TO MY TEACHER WITH LOVE.....

Do you remember me teacher? 12 years ago I was your student in St. Francis De Sales high school. In one of the long walks over that building corridor, I met you for the first time, with an explanatory letter for coming late to school. The initial encounter was marked with fear and uncertainty as you guided me to the class. The way you taught us English was exemplary that would send our blossoming minds to imaginary worlds. From Shakespeare’s Macbeth to Khuswanth Singh’s Mother Teresa; from O Henry’s New York to Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, we wandered through each of those worlds. The captivating situations you asked us to write about ignited our intellects. You were strict and Oh! How much I hated it! You would not budge from the standards you set for us for anything. I was asked to write an imposition 5 times for having written a prose in ‘active voice’, when it had to be done otherwise. But thank God, that the sense of language had taken good hold of me since then.

How simple you were madam! Still he greatest of queens could not stand you in all their majesty. What interest you evoked in learning new words, writing new lines, using new idioms and memorizing new rules. And I wonder how much I had tried with all my heart to impress you, to get a ‘GOOD’, for my homework, for an excellent remark in composition writing. We used to run to the library to write down new words from the newspaper and find their meanings and win your appreciation. But the broader sense of learning language to communicate had dawned on my puerile mind long after I left our school. I hated the day when you asked me to stand up on the bench for no mistake of mine. I felt you knew it too but I took it in my stride as I was convinced that you were at liberty to punish your favourite student. I was in love with the school, the creative potential the English language had to offer and my friends who it seemed would stay with me for life. What a fool I was! Will time start for anyone madam? Have we not moved out? Packing our bags with dreams and challenges we have rowed down the river of life.

Today I met few of our friends on Facebook teacher. How much each of us have grown? Boys have become men. From crumpled uniforms and shabby hairstyles, these students have come a long way. They are seeing patients, running MNCs, training abroad, and becoming multi specialists. Few are married and many others are running with passion and zest. I too went along the popular road (when I say road, I reminiscence ‘the road not taken’ by Robert Frost, you had asked me to recite in front of the school assembly!) of becoming a doctor. I also finished a diploma in family medicine. But my true passion lies in writing, about life, situations, God and His grace upon human race. I wrote for newspapers madam and often I am asked “who taught you English?”

But I loathe few truths you did not teach me. I was in a predicament as I left the school for a cruel world. You taught me not to be selfish, but the people around are not bothered beyond the vagaries of their own lives. You taught me to be honest, but corruption has pervaded into every nook and cranny of the country. You taught me to love others, but how can it be possible with people who are so unloving? I was rewarded for doing right and reprimanded for doing wrong, but here it is the other way round teacher! The powerful are exempted from the clutches of the law where as the poor don’t have the voice to cry against the atrocities against them. We used to wear uniforms- white half sleeves and dark green trousers with tie and belt, symbolizing equality. I, Mustaq and Krishna sat in the same bench, played in the same teams studied the same texts. Now they say we are different in caste, creed, religion and economic status. Is it true madam? Are those ethics meant to be abandoned after school? Did you know it all before teacher that you were sending us into a ruthless savage world? Don’t tell me that was not your syllabus teacher! You bothered about our lives. Why did you just leave us exposed to the theoretical moral constructs that are unattainable when the rudder meets the road?

Or are they indeed achievable teacher? Did you hide the grotesque elements to ourselves, so that we could learn it first-hand  Did you mean that morality cannot be taught but had to be chosen? Did you teach, though in a concealed fashion, that life itself is the greatest teacher and you were just a springboard to reality? Now I see it teacher! If I had been taught those qualities 12 years ago I would have laughed them away to ignorance. Now I see the full implications of words honesty, morality, equality, justice in the society that so badly needs it. Will I also succumb to the pressures from outside? Will I fail to make any difference and fail you in the process? Please pray for the otherwise teacher.

Two points before I take leave teacher. We cannot judge the potential of a student by the grades he acquires. Friends of mine who were looked down with disdain are doing extremely well. They are ruling the roost in their branches of expertise. How easily we judge madam! People whom I regarded worthless have humbled the so called academicians like me. You have the ability to spark the flame of talent in children. And if there are some who are not shaped for the bookish kind of excellence, please be gentle towards them, as you always did. (I remember you encouraging John who consistently failed to fare well. He is now an analyst in London!). Secondly, I am greatly indebted to your presence in my life. Teachers are not those who air their portions and leave children to chaos. But they are those who guide them from darkness to light, ignorance to truth and waywardness to discipline. What a great ministry you have been given teacher- shaping young minds for the potential inherent in them. You resemble a far greater Person, who declared “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life” as you work towards children realizing these virtues. No wonder that great Person was called ‘GOOD TEACHER’!