It was 1994
I imagine myself as a student at room no 203, Woodrow Wilson school, long beach ,California...(there was already enough diversities ... africoamericans, Vietnamese, Cambodians, Latinos... an Indian boy will add the spice to the multitude, I think)
As the result of tropical sun burnt skin, I had the permanent black eye due to that white rowdy gang...
At the continuous drill of humiliation, my senses has learnt to close within themselves...
I was just an another inattentive kid, with a vacant stare through the window...
The guy sat next to me always had a pistol inserted next to his cock... and guy at my back had this drooping eyes,may be the cocaine instead of saliva drool from his mouth...
And the gal in front of had this constant grudge that the jail where she were in was lot better than this class room...
And now you know how nice bunch of kids we are...
I hated Erin Gruwell (Hilary Swank), at the first sight... with that all white skin, with that all that tidy dressings and with that most irritating.. all white smile!
Like those saintly angelic teachers who jumps from sky in movies to play saviour to the spoilt teen age kids..
"It's not a movie... Erin Gruwell, It's real life... don't play that stupid part of priestly teacher" I wanted to scream at her...
At one point not withstanding our collective indifference and lack of will to heed to any of her words... in an authoritative way she demanded some respect...
"Why I have to respect somebody of whom I don't know a shit about"... some one blurted out, exactly the words I wanted to ask her... she went quiet!
It all started with caricature drawn mocking Sharaud... a black guy who was the main man behind most of the commotions in the class room...
When whole class was giggling at him... nobody expected Erin would jump into his defense...
Caricature like this had lead to the gruesome holocaust.. she said....
Holocaust.... what the damn meant by holocaust?
Only that stupid blond raised his hand, when she asked those in the class who really knows the meaning of holocaust...
she funded and took us a tour to the "Museum of tolerance"...
First time I came to know, the scars all along the history caused by this double edged knife... intolerance!
I was moved... I was moved further when she gave a note book to me and all others in class and asked as to write in it about our lives...
I poured all the staked pains into the papers and submitted it to her...
next time when she addressed me... I could feel she had read every word of mine with utmost sincerity... there at last a soul to take a bit interest in my life...
At that time I didn't know every words we wrote will be published...
She put her own money funding it (to make the end meet she worked in two other part time jobs and the sad part was his husband divorced her as he felt she was no more spending enough time with him)
Now you all know the famous book named The Freedom Writers Diary – How a Teacher and 150 Teens Used Writing to Change Themselves and the World Around Them.
I am a hero now... but who would have thought dumb boy who was aloof constantly staring out of the window detached from all the proceedings from class would end up a hero...
If I say Erin wrote the script for me and 149 other heroes... won't you give her the Oscars blindly for the best original real life screen play ?
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