Blink-and-you’ll-get-it

Over the last few weeks, school life has been less about studies and more about a study of conjunctivitis. Wherever you looked (if you were one of the last few left who could still ‘look’) you saw children bearing down upon you in menacing dark glasses, looking like phoney commandos, clutching their ‘weapons’ which were so much more dangerous than any gun in the world – soggy tissues dripping with drippings of pus and germs.

In the early days of the epidemic, one did try to be polite. So one moved away from the dark glass wearers swiftly – even while trying not to give the impression of swift movement. No jerky jumps, no evidence-giving running. Just a quick about-turn (away from the depths of those deep dark glasses) and a gracefully rapid pirouette in the opposite direction, with an air of ‘Oops, I have to go get those books from out there’. But after two weeks of such graceful pirouetting, it all boiled down to simply screaming at the sight of anyone with the-disease-that-cannot-be-named and fleeing helter-skelter.

Suddenly one felt that there was no need for one to give students an occasional hug or a pat on the back. The same words of encouragement could well be hollered down the corridors, couldn’t they? As for birthdays, no harm in going up to the third floor to lean out and wish the student on the first floor, is there?

And then there were exams.

And so there was a special area (‘special’ is a more politically correct word than ‘infectious’) for those who answered their question papers from behind dark glasses. And since students suffering from conjunctivitis also need invigilation, a teacher suffering from conjunctivitis was called upon to keep an eye (oops!) on them. It was a rather heart-wrenching sight.

And then these er…‘special’ papers needed to be corrected. It meant direct contact with these papers. These papers were sealed into envelopes and handed over to the respective subject teachers. (Might as well have handed over a ticking bomb each.)

And now, to open those envelopes at home. The scene resembled an art-and-craft class.

Things needed: some old newspapers, a pair of scissors, a pair of disposable gloves, hand sanitiser, a pair of disposable glasses, a red pen, gum.

Method: Put on disposable gloves and glasses, spread the newspapers on the work area, open envelope with scissors, draw out the paper with the tip of the scissor, use disposable pen to correct paper, return paper to envelope and reseal, throw away pen, glasses, gloves, use hand sanitiser liberally, say a quick prayer.

Just a moment... One did notice that not everyone was as scared of the-disease-that-cannot-be-named. There were some who did get on with life quite normally – and accepted their lot quite cheerfully when afflicted with conjunctivitis.

So, is the rest of the world eccentric, or what?