There\u2019s a Banyan tree in the corner of the schoolyard, its roots sprawling out of the earth like knots in an old scarf. It\u2019s been there longer than anyone can remember, a fixture that has witnessed countless generations of children grow up. I remember sitting under its shade as a child, pretending to study, chatting with friends, or just staring at the leaves, hoping that somehow, the tree would offer some answers. The bark of the tree is rough, the aerial roots sufficiently thick to clamber up if you\u2019re brave enough, but mostly, it\u2019s where kids gather during lunch breaks \u2013 swapping secrets, laughing, fighting, and being, as only kids know how. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m back now, after a few years, at twenty, not because I have any real business here, but because my mom still works at the school. I sometimes drive her home after her shift or hang around when she has meetings. And sometimes, like today, I end up sitting under that very banyan tree, half-reading a book I\u2019ve already finished, watching the younger kids of Class 5, eleven years old, and somehow, still so small, taking their lunch-break near the tree. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
They don\u2019t know me, of course. They don\u2019t know I used to be one of them, barely a blink of time ago, and in some ways, I still am. They don\u2019t see me as anything but a vague adult, someone too far away to talk to or understand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou think she\u2019ll talk about it again today?\u201d A voice breaks through my thoughts. It\u2019s a boy, smeared with ketchup from his sandwich, leaning towards the girl sitting next to him. She\u2019s wearing a band-aid on her left knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d she says, a kind of certainty in her voice, as though she has been expecting this question. \u201cShe said we\u2019re going to talk about it more this week.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The it<\/em> they\u2019re talking about isn\u2019t a new game or a school trip. It\u2019s something I wasn\u2019t prepared for at their age. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I glance at the classroom window. I don\u2019t have to look twice to know who they\u2019re talking about. Ms. Nisha, their teacher, has been running what she calls \u201cworkshops\u201d about bodies, boundaries, and respect. It\u2019s part of the school\u2019s broader initiative \u2013 Comprehensive Sexuality Education. She has the kind of calm authority that makes even the most uncomfortable subjects sound like simple truths. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When I first heard about it, I didn\u2019t know what to think. The very idea that kids this young were being taught about things I\u2019d barely known how to talk about myself at that age felt strange, like someone had pushed the envelope too far. My mom, who is a bit more conservative than me, didn\u2019t seem entirely convinced either. \u201cIt\u2019s just not the right time for them,\u201d she had said when I asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n But here I am, watching these kids, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and curiosity. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is it about, though?\u201d the ketchup boy asks, twisting his sandwich in his hands, clearly unsure. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d the band-aid girl says, biting into her apple. She speaks with that strange authority kids sometimes have, like they know something they shouldn\u2019t. \u201cBut I think it\u2019s about… stuff you don\u2019t talk about at home.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n I catch myself smiling. There was a time when I didn\u2019t know anything about it either \u2013 about how much silence can breed confusion, or how much people hide behind questions they can\u2019t ask. I watch them now, wondering if they even realise how much they\u2019re already teaching themselves.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ms. Nisha\u2019s \u201cworkshops\u201d are what everyone\u2019s whispering about. I\u2019ve overheard bits and pieces from the parents\u2019 meetings, and while no one says it outright, there\u2019s an undercurrent of discomfort. In the eyes of some adults, especially the older ones, the idea of introducing kids to these topics feels… premature. And maybe it is, maybe it\u2019s too soon for eleven-year-olds to think about consent or boundaries or identity in ways that were never discussed when we were younger. But I don\u2019t think Ms. Nisha sees it that way. I think she sees it as giving them the space to think, to ask. <\/p>\n\n\n\n It isn\u2019t just about sex, either. It\u2019s about everything around it \u2013 about trust, about respect, about understanding that your body isn\u2019t just something you occupy but something that belongs to you, and that your feelings, whatever they may be, deserve to be recognised. That\u2019s not a lesson they\u2019ll hear in every classroom.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Later, when the kids file back into the school after lunch, the energy shifts. There\u2019s a strange electricity in the air, as though something important is about to happen, but it\u2019s also the kind of thing you can\u2019t name yet. They\u2019re still laughing, still teasing each other, but there\u2019s a quietness under it all, a subtext I can\u2019t quite catch. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I glance at Ms. Nisha, who stands by the door to greet them. She doesn\u2019t seem disturbed by the chatter. In fact, she doesn\u2019t seem disturbed by much at all. Her calm is a kind of magnetism. She waves them into their seats without raising her voice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s clear she\u2019s not here to shame them or lecture them. She\u2019s here to give them words when they have none.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n That afternoon, the lesson goes a little deeper. It isn\u2019t about the basics anymore; it\u2019s about connection. About how things are felt as much as they are experienced. It\u2019s about how we can take ownership of ourselves, our bodies, and our decisions \u2013 and it\u2019s about how to listen. I catch a few words through the open window: \u201cboundaries,\u201d \u201cconsent,\u201d \u201cfeelings.\u201d Things that seemed so distant when I was their age, but now, watching Ms. Nisha guide them through the murky waters of understanding, I realise how necessary they are. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I see the same kids I overheard earlier fidgeting, exchanging glances, trying to grasp concepts that their parents never spoke of. <\/p>\n\n\n\n After the lesson ends, they flood back out into the playground, the subject of their discussion still hanging like mist in the air. They gather around the banyan tree, the kids in Class 5, laughing and chatting again, but somehow more aware. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you think it\u2019s really okay to say no?\u201d asks the band-aid girl, pulling a stray hair behind her ear as she looks at her friends. \u201cBecause I think I might have to tell my cousin something.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n A moment of silence passes between them, and then the ketchup boy shrugs, suddenly unsure. \u201cI think it\u2019s okay,\u201d he says. \u201cMs. Nisha said it\u2019s okay.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n They\u2019re still learning, still figuring things out, but they\u2019re talking, asking, feeling. It\u2019s something I didn\u2019t have at their age. They might not understand everything now, but in some way, they\u2019re already ahead. <\/p>\n\n\n\n That evening, I sit with my mom on the porch, watching the sky turn pink. I can hear her trying to decide if she\u2019s going to bring it up. She finally does. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI heard some of the parents don\u2019t like what Ms. Nisha is doing,\u201d she says carefully. \u201cThey think it\u2019s too much, too soon.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n I think about the kids in the playground, and the way they seemed more sure of themselves than I did at eleven. I think about how they didn\u2019t shy away from talking about things I\u2019d always heard spoken of in hushed tones, how they seemed to understand that silence could be heavier than words. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I say, after a long pause. \u201cI think maybe it\u2019s the right time for them. Not because they need to know everything, but because they need to know that it\u2019s okay to ask.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The Banyan tree stands as it always has, its roots deep in the ground, its branches wide enough to hold everyone who needs it. But now, when I look at it, I see something more: it\u2019s not just a place to hide or escape. It\u2019s a symbol of the space we give ourselves and each other to learn, to grow, to understand. There\u2019s no rushing it. The kids in Class 5 will take the time they need to figure it all out. And if they\u2019re lucky, they\u2019ll have people like Ms. Nisha around to hold space for them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Because the world isn\u2019t going to wait for them to grow up. And maybe it\u2019s better they start learning now. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The tree doesn\u2019t judge or rush them. It just waits. <\/p>\n\n\n\n And maybe that\u2019s enough.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cover Image: Photo by Demure Storyteller<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It\u2019s clear Ms. Nisha is not here to shame them or lecture them. She\u2019s here to give them words when they have none.\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":507,"featured_media":27556,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3401,4627],"tags":[619,255,97,214,26,99,430,25,2310],"class_list":{"0":"post-27555","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-fiction-poetry","8":"category-parents-teachers-and-cse","9":"tag-bodies","10":"tag-comprehensive-sexuality-education","11":"tag-consent","12":"tag-cse","13":"tag-gender","14":"tag-relationships","15":"tag-school","16":"tag-sexualities","17":"tag-sisa-spaces"},"menu_order":0,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27555","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/507"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=27555"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27555\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":27557,"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27555\/revisions\/27557"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/27556"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=27555"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=27555"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.tarshi.net\/inplainspeak\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=27555"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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