How can I become a heart doctor when my teacher is too busy to teach?

​A fast-moving broken plastic bottle crossed my path as soon as I stepped into the school compound. Some boys and girls were happily kicking that bottle around in true FIFA spirit. Probably clueless about the world of the cup, they were just having a ball with whatever they could kick around.

I was at the government school with a friend who wanted to ensure his name survived the special intensive revision of the voters’ list. Some hectic web searches and several phone calls had guided him to this location. 

I waved him on while I waited and watched the game. The players were very happy to have a spectator, that too an adult. Some even invited me to join them. Then the bell rang and the ball was abandoned.

As I walked up the stairs, the children ran all around me. Up, down, left and right. It was as energizing as it was deafening.

I located the class where my friend was talking to someone seated at the teacher’s table that was weighed down by several piles of papers. Most students of the class were moving in and out, while some remained seated. For now, she was not a teacher but the person responsible for locating the all-important enumeration form for my friend, that would confirm or erase his electoral existence.
 
As they matched numbers and names, I looked around the class. The posters on the wall (“A for Apple”; “Sad X Happy”) suggested it was a primary class, which the teacher later confirmed. The students were yet to decide whether to settle down or keep running in and out. Except for one boy right in front, his desk closest to the teacher’s.
 
That boy was drawing something. Every now and then he would look up and pay attention to what we were talking about.

After the form was dug out, I had a quick conversation with the teacher. Surely, they could not afford to be distracted by the forms when they had a classful of bouncing boys and girls in front of them?

This is what we have to do. This is the fifth or sixth duty we have been asked to perform this year. Yes, primarily we are supposed to teach them. But what can we do? And what can the children do? Their parents are poor. They feel fortunate that their children have got admission and will grow up to live a better life. We do what we can. 

Another teacher walked in and joined the conversation.

Yes, you are right, there is technology. Those in government and their rich friends all have technology. Can you please write to them to make good use of it? So that we can get back to what we should be doing? 

They have no qualms when they question us why the children are doing so poorly. There is no point arguing. We just obey and get around to teaching whenever we can. Yes, we feel bad for these children. But we are helpless.

As the teachers finished speaking, my eyes went back to the boy on the first bench. He was looking at the teacher and then me. There was a certain adult-like angst in his eyes.

Don’t the candidates send multiple people multiple times to every house when the election is round the corner? I whispered that question to my friend as we walked out of the class, yielding to more form-seekers walking in. Why can’t they do the same thing now? They suddenly lose resources and people when we elect them and they become government, is it?
 
My friend growled and hushed me. He admonished me for getting into needless conversations. Just get our job done and get out. These children are not our problem. He walked ahead in anger leaving me behind.

As I was about to cross the compound and reach the gate, a voice stopped me: “Uncle, uncle”. I turned around. It was the front-desk boy. There was no hiding his agitation now.

I held the boy close. He definitely needed some calming. In a mix of the local language and English, he told me what was bothering him.

He did not want to make the teacher angry. He definitely did not want to make the government angry. He just wanted to become a doctor. A heart doctor. He was very sure. For that he knows he has to study. But how can he when his teacher has to do so many things other than teaching? Will he ever be able to become a doctor?
 
The immediate thought in my mind was if I would be allowed the power of my vote to try and remedy the child’s problem. Would it matter at all in the larger scheme of things? I did not speak that doubt. In words that did not convince my own heart, I assured him he would. He just had to keep studying hard. His teachers would help him. His family would help him.

He made an effort to look happy. Then he showed me the paper he was carrying. It was the drawing he was working on. It was more emoji than anatomy. But there was no doubt. It showed what his heart was set on.