A Yo-man period.

Class XI Arts C loves Thursday evenings.

The last fifty minutes of the day’s time table is spent amid young sprouts of orange and apple trees. A hesitant guava plant grows shy as a girl student feels its tender leaves. The pomegranate sapling looks smart as if it had a cup of Junior Horlicks instead of manure and water.

But all the while, the little orchard which my class has been tending as part of the Socially Useful and Productive Work (SUPW) project seems happy with the company of bubbly boys and girls. The Khuruthang sun is pretty hot these days. But the Wangdue winds that rides upstream Punatsangchu grabs us like a puppy that doesn’t care its master’s new clothes.

In the classroom, the walls limit us, the benches and desks restrict movement. The teacher’s high pedestral displays power. The chalk and the board say listen-or-be-damned. And in an academic environment that eschews corporal punishment, the SUPW is a teacher’s tool for emotional dominance and show of power. Students are reminded that if they are not disciplined or obedient it would affect their SUPWgrades. This, I have felt, is more powerful than using a rod on the student. I am conscious of this discipline trick. So during our Thursday evenings at the orchard, more than manual work, my priority is to break down this SUPW-fear.

“Ma’am,” Kunga Wangmo pulls the tip of my shawl.

“’You know, I was very naughty and used to bunk classes and landed up with a pathetic result.” “Don’t worry Kunga,” I tell her, “You can continue the same and have a worse result this time…” Nooooo ma’am, don’t say that ma’am,” she is shy now and turns her head toward our class captain Kezang who walks the Yo-Man-style.

Even the girls who are vocal in the class take a homely gender role at the orchard. They clear the weeds while secretly appreciating the boys who carry heavy buckets of water. What about switching these roles, I have an unsettling thought. Maybe not, I drop the idea and let the Wangdue winds take it somewhere.

Chencho breaks my line of thought.

‘’I want to write my name on this guava plant,” he announces and continues with a mischievous smile. “I will send my child to this school. I will show him this tree and say I planted a tree for him even before he was born.”

‘’ Yalamaaaa…’’ the girls cry. Chencho is happy to have achieved the desired result.

As the class sits in meditation later, there is a different energy filling the air. We know each other better. We have seen a glimpse of what being in a school requires from all of us.