The lingering fragrance (588 words)

This is a very old post repeated on Teacher's Day

I was in eighth grade when Mr. Govindarajan (whom we affectionately called GR Sir) became my class teacher. Despite my sieve-like memory, I vividly recall his short, frail figure, unkempt hair, and an appearance that belied his early fifties. Yet, what truly stood out were the twinkle in his kindly eyes and the ever-present mischievous smile that brightened his face.

GR Sir had a unique gift for making even the dullest subjects fascinating. His witty remarks and lively teaching style transformed our classroom into a place of wonder and laughter. I remember one day while explaining a complex math problem, he suddenly quipped, "Mathematics is like a detective story—full of mysteries to solve!" His humour was infectious, making even the most reluctant students sit up and take notice.

Despite his humour and warmth, there was a certain aloofness that kept us from taking undue liberties. He knew how to instill confidence in us, making us believe we could achieve any goal we set. GR Sir never derided even the weakest students, patiently explaining lessons over and over until everyone understood. The last ten minutes of his class were always dedicated to broadening our minds, discussing topics beyond the textbook, and kindling our curiosity.

One day, GR Sir entered the classroom unusually late, looking distinctly fatigued and distraught. He called me over and whispered, "Partha, I went to the hospital this morning to admit my aged mother. She has acute asthma. It was an emergency, and I am coming directly from the hospital after she stabilized. You know my house. Can you please collect lunch from my wife? Tell her I was held up and couldn’t come home as promised. Also, let her know that doctors are attending to my mother and I’ll be going to the hospital directly after school."

I dashed to his house, a small, two-room side portion that was dark and dingy. After conveying the message, I waited as his wife packed lunch. In the dim hall, I noticed a boy my age huddled on a mat. He tried to get up but couldn't, making unintelligible guttural noises. His mother hurried to his side.

"Lie down quietly, Kanna. I will come to you in a minute after sending lunch to appa," she said gently.

"Aunty, is he not well?" I asked, concerned. "He is not getting up and is making strange sounds."

She turned to me, a tear glistening in her eye. "Yes, he is very unwell. He cannot walk on his own. He cannot speak and is not a normal child."

It struck me then that he was not only affected by polio but also mentally challenged. What a cruel fate for my kind and dedicated teacher, who never let his personal struggles show. An aged, sick mother, a disabled child, a small decrepit home, and low income—such a burdensome combination for anyone to bear.

Yet, GR Sir's devotion to his duty and his unwavering amiable disposition remained unshaken. My admiration for him grew boundless as I recalled his natural dignity, infectious warmth, and willingness to go the extra mile for his students. He never allowed his private grief to intrude upon his professional responsibilities.

For GR Sir, education was more than just book learning. It was about igniting young minds with the wonders of the world and life itself. The memory of such a remarkable teacher lingers like a sweet fragrance, long after the years have passed. His rich contentment and serene detachment are rare qualities, not often found among ordinary mortals.

"A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops." Henry Adams