Unseen Prose Passage

"This is your teacher today. He’s going to show you all sorts of things." With that the headmaster introduced a new teacher. Totto-chan took a good look at him but he wasn’t dressed like a teacher at all. He wore a striped cotton jacket and he had a towel hanging around his neck. His trousers were of dyed cotton and were full of patches. Instead of shoes, he wore thick socks, while on his head was a rather dilapidated straw hat. The children were all assembled by the pond at the temple. As she stared at the teacher, Totto-chan thought that she had seen him before. "Where?" she wondered. His kindly face was sunburnt and full of wrinkles. She suddenly remembered! "Aren’t you the farmer who works in the field by the stream?" she asked him, delighted. "That’s right," said the ‘teacher’, with a smile wrinkling up his face. "You pass my place every time you go to the village!" "Wow! So you’re going to be our teacher today," cried the children excitedly. "No!" said the man, waving his hand in front of his face. "I’m not a teacher! I’m just a farmer. Your headmaster just asked me to do it, that’s all." "Oh yes, he is, he’s your farming teacher," said the headmaster, standing beside him. "He very kindly agreed to teach you how to plant a field." At an elementary school, anyone who taught the children anything would probably have to have teaching qualifications, but the headmaster didn’t worry about things like that. He thought it important for children to learn by actually seeing things done. "Let’s begin then," said the farming teacher. The farming teacher told the children to get spades and other tools from the car and started them on weeding. He told them all about weeds: how hardy they were; how some grew faster than crops and hid the sun from them; how weeds were good hiding places for bad insects; and how weeds could be a nuisance by taking all the nourishment from the soil. He taught them one thing after another. And while he talked, his hands never stopped pulling out weeds. The children did the same. Then the teacher showed them how to dig, how to make furrows; how to spread fertilizer; and everything else you had to do to grow things in a field, explaining as he demonstrated. A little snake put its head out and very nearly bit the hand of Ta-chan, one of the older boys, but the farming teacher reassured him, "The snakes here are not poisonous, and they won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt them." Besides teaching the children how to plant a field, the farming teacher told them interesting things about insects, birds, and butterflies, about the weather, and about all sorts of other things. [Adapted from ‘Totto-chan - The Little Girl at the Window’ by Tetsuko Kuroyanagi]

"This is your teacher today. He’s going to show you all sorts of things." With that the headmaster introduced a new teacher. Totto-chan took a good look at him but he wasn’t dressed like a teacher at all. He wore a striped cotton jacket and he had a towel hanging around his neck. His trousers were of dyed cotton and were full of patches. Instead of shoes, he wore thick socks, while on his head was a rather dilapidated straw hat. The children were all assembled by the pond at the temple. As she stared at the teacher, Totto-chan thought that she had seen him before. "Where?" she wondered. His kindly face was sunburnt and full of wrinkles. She suddenly remembered! "Aren’t you the farmer who works in the field by the stream?" she asked him, delighted. "That’s right," said the ‘teacher’, with a smile wrinkling up his face. "You pass my place every time you go to the village!" "Wow! So you’re going to be our teacher today," cried the children excitedly. "No!" said the man, waving his hand in front of his face. "I’m not a teacher! I’m just a farmer. Your headmaster just asked me to do it, that’s all." "Oh yes, he is, he’s your farming teacher," said the headmaster, standing beside him. "He very kindly agreed to teach you how to plant a field." At an elementary school, anyone who taught the children anything would probably have to have teaching qualifications, but the headmaster didn’t worry about things like that. He thought it important for children to learn by actually seeing things done. "Let’s begin then," said the farming teacher. The farming teacher told the children to get spades and other tools from the car and started them on weeding. He told them all about weeds: how hardy they were; how some grew faster than crops and hid the sun from them; how weeds were good hiding places for bad insects; and how weeds could be a nuisance by taking all the nourishment from the soil. He taught them one thing after another. And while he talked, his hands never stopped pulling out weeds. The children did the same. Then the teacher showed them how to dig, how to make furrows; how to spread fertilizer; and everything else you had to do to grow things in a field, explaining as he demonstrated. A little snake put its head out and very nearly bit the hand of Ta-chan, one of the older boys, but the farming teacher reassured him, "The snakes here are not poisonous, and they won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt them." Besides teaching the children how to plant a field, the farming teacher told them interesting things about insects, birds, and butterflies, about the weather, and about all sorts of other things. [Adapted from ‘Totto-chan - The Little Girl at the Window’ by Tetsuko Kuroyanagi]

"This is your teacher today. He’s going to show you all sorts of things." With that the headmaster introduced a new teacher. Totto-chan took a good look at him but he wasn’t dressed like a teacher at all. He wore a striped cotton jacket and he had a towel hanging around his neck. His trousers were of dyed cotton and were full of patches. Instead of shoes, he wore thick socks, while on his head was a rather dilapidated straw hat. The children were all assembled by the pond at the temple. As she stared at the teacher, Totto-chan thought that she had seen him before. "Where?" she wondered. His kindly face was sunburnt and full of wrinkles. She suddenly remembered! "Aren’t you the farmer who works in the field by the stream?" she asked him, delighted. "That’s right," said the ‘teacher’, with a smile wrinkling up his face. "You pass my place every time you go to the village!" "Wow! So you’re going to be our teacher today," cried the children excitedly. "No!" said the man, waving his hand in front of his face. "I’m not a teacher! I’m just a farmer. Your headmaster just asked me to do it, that’s all." "Oh yes, he is, he’s your farming teacher," said the headmaster, standing beside him. "He very kindly agreed to teach you how to plant a field." At an elementary school, anyone who taught the children anything would probably have to have teaching qualifications, but the headmaster didn’t worry about things like that. He thought it important for children to learn by actually seeing things done. "Let’s begin then," said the farming teacher. The farming teacher told the children to get spades and other tools from the car and started them on weeding. He told them all about weeds: how hardy they were; how some grew faster than crops and hid the sun from them; how weeds were good hiding places for bad insects; and how weeds could be a nuisance by taking all the nourishment from the soil. He taught them one thing after another. And while he talked, his hands never stopped pulling out weeds. The children did the same. Then the teacher showed them how to dig, how to make furrows; how to spread fertilizer; and everything else you had to do to grow things in a field, explaining as he demonstrated. A little snake put its head out and very nearly bit the hand of Ta-chan, one of the older boys, but the farming teacher reassured him, "The snakes here are not poisonous, and they won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt them." Besides teaching the children how to plant a field, the farming teacher told them interesting things about insects, birds, and butterflies, about the weather, and about all sorts of other things. [Adapted from ‘Totto-chan - The Little Girl at the Window’ by Tetsuko Kuroyanagi]

A little later, when he went to the pump to wash, he saw the school children pouring by with their satchels across their shoulders. They all wore the same clothes – grey shorts or skirts and light blue shirts or blouses – faded and mended, and they all had their hair oiled and combed down very flat. Some went by in laughing, racing groups, others had to be led by their mothers or grandparents to the school building. This reminded him of his sisters in the village. The boys in the kitchen now looked at him with less hostility. Jagu seemed pleased with Hari too, and sometimes handed him a glass of tea in the middle of the day. When he had a few moments to spare, Jagu sat down at one of the long wooden tables, drummed loudly on it and sang a song in a dialect Hari did not know. When he caught Hari listening and smiling, he smiled back. Then Hari knew that he too had a village somewhere that he called home. It was just that he was a silent, hardworking, worried man and had no time and no gift for speech. It was the watch mender, Mr. Panwallah, who was truly a benefactor, the kindest and most helpful of all. One afternoon, during those hot, still hours when there were no customers for a change, Hari was standing in front of the eating house, idly watching the traffic because he was too tired to do anything else, and Mr. Panwallah called to him to come and sit beside him on the bench behind the counter in his shop. "Want to help?" he asked. "Want to learn how to make a clock tick? I’m just going to open this big grandfather clock sent to me for repair – you’ll be able to see the workings plain. Don’t often get a piece like this anymore – wall clocks, yes, and electronic gadgets – but you don’t often come upon a grandfather clock like this. It’s a real piece of luck, being able to show you one of this size. Look," he said, swinging open the door at the back and revealing the machinery to a fascinated Hari who felt as if the door had opened into a new and strange house. Mr. Panwallah showed Hari what was wrong with it, what had made it stop. "Interesting, isn’t it? How would you like to learn? Tell you what – I’ll take you on as an apprentice. You don’t have much to do between two and four, do you? Of course you will have to ask Jagu first. I can pay you a little, not much, and you can help me for two hours a day. Perhaps I can make a watch mender of you." — Village by the Sea, Anita Desai

A little later, when he went to the pump to wash, he saw the school children pouring by with their satchels across their shoulders. They all wore the same clothes – grey shorts or skirts and light blue shirts or blouses – faded and mended, and they all had their hair oiled and combed down very flat. Some went by in laughing, racing groups, others had to be led by their mothers or grandparents to the school building. This reminded him of his sisters in the village. The boys in the kitchen now looked at him with less hostility. Jagu seemed pleased with Hari too, and sometimes handed him a glass of tea in the middle of the day. When he had a few moments to spare, Jagu sat down at one of the long wooden tables, drummed loudly on it and sang a song in a dialect Hari did not know. When he caught Hari listening and smiling, he smiled back. Then Hari knew that he too had a village somewhere that he called home. It was just that he was a silent, hardworking, worried man and had no time and no gift for speech. It was the watch mender, Mr. Panwallah, who was truly a benefactor, the kindest and most helpful of all. One afternoon, during those hot, still hours when there were no customers for a change, Hari was standing in front of the eating house, idly watching the traffic because he was too tired to do anything else, and Mr. Panwallah called to him to come and sit beside him on the bench behind the counter in his shop. "Want to help?" he asked. "Want to learn how to make a clock tick? I’m just going to open this big grandfather clock sent to me for repair – you’ll be able to see the workings plain. Don’t often get a piece like this anymore – wall clocks, yes, and electronic gadgets – but you don’t often come upon a grandfather clock like this. It’s a real piece of luck, being able to show you one of this size. Look," he said, swinging open the door at the back and revealing the machinery to a fascinated Hari who felt as if the door had opened into a new and strange house. Mr. Panwallah showed Hari what was wrong with it, what had made it stop. "Interesting, isn’t it? How would you like to learn? Tell you what – I’ll take you on as an apprentice. You don’t have much to do between two and four, do you? Of course you will have to ask Jagu first. I can pay you a little, not much, and you can help me for two hours a day. Perhaps I can make a watch mender of you." — Village by the Sea, Anita Desai

A little later, when he went to the pump to wash, he saw the school children pouring by with their satchels across their shoulders. They all wore the same clothes – grey shorts or skirts and light blue shirts or blouses – faded and mended, and they all had their hair oiled and combed down very flat. Some went by in laughing, racing groups, others had to be led by their mothers or grandparents to the school building. This reminded him of his sisters in the village. The boys in the kitchen now looked at him with less hostility. Jagu seemed pleased with Hari too, and sometimes handed him a glass of tea in the middle of the day. When he had a few moments to spare, Jagu sat down at one of the long wooden tables, drummed loudly on it and sang a song in a dialect Hari did not know. When he caught Hari listening and smiling, he smiled back. Then Hari knew that he too had a village somewhere that he called home. It was just that he was a silent, hardworking, worried man and had no time and no gift for speech. It was the watch mender, Mr. Panwallah, who was truly a benefactor, the kindest and most helpful of all. One afternoon, during those hot, still hours when there were no customers for a change, Hari was standing in front of the eating house, idly watching the traffic because he was too tired to do anything else, and Mr. Panwallah called to him to come and sit beside him on the bench behind the counter in his shop. "Want to help?" he asked. "Want to learn how to make a clock tick? I’m just going to open this big grandfather clock sent to me for repair – you’ll be able to see the workings plain. Don’t often get a piece like this anymore – wall clocks, yes, and electronic gadgets – but you don’t often come upon a grandfather clock like this. It’s a real piece of luck, being able to show you one of this size. Look," he said, swinging open the door at the back and revealing the machinery to a fascinated Hari who felt as if the door had opened into a new and strange house. Mr. Panwallah showed Hari what was wrong with it, what had made it stop. "Interesting, isn’t it? How would you like to learn? Tell you what – I’ll take you on as an apprentice. You don’t have much to do between two and four, do you? Of course you will have to ask Jagu first. I can pay you a little, not much, and you can help me for two hours a day. Perhaps I can make a watch mender of you." — Village by the Sea, Anita Desai

Ashamanja Babu lived in a small flat in Bhowanipore. A clerk in the registry department of Lajpat Rai Post Office, Ashamanja Babu was fortunate as he could walk to his office in seven minutes flat without having to fight his way into the buses and trains of Calcutta. He lived a rather carefree life as he was not the kind of person to sit and brood about what might have been had fate been kinder to him. On the whole, he was quite content with his lot. Two Hindi films and fish twice a week — these were enough to keep him happy. The only thing that perturbed him at times was his lack of companionship. A bachelor with few friends and relatives, he often wished he had a dog to keep him company. It need not be a huge Alsatian like the one owned by the Talukdars, who lived two houses down the lane; it could be any ordinary little dog which would follow him. On a cloudy day marked by a steady drizzle, Ashamanja Babu went to the market in Hashimara to buy some oranges. At one end of the market, beside a stunted kul tree, sat a man. As their eyes met, the man smiled. Was he a beggar? His clothes made him look like one. Ashamanja Babu noticed at least five sewn-on patches on his trousers and jacket. But the man didn’t have a begging bowl. Instead, by his side was a shoe-box with a little pup sticking its head out of it. ‘Good morning!’ said the man in English. Ashamanja Babu was obliged to return the greeting. "Buy dog? Dog buy? Very good dog." The man had taken the pup out of the box and had put it down on the ground. ‘Very cheap. Very good. Happy dog.’ The pup shook the raindrops off its coat, looked at Ashamanja Babu and wagged its minuscule two-inch tail. Ashamanja Babu moved closer to the pup, crouched on the ground and stretched out his hand. The pup gave his ring finger a lick with its pink tongue. Nice, friendly dog. ‘How much? What price?’ ‘Ten rupees.’ A little haggling and the price came down to seven rupees. Ashamanja Babu paid the money, put the pup back in the shoe-box, closed the lid to save it from the drizzle, and turned homewards, forgetting all about the oranges. — Ashamanja Babu’s Dog by Satyajit Ray

Ashamanja Babu lived in a small flat in Bhowanipore. A clerk in the registry department of Lajpat Rai Post Office, Ashamanja Babu was fortunate as he could walk to his office in seven minutes flat without having to fight his way into the buses and trains of Calcutta. He lived a rather carefree life as he was not the kind of person to sit and brood about what might have been had fate been kinder to him. On the whole, he was quite content with his lot. Two Hindi films and fish twice a week — these were enough to keep him happy. The only thing that perturbed him at times was his lack of companionship. A bachelor with few friends and relatives, he often wished he had a dog to keep him company. It need not be a huge Alsatian like the one owned by the Talukdars, who lived two houses down the lane; it could be any ordinary little dog which would follow him. On a cloudy day marked by a steady drizzle, Ashamanja Babu went to the market in Hashimara to buy some oranges. At one end of the market, beside a stunted kul tree, sat a man. As their eyes met, the man smiled. Was he a beggar? His clothes made him look like one. Ashamanja Babu noticed at least five sewn-on patches on his trousers and jacket. But the man didn’t have a begging bowl. Instead, by his side was a shoe-box with a little pup sticking its head out of it. ‘Good morning!’ said the man in English. Ashamanja Babu was obliged to return the greeting. "Buy dog? Dog buy? Very good dog." The man had taken the pup out of the box and had put it down on the ground. ‘Very cheap. Very good. Happy dog.’ The pup shook the raindrops off its coat, looked at Ashamanja Babu and wagged its minuscule two-inch tail. Ashamanja Babu moved closer to the pup, crouched on the ground and stretched out his hand. The pup gave his ring finger a lick with its pink tongue. Nice, friendly dog. ‘How much? What price?’ ‘Ten rupees.’ A little haggling and the price came down to seven rupees. Ashamanja Babu paid the money, put the pup back in the shoe-box, closed the lid to save it from the drizzle, and turned homewards, forgetting all about the oranges. — Ashamanja Babu’s Dog by Satyajit Ray

Ashamanja Babu lived in a small flat in Bhowanipore. A clerk in the registry department of Lajpat Rai Post Office, Ashamanja Babu was fortunate as he could walk to his office in seven minutes flat without having to fight his way into the buses and trains of Calcutta. He lived a rather carefree life as he was not the kind of person to sit and brood about what might have been had fate been kinder to him. On the whole, he was quite content with his lot. Two Hindi films and fish twice a week — these were enough to keep him happy. The only thing that perturbed him at times was his lack of companionship. A bachelor with few friends and relatives, he often wished he had a dog to keep him company. It need not be a huge Alsatian like the one owned by the Talukdars, who lived two houses down the lane; it could be any ordinary little dog which would follow him. On a cloudy day marked by a steady drizzle, Ashamanja Babu went to the market in Hashimara to buy some oranges. At one end of the market, beside a stunted kul tree, sat a man. As their eyes met, the man smiled. Was he a beggar? His clothes made him look like one. Ashamanja Babu noticed at least five sewn-on patches on his trousers and jacket. But the man didn’t have a begging bowl. Instead, by his side was a shoe-box with a little pup sticking its head out of it. ‘Good morning!’ said the man in English. Ashamanja Babu was obliged to return the greeting. "Buy dog? Dog buy? Very good dog." The man had taken the pup out of the box and had put it down on the ground. ‘Very cheap. Very good. Happy dog.’ The pup shook the raindrops off its coat, looked at Ashamanja Babu and wagged its minuscule two-inch tail. Ashamanja Babu moved closer to the pup, crouched on the ground and stretched out his hand. The pup gave his ring finger a lick with its pink tongue. Nice, friendly dog. ‘How much? What price?’ ‘Ten rupees.’ A little haggling and the price came down to seven rupees. Ashamanja Babu paid the money, put the pup back in the shoe-box, closed the lid to save it from the drizzle, and turned homewards, forgetting all about the oranges. — Ashamanja Babu’s Dog by Satyajit Ray