THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BIOMETRIC DEVICE
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When you walk into the lobby in school, you will find me
on the wall in front of the office. A biometric device that captures the gaze
of the teachers in school! Had I been human, I would have been the luckiest man
ever… with so many ladies gazing into my attentive eyes. Some walk in and gaze
languidly at me, others rush in like hurricanes, aware that time is ticking by,
inexorably. Yet others make a beeline and look at me, not paying any heed to
anyone around, singling me out for attention. Only after I capture their gaze
do they even relax and wish others around them. That is how important I am in
their lives.
One teacher walks towards me, and stares into my eyes.
She moves her head up and down, trying to reach that sweet spot when I can help
her. When that does not work, she swivels her head from left to right,
irritation writ large on her face. The other day, someone ribbed her saying
that she is probably cock-eyed, and that even though she is looking at me, I
feel she is looking elsewhere. I do not think she was very amused, because if
looks could kill, and I was human, I would probably have been burned to a
crisp.
Many are the sighs I have heard as ladies look longingly
into my eyes, hoping against hope that I oblige them by capturing their gazes
sooner than later. The male teachers have less of a problem, I feel. Is that
because they are fewer in number or because they are more patient?
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Every morning, the young Principal swishes in in her
crisp cotton sari, efficient and as fresh as a daisy. She glances into my eyes,
and I respond immediately. After all, she is the top authority in school and I
know how choc-o-block her days are, as parents of all kinds stroll into her
office, either to complain or be complained against. Their requests are myriad.
“Ma’am, we are going to attend my sister’s son’s wedding.
I need three days leave for my son.”
“My grandmother had a fall and fractured a rib. I need to
be there for her. May I request you for leave for my daughter, please?”
Requests waft in like the breeze on a cool summer
morning. A temple festival, a classical dance arangetram, the demise of a close
relative, stomach upsets and headaches, a trip abroad… followed by irate
parents with sharp complaints against that teacher and this master, that pesky
boy or that girl who thinks no end of herself.
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Strange are the sights I see during the day. Once the
bell has rung in the morning, there is no more activity in my vicinity. I
watch as visitors, Committee members and teachers scurry by me, each engaged in
his or her own tasks. Not one person even glances at me. However, I remain
entertained as people do not realise how closely I am watching them.
The day goes by and by the end of it, the Principal comes
back to look at me, this time unrecognisable as the strain of the day has
percolated down, leaving her exhausted. No wonder I take longer to give her
that look that she so eagerly waits for. As she joked, “Maybe the device does
not recognise me once all my make-up has disappeared?”
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The day goes by eventfully. I do not have a moment to get
bored. On the ground, even in the scorching sun, while the girls play dainty games, you have boys playing football
with gusto, their shirts soaked with sweat, as they shout instructions to one
another. Having been around for a while, I now know that everyone, without
exception, must speak in English while in school. I believe it has to do with the
ethos of the school which dictates that children need to work on their
personalities so that they stand out, wherever they go. I have seen some
children standing outside their classrooms… I wonder if that counts!
Going back to the football players, as the play gets
heated, they lapse into their mother tongue, Malayalam, and then look around to
ensure that they have not been heard. Sometimes, they do catch the attention of
a teacher whizzing by and are made to sit out the game. Most of the time, their
drawls fall only into my ear, probably because I have nothing better to do, but
listen to every word, to hear the rustle of the leaves, and watch the dust motes
swirl in the air.
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People can be funny, though. The other day I was in my
own world when I suddenly saw this gentleman with a bright shiny head talking
into his mobile intently. He was right in front of me, and I was busy
eavesdropping when suddenly, he lifted his foot several times and aimed it straight
at my centre. Had I been human, I would have ducked, but luckily, he was too engrossed
in his conversation to actually kick me. Maybe, he had missed his gym session
in the morning and was flexing his muscles here, or so I assumed.
By evening, it is time for the whole rigmarole to start again
as teachers and school staff come back to gaze into my eyes again. One by one,
they smile as I record their expressions, and meander towards the main gate.
There are vehicles on the grounds – vans, autos and two wheelers that whiz in
and then move out, carrying precious burdens within. I enjoy the sight of
children chattering away, their uniforms crumpled, their shoes dusty but their
spirits still high. Many teachers sit down in the chairs in front of the
office, waiting for that bell to go, as they recount how their day went. There
are sighs beneath the smiles, for the day is not over yet. It is only the
school day that has ended, and most have to go home and start all over again.
Finally, there is silence. I see only one little man, hunched
over at his desk, busy writing down his accounts. His timings are different from
all others. The night watchman appears and takes a cursory walk around the
school. Already, his eyes are leaden, and he will soon disappear into dreamland,
as the accountant also makes his weary way home.
In the silence that is overwhelming, I close my eyes and
settle down to slumber. For as the fascinating Scarlett O’Hara remarked at the
end of the classic ‘Gone With the Wind’, “After all, tomorrow is another day!”
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