Teachers' Day – Fragments of Nostalgia

“Subroto, can you get out of my class” – The first sentence that our civics teacher would utter for 3 continuous months in class IX. The simple person that she was, believed that sending me out of the class would have kept the discipline of the class in place. Unfortunately, many of us knew that she was a simple soul. Without a moment’s delay a few other hands were up “Miss can I also get out of the class?” What does she say? This not only did irritate her but also did insult. Thus a few of us always spent our civics class in the corridors of our school. It is very simple; we were not civic at all. The day of my leaving school when I touched her feet in reverence, I could see a mother’s love in her eyes. I am sure that we all felt bad but that feeling was temporary.

The first history class in class IX was adjourned as we, the scoundrels, started laughing hearing a word from a Sanskrit verse that our teacher was reciting. The word sounded something vulgar (as per our the then notorious intellect) and almost 50% of the class, of course me included, started giggling. The teacher noticed this a left the class. The same teacher did forgive us and treated us as her children while guiding us through the subject. I even remember she watching us play cricket one day and applauding. By the way, we all were shit scared of her.

The qualification exam to the boards was important and clearing all the subjects was a requirement. I failed in Life Sciences (32/100) and thus was initially not considered to appear for the boards. I was called to the Teachers’ Room by the teacher and she had no words to explain her sorrow. In spite of her trying the best I did fall short. I recall a small group of teachers formed a group to take a decision on this. They considered the inconvenience that I was undergoing at that point owing to my father’s health and they recommended allowing me to sit for the boards. I scored 76 / 100 in life sciences in my board exams. However, I lost my father a few days after my teachers allowing me to sit for the boards. I shall be ever grateful to them. Had I lost a year, my life, probably, would have taken a downward spiral.

I was popular and loved by friends, good at cricket and one of the most wicked ones in the school. I have supported the 4th grade staff (the peons and guards) in their agitation against the headmaster. I used to coin their slogans against him. They used to wall write in the after hours. They all loved me and used to give me a heads-up before the headmaster used to come on rounds. I was hardly caught. But when caught, the punishment was severe. Caning was the punishment he believed in. One such unfortunate day, 7 of us were caught red handed doing mischief in an off period. The obvious caning started. I knew I can’t escape, but took a bet against bet. I stood next to the strongest of us in the queue of the to be caned group. To the best of my luck, the cane gave up after 3 hard strikes on that friend’s (the strong guy) palm. What a relief, at least for a few moments. However, our headmaster was fuming and he ordered his peon (Satish) to bring another cane (we never knew how many he had). However, Satish misunderstood and instead brought a small bamboo instead. Hahahahaha….. we started giggling in front of the living horror. He lost his composure and wanted to leave the spot at the earliest. Before leaving he gave us an imposition. The same headmaster introduced me to Mr. Neil Obrien, may be 10 years after I passed out of school, in Guwahati airport. I saw pride and joy in his eyes.

It was a day 30 years after we left school, two of us went to school at the time of the final bell. 3 decades isn’t small time. We wanted to meet any teacher of our times who might have still been working. We met our life sciences teacher. I touched her feet and then looked up. She took a few minutes but definitely recognized. I remember what she told and let me quote “there are hundreds who pass out every year but its always some students who keep a mark. And how can I forget your mischiefs and your innocent eyes”. We laughed heartily.

The mathematics teacher, whose I was pet, has walked into sunset. I shall never forget her stokes on my head whenever she found me down. I was good at her subject, but there was more for this connect. I have always considered her as my mother. I recall our simple yet courageous English teacher in our primary classes and the, too educated for us, English teacher in the IXth and Xth standards. The later was the person who inspired me to write. No, I could never keep up to her inspiration, but she is an icon to me.

Reaching the sunset years of life, I sorely realise the follies of my student life and the selfless love of my teachers. This evening I wanted to pen down some of those follies and through this confession would like to beg forgiveness from all my teachers. The feeling is so mixed that rain and rainbow cross my eyes throughout the period I have been writing.

May God keep my teachers and all teachers healthy and safe. No one could have shaped me and my life better.

Pranams and love.