boy, asking that he be removed from the school?"

There were hurried footsteps down the passage and the door to my office opened suddenly again. The receptionist stepped in.

"I'm sorry, Sharanya Ma'am, we told this lady she could not see you now but she ..."

"Vineeta," I demanded, "Vineeta, has Nishad been asked to leave the school?"

"Yes, Ma'am, as per your report about him. Now I'll just take this lady ..."

"You won't take her anywhere," I said. "Vineeta, I didn't ask for Nishad to be removed. I asked that he be transferred to the Resource Room, under me."

Vineeta looked puzzled. "That's not what Mrs. Joothi said," she replied. "She said you'd written a report about him and he was to be refunded the last fees paid and immediately removed."

"it's the middle of the term," the mother sobbed. "No other school will take him now. And he has friends here. What am I going to tell him?"

I grit my teeth. "You won't tell him anything," I said. "You'll stay here in my office and Vineeta will bring you a cup of tea and a samosa. I'm going to sort this out."

I left two women sputtering behind me, one in indignation and one in surprise. I made my way to the Director's office and this time, I walked in without knocking.

She was alone, fortunately, and looked up at me and smiled. "Good afternoon," she said, brightly.

I blurted, "My report said Nishad is a gifted child who just needs special attention."

"And we don't have the personnel to give him the attention. There are strict rules about adult-to-child ratio in the Resource Room and we cannot put another student there."

"You could assign ..."

"I could not."

"It's one student. I know the rules, it needs one part time assistant. Mridula could assist, she has free time from her laboratory assistant work."

She stood up now, to look me in the eye.

"I must remind you that you are running the Resource Room under me. I am running the school, and I decide where to allot people."

The phone on her desk rang and she motioned me to leave. As I made my way to the door, she spoke into the receiver.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Dwarkadas. That's so kind of you, it'll be my honour. Yes, I can cover the salient points in twenty minutes,. May I do a Power Point Presentation? Oh, that's wonderful, thank you."

She sat down, replaced the receiver and immediately dropped her silky tone. "Are you still there?" she hissed, addressing my back.

I turned. "Mr. Dwarkadas is head of the Dyslexia Association," I said.

"Yes, and he's going to appoint me Secretary and I have to make a speech at the next meeting. There are going to be a hundred very important people over there, so you need to do this Power Point very thoroughly."

"I need to do the Power Point for you?" It was all I could do to get the sentence out.

"Yes. Eighteen minutes precisely, so that I have two minutes to add to whatever introduction they give of me."

I made my way back to her desk and, though uninvited, sat down on the chair opposite hers.

"You are going to stand there and tell academic leaders all about integrating students with dyslexia while right now Nishad's mother is crying in my office?"

"Nishad's mother is drinking the school's tea and eating the school's snacks. Vineeta called just before you entered. Since you'd ordered it I told her to go ahead but don't ever do this again."

"Never mind the tea and samosa. I won't eat my share tomorrow, to make up. But you are throwing a child out of school ..."

The silky tone returned suddenly. It was more dangerous than the angry one.

"Sharanya, my dear. You must understand. There are budgets, auditors, a reputation to keep up. You do know that we're ranked #2 by the survey ..."

"I know this ranking, photocopies of the newspaper cutting are on every notice board. But you think people are going to believe your speech when they hear that you expelled a gifted student ..."

"People?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "Which people? My audience? They'll be won over by the expert content you create. And who is going to tell them about Nishad?"

"His parents ..."

"Tut-tut my dear. Have a little more awareness of the world. Mommy and Daddy aren't going to breathe a word about the little darling's affliction lest no other school takes him in."

"It's not an affliction! It's ..."

"Find the right word for my presentation, dear. It's very important to get the exact nomenclature." Once again, she gave me the brush off and I stood up and walked out of her office.

*********

My presentation got a standing ovation. I didn't present it, she did, and I was in the audience. I stood up and cheered, too. It would've seemed odd otherwise, besides, the material was really good ... and she was a born orator.

There were sub-committees formed to 'look into it' and 'really make a difference to children's childhoods' and other lofty aims. What would those sub-committees achieve? Each had members from various educational institutions. Perhaps some of them served biscuits with the tea at their meetings, others might prefer veg puffs to samosas. The snack diet would thus be balance, I thought wryly.

I was on one of the sub-committees and chagrined to see that the first meeting was on a Saturday afternoon. Would I have to give up a precious part of my weekend? Longingly, I thought of my Mom allowing me two fake sick-notes per year through high school provided I kept up my grades. If only she could get me out of this meeting ...

But I didn't get myself out of the meeting. Reluctant as I was, I felt a sense of responsibility to Nishad and others like him. If there was the tiniest chance of helping, I had to take it.

The meeting was at the home of the Chairperson. She was Vice-Principal of the school that was ranked #4 in the survey. She had graciously opened up her home just for this meeting, and as I rang the doorbell, I wondered what the snack would be.

She opened the door herself. "Ah, you're early as I knew you would be. You're also the only. The other four have messaged to say they can't make it for various reasons. Most boring reasons. We need more creativity classes. Those are the oldest excuses in the book and I won't bore you with them."

"We don't have a quorum then," I said. If I could leave soon, I'd still be able to go swimming with my daughter.

"We have a quorum for what I really want to discuss," she replied, firmly. "But first, do you prefer pasta with red or white sauce? It's all ready barring that, since I didn't know your preference. And garlic toast okay?"

We moved to the kitchen, where she sat me down at a little table while she bustled about. She talked as she worked.

"I know about the child Nishad," she said, without preamble. "His father told me you've managed to get them to keep him till the end of the term."

She put a glass of orange juice in front of me, and a slice of toast. Delicious.

"Yes. I'm hoping to wangle an assistant by then," I confided.

"He has friends in your school, or I'd simply take him into mine. Fortunately, deciding who gets in is my job where I work."

I was biting into some amazing pasta by then, but it wasn't this that made my eyes widen in appreciation. "You'd take him?"

"Like a shot. His father showed me his notebooks and you're right, all he needs is a bit of help."

"But if I have you as back up, I can afford to take risks," I said.

"Why do you think I called this meeting when I knew no one else would show up? Let's plan."

*********

"You're joking," the Director scoffed.

"I'm not. I'll coach him personally for half an hour, five days a week, and I ask no concessions. Let him take the same tests the others do and pass them."

She sniffed, but nodded assent.

I worked hard with Nishad and his mother. She helped him at home.

At the end of the term, he passed every test. He even managed above-average marks in some of them.

Nishad didn't leave the school. He stayed with his friends. His mother smiled.

It was I who left the school at the end of the term.

You see, I had a new friend to go to.

Yes, the ranking of the school I work for has now gone down two notches, but I'm with people who are really going to change things, not just shout about it from the podium.