The lingering fragrance

 

Today being Teacher's Day, I have posted here an old story of mine written years back to salute the great teachers 'who inspire hope, ignite the imagination, and instill a love for learning in their wards.'

I was in class 8, I think, when I had Mr. Govindarajan (we called him GR Sir) for my class teacher. From my sieve-like memory, I clearly remember that he was short in height, frail with a small physical frame and unkempt hair and appeared much older than his early fifties. But I cannot forget the twinkle in his kindly eyes and the ever-present mischievous smile on his face that belied the initial impression one got of him. His witty and lively classes, however drab the subjects were, made him very popular amongst the boys in the school.

 Despite his bubbly humour and warmth, there was a certain aloofness inhibiting any intimacy or liberties. He knew well how to instill and inspire confidence in his pupils and in making them believe that they could achieve whatever goal they had set for themselves. He never even derided the weak students and took trouble explaining the lessons again and again. He used to devote invariably the last 10 minutes of his class to kindle the interest of the boys in varied general subjects and expand their mental horizon. There was some innate charm about him and in his teaching method that we looked forward to his classes.

 A wise master, he inspired awe in his abilities and earned the respect of one and all including his peers. He had a soft trait in that he could not be harsh even on impish and roguish boys even when occasions demanded it. When any boy complained of the slightest physical discomfort, he never looked askance but sent him home immediately for rest.

 For reasons not known, he took a special liking for me possibly because I lived very close to his house. He used to give me small errands occasionally like getting chalk pieces from the office. It was one day when he entered the class unusually late by a few minutes; he looked distinctly fatigued and distraught. He called me near him and whispered “Partha, I went to hospital this morning to admit my aged mother who is suffering from acute Asthma. It was an emergency and I am coming here directly from the hospital after she stabilized. You know my house. Can you please collect the lunch from my wife? Tell her that I was held up in the hospital and couldn’t come home. Tell her that my mother is stabilizing and that I would be going to hospital directly from the school.”

 I ran to his house that was close to school. It was a small two room side portion, dark and dingy. After I conveyed the message, I was waiting for the lady to pack the lunch. I could see in the dark and bare hall a small boy of my age huddled on a mat. When he saw me, he tried to get up but could not. He made some unintelligible guttural noises that brought his mother scurrying to his side. She said to him “Lie down quietly and I will come in a minute after sending lunch to appa”

I blurted foolishly “Aunty, is he not well? He is not getting up and is making strange sounds.”

She turned to me attempting to hide a tear and said before going to kitchen” Yes, he is very unwell and cannot walk on his own. He cannot speak too and is not a normal child.”

It struck me then that he was not only polio affected but also mentally retarded. What a cruel punishment to have befallen the excellent and loving teacher who never betrayed even in an unguarded moment the piteous and depressing scene at home. An aged sick mother frequently on bouts of asthma, an abnormal child with no future, a small decrepit home and low emoluments, is a deadly combination that no ordinary person can withstand. I wondered how this man’s devotion to his duty and amiable disposition remained unshaken by such extreme personal disappointments.

My esteem for him grew boundless when I remembered his natural dignity, infectious warmth of spirit and willingness to walk the extra mile to teach the slow children till they understood. He never allowed his private grief to intrude in the call of his duty. Education for him is something more than book learning. For him it is an initiation of the young and eager minds into the wonders of the world and life where time and money played a little part on a personal level. The memory of such a great but simple teacher of the past abides like perfume even after the lapse of long years. Such rich contentment and serene detachment are no common possessions of ordinary mortals.