I Was A Changed Person Analysis

I was a changed person by the intervention by my teacher Mrs. Mathur.
I stood under the archway of the main gates and gazed back at my school in farewell. The building shimmered in heat haze like a scene of of a dream. How different it had been when I was enrolled in it.
I fancied myself an astute observer of people. Impatient as mustard seeds sputtering in oil, that’s what you are! My mother would exclaim every time I would come back from school and start playing right away. I wouldn't study until it was an exam the next day. In the beginning I was a naïve boy whose heart was strained after all things he wanted: adventure, awards, best results and to not study until forced. I made sure to make a difference in the school so that onlookers
Whenever you are in distress, think something that makes you happy, she says. Amazed, I turn towards her and seek her blessings. She touch my head, her hand moving in a soothing motion such as a mother might use to comfort her fevered child.
I’m in distress now and so I consider my school life. What was it that made me joyful, experience peace? For I guess that’s the kind of happiness Mrs. Mathur means. Not the wild up-and-down of the wheel of exhilaration I’d ridden throughout my school years; delighted one moment, distraught the next.
Memories follow tumbling like fallen leaves in wind. They’re in no particular order, for here I am, a child in the classroom, trying to read a word that I’m unable to pronounce, Mrs. Mathur helps. When my mother is ill and I do not bring the lunch, she shares her food with me, visiting my home later in the evening. In the tests when I scored less, she told me not to cry and study hard for the next time. In the parent teacher meeting, she would tell my parents my shortcomings and qualities, equally. I remember her teachings, her scoldings, her lectures. How I once opened my lunch in the class while she was teaching and she’d said, smiling, Who has brought Paratha and Pickle in lunch today? She asked me what I thought of my place in the world as a boy. What it was that I truly desired advising that not even the wisest know what’s hidden in the depts of their being. She chastised me if my attention wandered. Here is one in fourth grade when I was chasing after a butterfly that evades me until Mrs. Mathur holds out a hand and the butterfly lands on it. I don’t grab but gently stroke the dusty yellow wings, understanding something beyond my