The Preschool Puzzle

The Preschool Puzzlex

“He just doesn’t respond to us, no matter how many times we call him. He simply ignores us. Either you have admitted him to school too early, or he has a problem understanding simple instructions. I’m sure you’ve noticed that at home too, haven’t you?”

The teacher’s words referred to our three-year-old son, Dev, who had been attending play school for less than two weeks. My wife and I were perplexed. We exchanged glances, and I mustered the courage to respond. “He behaves normally at home, and I don’t think he is too young for preschool.”

“That’s unbelievable, Mr. Kumar. He’s in the classroom now. Let me call him, and we’ll see how he responds.”

Soon, Dev entered the Principal’s office. Upon seeing us, his eyes widened and he smiled. 

“Papa, Mama, you’re here? Can we go home?”

I asked Dev to sit on the chair between his mother and me. He obeyed.

It was time to demonstrate some more of our son’s abilities to the teacher and the Principal. So, I asked him, “Devu, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Dad. Can we go home now?” Dev replied.

“Yes, we will go home soon, but first, tell me, what’s your favorite color?”

“Red. Can we go home now?”

“Okay, and what’s your teacher’s name?”

“Anita. Can we go home now?”

A few other questions followed, and he responded well. His teacher and the Principal appeared stumped.

“That’s very strange. He doesn’t respond to us at all in the class.”

My wife was visibly agitated, and Dev was in no mood to answer any more questions.

We left the room, with my wife muttering under her breath about the teachers and the school environment. “Should we interrogate you now? First learn to teach yourselves…” she whispered.

I tried in vain to calm her down.

Back at home, the atmosphere remained tense. Complaints, grumbling, and discussions about transferring Dev to another school echoed throughout the house. These eventually subsided as we all grew tired and dozed off.

The next morning, I had a eureka moment: The teacher knows our dear Dev as Devyansh, his formal name. At home, we never call him that. In fact, we call him everything else – my wife and I call him Devu or Chiku. His grandma calls him Laddu or Mohan. Grandpa calls him Gublu… and the list goes on. His cousins and friends call him Chiku too.

No wonder he doesn’t respond to the teacher when she calls him Devyansh. He doesn’t recognize that name. He thinks she is calling someone else.

Before he went to school that day, I explained to him that his name was actually Devyansh. His confused and disinterested look made it clear he didn’t understand. For a three-year-old, the concept of a formal name is quite abstract, I realized.

I let him go to school, but the rest of us had a discussion at home. Let’s call him Devyansh. All of us.

It took us some practice, but eventually, we got the hang of it, and so did Devyansh.

About two weeks later, we received another call from school. It was the Principal, Mrs. Dixit. “Not to worry, Mr. Kumar. All is well now. Devyansh is responding well, and in fact, he is doing better than most of the other kids in school. We have turned this around. My teachers have done wonders. I am proud of my teachers. It was an impossible task, a herculean one, but my teachers took it up as a challenge and succeeded.”

I thanked Mrs. Dixit, the Principal, and as I was about to hang up, she added, “You’re welcome. Just one more thing, Mr. Kumar. Please let your wife know that my teachers don’t need lessons in teaching. We know our work very well. Have a good day!”

(Story credit: Adapted from a chai ka cup moment among office colleagues)