'The Anatomy of an Award'

'The Anatomy of an Award'

While scrolling through messages in a common group we both belonged to, I paused at a photograph of her receiving an award, beaming in a silken saree, with the person giving the award appearing more grateful than the one receiving it. Behind them stood the bespectacled, turban clad Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan. The stage felt disproportionately large with just two occupants, as the MOC tucked into a corner urged an unseen audience to offer a resounding round of applause- the thunder echoing even without a single pair of hands in sight. A tap later, a stream of congratulatory messages followed. Drawn in by the moment, I added mine too.

There are reasons to feel proud if one’s head of the institution is felicitated with such deafening applause, as seen in the video, and with such generous remarks as read in the endless reactions to this wonderful news. At the same time, I felt a quiet sadness that I could not see what others so clearly did- in fact, what most of us in the staff failed to see. Perhaps, proximity dulled our perception of what was an obvious talent. In observing her so closely we may have overlooked the potential she carried. After all, isn’t it often that distance sharpens one’s sense of beauty, making us blind to what lies nearest?

Right from the day she had joined the school, I have been overawed by her personality, no not because of her imposing frame which lent her a slightly less effeminate air, but because of her uncanny ability to win awards at the drop of a hat…in fact, at the drop of someone else’s. If she learnt that a fellow principal had been acknowledged for leadership, within weeks she would add another trophy to her cabinet. What impressed me even more was her modesty.  She rarely dwelt on these achievements, accepting congratulations with a quiet smile. Again, I guess these awards and rewards had become ‘business as usual’ for her, nothing extraordinary.

However, for the likes of me, unimpressed with her day-to-day running of the school, yet struck by her appetite for awards, she remained, to borrow Churchill’s words for Russia, “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”

With nearly thirty years of teaching experience behind me, some colleagues egged me on to try for such awards even if not in the leadership category, then at least as a teacher.

“Why don’t you apply for one?” Sona, a dear friend asked.

“Apply?” I queried. “I thought your fame has travelled so far and wide that the organizers, scouting for such distinguished talent, would reach out to you directly, telling you that you have been shortlisted for the award,” I explained, ignorantly unaware that in their dictionary ‘longlisted’ exists, not ‘shortlisted.’   

“But to begin with, you have to make your presence felt, and the only way to do that is to apply. I think once you enter that charmed circle of recipients, these hosts will start seeing you as brimming with new qualities each year and will be the ones inviting you to be part of the show,” she reasoned.

Giving in to her persuasive powers, and also nurturing a secret ambition, I finally relented. And guess what? I’ve just received a mail from the Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan Foundation informing me that I am among the chosen few to be awarded next week in Dehradun. Yet, what I cannot quite understand is the request to send a draft of fifteen thousand rupees in the Foundation’s name- perhaps to cover my stay and travel, I suppose.

It is said that the ways of God are difficult to comprehend. But here I am, unable to make sense of the ways of the world.

And so, both my awe and enigma continue...

Kamna Chhabra

India