I walked up to a well presented house in the suburbs of England. Pristine lawn, double garage, large bay windows and a striking red door. This house stood out on the street. I was originally from India but moved to England to complete my PhD. It was my parents dream so they could brag I was an Oxford graduate.
As soon as I rang the doorbell, it was opened by the most Indian woman in a green a sari and I stifled a laugh as it was not what I expected in these suburbs. It was almost as though she was waiting for me as she was so quick to open the door.
"Manjula, I presume?" She says as she invites me in.
"Yes. That is me. And you must be Mrs. Arora?" I say with a smile. I was always told I had a sweet smile. I was rather petite at just a shade under 5ft and I never carried much weight. I was a rather picky eater from an early age.
"Come in, dear," she says. She speaks in a rather middle class English accent but the tinge of her roots is unmistakable. The type of accent many Indian's try to put on when they want to pretend they are posher than they are.
She walks ahead with an expectation that I will follow.
She invites me to take a seat and her tone is rather stern and she has a hardened face.
"So you are studying your PhD?" She asks tentatively.
"Yes. It is rather a family tradition. My parents did medicine. My mother is a doctor and my father is a doctor. But I did Physics so I am doing a doctorate."
A joke I have told numerous times but it never landed as badly as it did on Mrs. Arora. She just looked at me like I was an imbecile.
"So you have failed to become an actual doctor. I just hope your parents are there in the case of an actual medical emergency. So tell me about your qualifications? I want your transcripts, not your silly jokes," she says in a very harsh tone.
I am prepared for this and open my bag to take out certificate after certificate of my qualifications and achievements. I was only 26 but I was quite impressed with myself.
Her expression did not give away much but she made some agreeable sounds.
"You will do," she says rather bluntly as she hands my papers back to me.
I guess I will do I think to myself as I try to deal with her rudeness.
"Unlike you, my son is an idiot," she says rather bluntly and I am biting the inside of my mouth to not speak up against her rudeness.
"I am sure he is not," I say.
"A Mother knows. Anyway, his grades have been slipping. He is down to the low 60%. We need you to make him reach a minimum of 80%. He was an honor roll student until this year but I don't know what is wrong with him. The teachers are also imbeciles and not much help," she said.
"I will certainly improve his grades. As you may know from my email I have a slot on Friday evenings and you know my fees," I say as I get out my diary.
"You will clear your diary. He will need you four sessions a week. We will pay you £200 a week. If he achieves an A in Mathematics and Physics you will receive a £1000 bonus," she offers.
Despite it being a generous offer I am gob smacked by her sense of entitlement over my time and her general demeanor.
I want to be independent and not live off handouts from my parents but her arrogance has really angered me. I am about to walk out when a young man walks in.
Mrs. Arora turns around, "Here is my idiot son, Anuj " She says and I hate even more how she talks about him.
"If the situation is as bad as you suggest then I believe the fees should be double. £400 per week and £2000 when he achieves the results," I respond. I don't need the money but it doesn't look like she would miss it. I am not in desperate need for the job and would be happy to sabotage the negotiations.
"I like you. Very much. Start tomorrow," she replies to my surprise.
On my way out I tell Anuj it is nice to meet him and shake his hand. Despite him being only 18 he is physically taller and larger than me. He seems gentle and sweet though.
The first week I just want to see what I am working with so I set up some practice papers. During the tests he seems distracted or bored and is not really paying attention.
The first week we are in his bedroom. He has toys of all kinds and games consoles. He seems the nerdy type but I am not one to judge as I have a nerdy side to myself. It is a decent space and we are sat next to each other on chairs. His eyes often drift over me to me. I ignore it as innocent interest as I am new to him.
I dress casually in jeans and t-shirts. My t-shirts are usually loose around the neck line and I like to wear tight shirts. I am not afraid to admit that I am rather flat chested. I am barely a 'b' cup. Sometimes I don't even bother with a bra under my t-shirt.
I see his eyes drawn to my neck line and my bra strap that is visible. I pull my shirt up but don't overreact.
For the second week my plan is to focus on areas that he made mistakes in the tests and try to improve.
On the Sunday evening Mrs. Arora calls me for an update.
"What have you learned in the first week?" She asks bluntly.
"He is intelligent. But he lacks focus. His room has too many distractions to study," I inform her.
"You will study in your apartment from tomorrow. I don't want any excuses," she says. She has a blunt and direct demeanor. Her husband must be a saint to put up with her, I think to myself.
"But, um," I try to object.
"No excuses," she says sternly.
I take a deep breath and swallow my objections.
The following day Anuj arrives at my apartment. I share an apartment with Kiran. Our friendship is difficult to describe. I am more naturally shy but she is more outspoken and in your face but she respects my privacy so we get on.
Anuj works through the problems with ease and I begin to wonder why he is struggling in the tests. The following week I test him again and he again seems distracted or lacking focus as he scores 63%.
"Anuj, what is happening during the tests? I know you are intelligent and you know all these answers. Is it the pressure? A time thing," I ask him.
"Maybe I am just an idiot like my Mother always says," he replies abruptly and I sense he is upset and insecure. I rub his leg as I feel sorry for him.
"You are not. I am not judging you. I want to understand you," I say as I try to get an understanding of what is behind his underperforming.
"Miss Manjula, I just don't feel motivated. I go into the exams and it is just the same questions. Over and over again. What is the point?" He asks.
"The point is the result. To get the A. Fine. I think I see the problem. We will do a test tomorrow and if you get 80% or more I will get you anything you want but it has to be less than £100. I am just a poor student myself," I say in a lighthearted manner.
"Anything I wish for?" He asks.
"Yes but less than £100," I reply with a smile.
The next day he turns up with a renewed vigor and I am interested to see how he does.
I make him complete two difficult papers and he waits while I mark them.
He scores 82% on the first one and 87% on the second one. I am pleasantly surprised and this may be easier than I thought.
I show him the marks and say, "I knew you were intelligent. So what did you want that got you so motivated? I will buy it tomorrow."
