To Sir, With Love

My first teacher was a woman who lived near my house. She was a tutor in a Government primary school. I remember her coming home daily for an hour to teach me and my sister. I must have been about five. Memory is a shade sketchy, though. She taught us the first lessons in language- Malayalam and simple Arithmetic. We then had a writing tablet- the slate, we wrote with the chalk & slate- pencil and used the ubiquitous (those days) “Mashi thandu”shrub to wipe and erase the slate clean.

The next person who taught me was again a woman. Saroja (Saroja teacher).She was in her twenties and lived near our house. She was a Brahmin and we (me, and my sister) were treated to fabulous Tamil dishes- sweets, savouries, bajis, paniyarams etc when we went to her house to attend  classes. She taught at the same school  we studied- Holy Angels Convent School. She taught me through my first standard to the fourth. The wonderful thing about going to her house for tuition was the collection of comics her brother had. I was initiated into the fantastic collection of comics of the Phantom , Tarzan, Flash Gordon, Casper the friendly Ghost, Riche Rich and Mandrake the Magician. There was a huge  collection of comics  in that house. Her delinquent brother who apart from reading comics, having sumptuous food and blasting hell a lot of crackers for Deepavali did nothing much. He was a drop out! She used to be annoyed when I used to devour the comics between classes . She exclaimed that language was not grammatically perfect in comics, and may actually damage the development of a child’s language skills. Her big sister was always around to mollify her so I was let read those fascinating comics.

I think I can recall that it was from the third standard and parallel to the classes at Ms Saroja’s, I and my sister were also sent to the middle aged Ms E. Sawyer who lived opposite our house across the street. She was Anglican by descend (not the Anglo Indian) and a spinster. She coached us English. Ms Sawyer had a parrot called Polly that spoke English words fairer than we did. Many years after, I visited Ms Sawyer who had moved away and lived in a different part of the town. But now I notice that someone else live in the place she moved into. I ‘m sure she must be about one hundred and more if she is alive today She was the quintessential English woman, mysteriously marooned back in the sub continent.

Mr Sankaranaryana Iyer was the headmaster of a local government High School. He was in his eighties when he began to come home alternate days to teach me and my sister. He was gifted in English, Mathematics and array of subjects. The couple of hours he spent with us were enlivening. He let us feel that we were on a discovery and never coerced to study. He had a special knack in imparting knowledge and making us even question him. I still remember him going about the Second World War, the war time Prime minister Mr Churchill, De'Gaul and so on in the midst of his class in the nonsense subject called “Algebra”. That made me forget the anguish of studying Algebra. In the course of those classes he spoke about many matters , perhaps to keep our interest alive in the subjects he taught. No room for ennui ! He was of the opinion that learning must be a fascination and not a bitter pill forced down the gullet. He taught me from the fifth standard to the eight. Years after, when I was out of college and employed, I went to see him a few times at his house in Sreevaraham, Thiruvanathapuram.. He was then in his late nineties, but alert, and recogonised me. The last time I met him was at his son’s house, he was quite frail and was quite unsure of who I was. He died a few days after.

The memorable moment of my life- a moment when we met after almost ten years is etched with ample goose bumps. Before that, I last saw him when I went to his small apartment in my old High School to seek his presence at my wedding. He was the chief warden and retired from active duty as a teacher. The School authorities, as token gesture of gratitude and in there graciousness offered him the warden’s job after he retired, and provided him a room next to the boarders block in the school to live in. He was a bachelor, and his only relative, his mother had passed too. He was a revered figure; a man of average height, had a thin steady frame and bald. The long white beard, ocher dhoti and kurta gave him the appearance of mystic. Perhaps everybody who became mattered or not in Thiruvananthapuram society and who was educated at the Government Model High School Thiruvanathapuram have gone through his tutelage.

It was the morning of my cousin’s wedding which took place in Thpuram. The traditional reception that was accorded to the groom was on at the gates of the mandapam. And I was accompanying my cousin brother in the short procession into the Mandapam. I noticed this old man of thin frame and flowing white beard and simultaneously he, me. He shrieked as if it was a war cry and came running to me with outstretched hands. ”Eda Anil..ey” (Dear Anil). He hugged me in one mammoth bear hug -vice like grip and I in reflex responded by lifting him up. There was  tears brimming in his eyes. It was indeed one of the greatest pleasantness and fortune to be embraced by a teacher when meeting him after many years and time. He was the family friend of the bride and was their special guest. The whole crowd of men, women and children who were witness to the event, were dumbstruck and did not know that it was the unrestrained  affection showered by a teacher on r a former student and a lousy one at that. He was Mr. Narayana Kurup, and was known by the moniker “Kurup Sir”.

He peacefully  passed away some years sgo . He died while having food at a local restaurant.

To “Sir with love!”