He was holding the tray tightly when he entered the hall. He had a red t-shirt and a pair of dark-brown trousers on, hair oiled and neatly combed in a side-parting. While he walked along the benches or served water to us, he remained expressionless. Every time he would see us communicate in English, his mind would be filled with all sorts of questions. It must have taken a lot of effort to learn a new language? He would try to make out what we were talking but without any success. He barely knew two-three words in English. He would also wonder what we wrote in exams or what they taught us in schools. Why did we study so much? What is the point in writing exams? Why did he never get the opportunity?
My first encounter with him brought a frown to my face. While I was engrossed in writing my paper he went around the hall, holding the tray in his hands. I had only momentarily lifted my head to look at the wall clock when my eye caught a glimpse of him. His presence made me uncomfortable and at the same time ashamed. This was not the place for him. The difference between him and me struck me. It was as if there is a huge valley between me and him, to cross which, would be a formidable challenge for him.
He was hired to serve, by people who claim to be committed to doing their best in imparting education!
