Kaw caw

Teaching maths to Amrit

Ever since my grandson Amrit secured 50% marks in the quarterly test in his Maths paper, our relations have progressed to a distinctly higher level. Urvashi, his mother, has realised that the old man who was giving him tuitions for the past three months has not achieved much. He just pocketed the Rs. 500 he got as the tuition fee.

“Daddy!” she bleated, “His concepts are not clear. He does not understand what subtraction means. You will have to start from basics.”

That evening while I sat on the computer, I overheard my wife teaching math to Sandhya, our maid’s daughter.

“Look,” she said, “You have ten beans with you. Amrit snatches three away. So how many beans are left with you?”

“Three,” said the brilliant Sandhya, with a beatific smile on her chubby face.

“How?” shrieked my wife, almost tearing her hair in fury. “How?”

“You said that Amrit snatched three away from her. So that is why.” Sandhya paused, waiting to get a shabaash from Mummy.

“What is wrong with you? I have explained ten times to you already. You had ten beans. Here are the ten beans. (Raj actually took out a bunch of beans from her pocket and placed these in front of Sandhya. ) Now, Amrit! you take three beans away from her. (Amrit, mischief writ large on his face, who was just waiting for an excuse to disturb Sandhya’s lesson, pounced on the opportunity and took away all the ten.) “So how many beans are left with you, Sandhya? “

Sandhya looked tearfully at Mummy and the vacant floor in front of her. “None, Mummy, none. He has taken them all!”

“Amrit!” shouted Raj. She tried to feign anger. But Amrit is our youngest grandson and has an innocent cherubic face. No one can be angry with Amrit for long.

“Why have you taken them all?” screamed Raj.” You were supposed to take only three.”

“ I took them all so that I can win the game.” Amrit patiently explained.

“What game? This is not a game.”

“If this is not a game, why am I taking beans away from her? Is it not like cricket? The more runs you make, the better your chances of winning the match.”

“No,” shrieked his grandmother. “This is not a game. It is not like cricket. I am trying to teach mathematics to Sandhya.”

“Then, teach her mathematics. Where did the beans come in?” Amrit wanted to know.

“I give up. This fellow will give me a nervous breakdown one day. He has such fundamental doubts.”

I could not bear to see her agony any longer. Intervening, I said, “You are tired, Raj. Let me try and make his concepts clear.”

Next evening, Amrit came with his “Enjoying Mathematics” textbook. We started on the lesson on Fractions.

“Look, Amrit. We have one cake. There are two boys to share it. How much will each get?”

“½”, said the genius.

“And suppose there are three boys to share the cake. How much will each of them get?” I continued.

“1/3”, said the latter day Ramanujam.

“Wonderful! That is correct. Now tell me, will the first group get more cake or the second group?” I asked.

Amrit appeared to think hard. At last he ventured, “The second”. He looked anxiously at my face, trying to guess whether his answer was correct. I must have been transparent, because he hastened to add, “No, no. the first.”

“Think carefully. Is it the first or the second?”, I countered.

“I am not sure,” he said at last.

“Why are you not sure? If the concept is clear, the answer should stare you in the face.”

He looked at me with a blank expression. And our parry and thrust went on for an hour. In between the lad took a break for potty, to take an orange and to eat a bowl of namkeen. At last his concentration broke down completely and I let him go.

Next evening when he came to me to learn the basic concepts,  I confronted him with a piece I had written about his struggle with Mathematics.

“What will you do with it?” he asked.

“Have it published in Naad” ,I replied.

“No. You cannot do that. I will delete it from the computer,” he threatened.

“You will be immortal Twenty years later when your son goes to DPS, ‘Teaching Maths to Amrit’ will be one of the lessons anthologised in the English textbook. And your son will smile and say, ‘How unlike you he is, Papa! You are a Ph.D. in Mathematics. And look at this Amrit.’ “

“Fortunately for you there will be no author’s name in the lesson. It will be shown as ‘Anonymous’.”

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