Unseen Prose Passage

No one had ever seen Bonku Babu get cross. To tell the truth, it was difficult to imagine what he might say or do, if one day he did get angry. It was not as if there was never any reason for him to lose his temper. For the last twenty-two years, Bonku Babu had taught Geography and Bengali at the Primary School. Every year, a new batch of students replaced the old one, but old or new, the tradition of teasing poor Bonku Babu continued among all the students. Some drew his picture on the blackboard, others put glue on his chair or, on the night of Kali Puja, they lit a ‘chasing rocket’ and set it off to chase him. Bonku Babu did not get upset by any of this. Only sometimes, he cleared his throat and said, "Shame on you, boys!" One of the reasons for maintaining his calm was simply that he could not afford to do otherwise. If he did lose his temper and left his job in a fit of pique, he knew how difficult it would then be to find another, at his age. Another reason was that in every class, there were always a few good students, even if the rest of the class was full of pranksters. Teaching his handful of good boys was so rewarding to Bonku Babu, that alone made life as a teacher worth living. At times, he invited those boys to his house, offered them snacks and told them tales of foreign lands and exciting adventures. He told them about life in Africa, the discovery of the North Pole, the fish in Brazil that ate human flesh, and about Atlantis, the continent submerged under the sea. He was a good storyteller, and he had his audience enthralled. During the weekend, Bonku Babu went to the lawyer, Sripati Majumdar’s house, to spend the evenings with other regulars. On a number of occasions, he had come back thinking, "Enough, never again!" The reason was simply that he could put up with the pranks played by the boys in his school, but when grown, even middle-aged men started making fun of him, it became too much to bear. At these meetings that Sripati Babu hosted in the evenings, nearly everyone poked fun at Bonku Babu, sometimes bringing his endurance to breaking point. Only the other day, less than two months ago, they were talking about ghosts. Usually, Bonku Babu kept his mouth shut. That day, for some unknown reason, he opened it and declared that he was not afraid of ghosts. That was all. — From ‘Bonku Babu’s Friend’ by Satyajit Ray

Attending classes inside a railway carriage seemed unusual enough, but the seating arrangements turned out to be unusual too. At Totto-chan’s previous school, each pupil was assigned a specific desk. However, here they could sit anywhere they liked at any time. The most unusual thing of all about this school was the lessons themselves. Schools normally schedule one subject, for example history, during the first period, when everyone in the class just did history; then say, arithmetic in the second period, when you just did arithmetic. But here it was quite different. At the beginning of the first period, the teacher made a list of all the problems and questions in the subjects to be studied that day. Then she would say, "Now, start with any of these you like." So, whether you started on history or arithmetic or something else didn’t matter at all. Someone who liked composition might be writing something, while behind you someone who liked chemistry might be boiling something in a flask over an alcohol burner. This method of teaching enabled the teachers to observe as the children progressed to higher grades what they were interested in as well as their way of thinking and their character. It was an ideal way for teachers to really get to know their pupils. As for the pupils, they loved being able to start with their favourite subject, the fact that they had all day to cope with the subjects they disliked meant they could usually manage them somehow. Therefore, study was mostly independent, with pupils free to go and consult the teacher whenever necessary. Then pupils would be given further exercises to work alone. It was study in the truest sense of the word, and it meant there were no pupils just sitting inattentively while the teacher talked and explained. The first-grade pupils hadn’t quite reached the stage of independent study, but even they were allowed to start with any subject they wanted. Some copied letters of the alphabet, some drew pictures, some read books, and some even did physical exercises. Just then the boy sitting behind her got up and walked toward the blackboard with his notebook, apparently to consult the teacher. Totto-chan stopped looking around the room and fixed her eyes on his back as he walked. The boy dragged his leg and his whole body swayed from side to side. Totto-chan wondered at first if he was doing it on purpose, but she soon realized the boy couldn’t help it. The boy said brightly, "My name’s Yasuaki. What’s yours?" She was so glad to hear him speak that she replied loudly, "I’m Totto-chan." — Adapted from Totto-chan

Attending classes inside a railway carriage seemed unusual enough, but the seating arrangements turned out to be unusual too. At Totto-chan’s previous school, each pupil was assigned a specific desk. However, here they could sit anywhere they liked at any time. The most unusual thing of all about this school was the lessons themselves. Schools normally schedule one subject, for example history, during the first period, when everyone in the class just did history; then say, arithmetic in the second period, when you just did arithmetic. But here it was quite different. At the beginning of the first period, the teacher made a list of all the problems and questions in the subjects to be studied that day. Then she would say, "Now, start with any of these you like." So, whether you started on history or arithmetic or something else didn’t matter at all. Someone who liked composition might be writing something, while behind you someone who liked chemistry might be boiling something in a flask over an alcohol burner. This method of teaching enabled the teachers to observe as the children progressed to higher grades what they were interested in as well as their way of thinking and their character. It was an ideal way for teachers to really get to know their pupils. As for the pupils, they loved being able to start with their favourite subject, the fact that they had all day to cope with the subjects they disliked meant they could usually manage them somehow. Therefore, study was mostly independent, with pupils free to go and consult the teacher whenever necessary. Then pupils would be given further exercises to work alone. It was study in the truest sense of the word, and it meant there were no pupils just sitting inattentively while the teacher talked and explained. The first-grade pupils hadn’t quite reached the stage of independent study, but even they were allowed to start with any subject they wanted. Some copied letters of the alphabet, some drew pictures, some read books, and some even did physical exercises. Just then the boy sitting behind her got up and walked toward the blackboard with his notebook, apparently to consult the teacher. Totto-chan stopped looking around the room and fixed her eyes on his back as he walked. The boy dragged his leg and his whole body swayed from side to side. Totto-chan wondered at first if he was doing it on purpose, but she soon realized the boy couldn’t help it. The boy said brightly, "My name’s Yasuaki. What’s yours?" She was so glad to hear him speak that she replied loudly, "I’m Totto-chan." — Adapted from Totto-chan

Billy Weaver had travelled down from London and by the time he arrived it was nine o’clock in the night and the moon was coming up. "Excuse me," he asked a porter, "but is there a cheap hotel nearby?" "Try The Bell Hotel," the porter answered, pointing down the road. Billy thanked him, picked up his suitcase and set out to walk the distance to The Bell Hotel. He had never been to Richmond before. But the man at the office had told him it was a splendid city. Billy was seventeen years old. He was wearing a new navy-blue overcoat, a new brown hat, and a new brown suit, and he was feeling fine. He walked briskly down the street. He was trying to do everything briskly these days. The big shots up at the Head Office were fantastically brisk all the time. They were amazing. The road was lonely and dark with a few scattered houses. Suddenly, in a downstairs window Billy saw a printed notice propped up against the window glass. It said Bed and Breakfast. He moved a bit closer and peered through the window into the room, and the first thing he saw was a bright fire burning in the hearth. On the carpet in front of the fire, a little dog was curled up asleep with its nose tucked into its belly. The room in half-darkness was filled with pleasant furniture. There was a piano and a big sofa and several plump armchairs; and in one corner he spotted a large parrot in a cage. Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this, Billy told himself and it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in. Then a queer thing happened to him. He was in the act of stepping back and going away from the window when he felt a strange urge to ring the bell. He pressed the bell. He heard it ringing and then at once the door swung open and a woman was standing there. She gave him a warm welcoming smile. "Please come in", she said pleasantly. Billy found himself automatically moving forward into the house. "I saw the notice in the window," he said, holding himself back. "Yes, I know." "I was wondering about a room." "It’s all ready for you, my dear," she said. She had a round pink face and very gentle blue eyes. "How much do you charge?" "Five dollars a night, including breakfast." It was fantastically cheap. He could easily afford it.

Billy Weaver had travelled down from London and by the time he arrived it was nine o’clock in the night and the moon was coming up. "Excuse me," he asked a porter, "but is there a cheap hotel nearby?" "Try The Bell Hotel," the porter answered, pointing down the road. Billy thanked him, picked up his suitcase and set out to walk the distance to The Bell Hotel. He had never been to Richmond before. But the man at the office had told him it was a splendid city. Billy was seventeen years old. He was wearing a new navy-blue overcoat, a new brown hat, and a new brown suit, and he was feeling fine. He walked briskly down the street. He was trying to do everything briskly these days. The big shots up at the Head Office were fantastically brisk all the time. They were amazing. The road was lonely and dark with a few scattered houses. Suddenly, in a downstairs window Billy saw a printed notice propped up against the window glass. It said Bed and Breakfast. He moved a bit closer and peered through the window into the room, and the first thing he saw was a bright fire burning in the hearth. On the carpet in front of the fire, a little dog was curled up asleep with its nose tucked into its belly. The room in half-darkness was filled with pleasant furniture. There was a piano and a big sofa and several plump armchairs; and in one corner he spotted a large parrot in a cage. Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this, Billy told himself and it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in. Then a queer thing happened to him. He was in the act of stepping back and going away from the window when he felt a strange urge to ring the bell. He pressed the bell. He heard it ringing and then at once the door swung open and a woman was standing there. She gave him a warm welcoming smile. "Please come in", she said pleasantly. Billy found himself automatically moving forward into the house. "I saw the notice in the window," he said, holding himself back. "Yes, I know." "I was wondering about a room." "It’s all ready for you, my dear," she said. She had a round pink face and very gentle blue eyes. "How much do you charge?" "Five dollars a night, including breakfast." It was fantastically cheap. He could easily afford it.

Granny knew I’d been in the train for two nights, and she had a huge breakfast ready for me. Later she told me there’d been a letter from Uncle Ken. "He says he’s the manager in Firpo’s hotel in Simla," she said. "The salary is very good. It’s a steady job and I hope he keeps it." Three days later Uncle Ken was on the veranda steps with his bedding roll and battered suitcase. "Have you given up the hotel job?" asked Granny. "No," said Uncle Ken. "They have closed down." "I hope it wasn’t because of you." "No, Aunt Ellen. The bigger hotels in the hill stations are closing down." "Well, never mind. Come along and have your lunch." Over lunch, Uncle Ken talked very seriously about ways and means of earning a living. "There is only one taxi in the whole of Dehra," he mused. "Surely there is business for another?" "I’m sure there is," said Granny. "But where does it get you? In the first place, you don’t have a taxi. And in the second place, you can’t drive." "I can soon learn. There’s a driving school in town. And I can use Uncle’s old car." "I don’t think it will run now," said Granny. "Of course, it will. It just needs some oiling and greasing and a spot of paint." "All right, learn to drive." So, Uncle Ken joined the driving school. After a month Uncle Ken announced that he could drive and that he was taking the car out for a trial run. "You haven’t got your license yet," said Granny. "Oh, I won’t take it far," said Uncle Ken. "Just down the road and back again." He spent all morning cleaning up the car. Granny gave him money for a can of petrol. After tea, Uncle Ken said, "Come along, Ruskin, hop in and I will give you a ride. Bring Mohan along too." Mohan and I needed no urging. We got into the car beside Uncle Ken. "Now don’t go too fast, Ken," said Granny anxiously. "You are not used to the car as yet." Uncle Ken nodded and smiled and gave two sharp toots on the horn. He was feeling pleased with himself. Driving through the gate, he nearly ran over a cat. Miss Kellner, coming out for her evening rickshaw ride, saw Uncle Ken at the wheel of the car and ran indoors again. Uncle Ken drove straight and fast, tootling the horn without a break. At the end of the road there was a roundabout. "We’ll turn here," said Uncle Ken, "and then drive back again." He turned the steering wheel, we began going round the roundabout, but the steering wheel wouldn’t turn all the way, not as much as Uncle Ken would have liked it to... So, instead he went on and straight through the Maharaja of Jetpur’s garden wall. It was a single-brick wall, and the car knocked it down and emerged on the other side without any damage to the car or any of its occupants. Uncle Ken brought it to a halt in the middle of the Maharaja’s lawn. Running across the grass came the Maharaja himself. When he saw that it was Uncle Ken at the wheel, the Maharaja beamed with pleasure. "Delighted to see you, old chap!" he exclaimed. "Jolly decent of you to drop in again. How about a game of tennis?"

Granny knew I’d been in the train for two nights, and she had a huge breakfast ready for me. Later she told me there’d been a letter from Uncle Ken. "He says he’s the manager in Firpo’s hotel in Simla," she said. "The salary is very good. It’s a steady job and I hope he keeps it." Three days later Uncle Ken was on the veranda steps with his bedding roll and battered suitcase. "Have you given up the hotel job?" asked Granny. "No," said Uncle Ken. "They have closed down." "I hope it wasn’t because of you." "No, Aunt Ellen. The bigger hotels in the hill stations are closing down." "Well, never mind. Come along and have your lunch." Over lunch, Uncle Ken talked very seriously about ways and means of earning a living. "There is only one taxi in the whole of Dehra," he mused. "Surely there is business for another?" "I’m sure there is," said Granny. "But where does it get you? In the first place, you don’t have a taxi. And in the second place, you can’t drive." "I can soon learn. There’s a driving school in town. And I can use Uncle’s old car." "I don’t think it will run now," said Granny. "Of course, it will. It just needs some oiling and greasing and a spot of paint." "All right, learn to drive." So, Uncle Ken joined the driving school. After a month Uncle Ken announced that he could drive and that he was taking the car out for a trial run. "You haven’t got your license yet," said Granny. "Oh, I won’t take it far," said Uncle Ken. "Just down the road and back again." He spent all morning cleaning up the car. Granny gave him money for a can of petrol. After tea, Uncle Ken said, "Come along, Ruskin, hop in and I will give you a ride. Bring Mohan along too." Mohan and I needed no urging. We got into the car beside Uncle Ken. "Now don’t go too fast, Ken," said Granny anxiously. "You are not used to the car as yet." Uncle Ken nodded and smiled and gave two sharp toots on the horn. He was feeling pleased with himself. Driving through the gate, he nearly ran over a cat. Miss Kellner, coming out for her evening rickshaw ride, saw Uncle Ken at the wheel of the car and ran indoors again. Uncle Ken drove straight and fast, tootling the horn without a break. At the end of the road there was a roundabout. "We’ll turn here," said Uncle Ken, "and then drive back again." He turned the steering wheel, we began going round the roundabout, but the steering wheel wouldn’t turn all the way, not as much as Uncle Ken would have liked it to... So, instead he went on and straight through the Maharaja of Jetpur’s garden wall. It was a single-brick wall, and the car knocked it down and emerged on the other side without any damage to the car or any of its occupants. Uncle Ken brought it to a halt in the middle of the Maharaja’s lawn. Running across the grass came the Maharaja himself. When he saw that it was Uncle Ken at the wheel, the Maharaja beamed with pleasure. "Delighted to see you, old chap!" he exclaimed. "Jolly decent of you to drop in again. How about a game of tennis?"