To My Beloved Teachers

To My Beloved Teachers

Here, I want to record my own gratitude to my teachers and professors with a genuine personal touch. I know, I know it is past the president Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan’s birthday. Always running late! In these modern (modern but uncouth) days it has become a fashion to berate teachers, elders, and belittle the teaching community in some places. There is a fallacious dangerous opinion among some youngsters (at times even older folks) – it goes like this: “Since I pay the school tuition or course fee I am owed the grades and knowledge. I do not have to respect the teacher and I am not obligated in any way to the faculty. Others should serve me because I (or the government) pay(s) and that is the end of it (the transaction)”. Then suddenly one day in midlife one realizes the terrible bitter truth: Even if you pay handsomely, you may not get the best doctors to treat you. Even if you pay for an airline seat, you may not get to travel due to expired visa or lack of vaccine passport. Even if one pays, one may not get the most pure pharmaceutical drugs. There may be impurity in heparin or wrong rotation (chirality) in thalidomide. So, even if one pays one may not get the proper goods or returns. 

But luckily we’re brought up in an earlier era. Things were entirely different. I was admitted to a municipal elementary school. As per the custom father chaperoned me to the school with a slate and stone pencil. Though I do not recall the teacher’s name I see him vividly in front of me with a dhoti and Vaishnava marks on the forehead. The school was in a large shed (warehouse) and on Saturdays the premises were used for the weekly market for selling saris, sheets, and cloth merchandise. We also had a small classroom nearby that housed large number of clay animals (like turtle, parrot, crow) and carts. What I remember about the first day is this account. The teacher took me into his lap and made me write beautiful Telugu words, “Om Nama-ssivaya”. Of course he was holding my little hand and guiding the letters. His heart was pure and his blessings made me earn degrees and diplomas later. After the short initiation, there was the celebratory distribution of sweets, peanuts, school bags, and pencils.

Later in the village I was put under the tutelage of a drawing (arts) master. I was struggling in math initially in the sixth standard. Going daily to the master’s house imparted some discipline and smoothed wrinkles in my character. Both inside and outside the classroom our drawing master watched me closely; that prevented me from falling into bad habits like smoking or skipping the classes. The tuition master and my cohorts appended a special nickname to me as a harmless endearment.

Some of my special teachers in the high school: Sastry (Sanskrit), Rama Raju (Telugu), O. S. Rao (Science), O. S. Sastry (English) and a few more. The Sanskrit teacher was the gentlest teacher. He never got angry with us. The science teacher looked after me in the final years with care and perhaps he was instrumental in influencing me to follow sciences. The English teacher had a good rapport with father and he eased father’s fears of finances for my higher studies. I should also mention my head masters (P.V. Rao, Sastry, Gopalakrishna Murty) who took care of my school records, grades, and the yearly physical checkups. Once our Telugu teacher saved my health from complications. He noticed my sudden bout of weakness and gave me an herbal medicine for a fortnight free of charge. 

I miss recalling the names of lecturers in our degree college. But some lecturers (BV) left indelible imprint. We had professors T. Ramarao, Chalapati Rao, and Raj Mannar. Professor Ramarao was very learned and (student) friendly. Once a group of students set up a tent near the college gate and went on a lightning hunger strike. I went to the college riding in the crowded bus with sweaty face unaware of the strike and there I witnessed the personnel skills of the principal. He gently talked to the students and offered to look into the difficulties.

“Dear youngsters, why are you here? What’s the issue?”

“Sir, we want to strike, a hunger strike really.”

“Ok. Let me hear everything. But before we go any further, it is too hot in this makeshift tent. Can we share some coffee or juice for friendship?”

Thus gently the principal sneakily introduced all the paraphernalia into the tense scene like a big tiffin career, a large coffee jug, glasses, water, and some leaf plates (banana leaves). The principal and senior students all settled nicely chit chatting about everything under the sky except the real rationale for the strike. Now obviously after thirty or forty minutes, all the student participants gorged down several hot idlis, dosas, and emptied coffee tumblers. After belching and with all signs of satiety, the principal goaded them to walk over to his office in the main central building. Probably the cool (Godavari) river breeze helped also a bit. So after an hour the front gate tent got torn down and all the classes were in full swing as per the routine. Professor Ramarao’s scholarship and human skills were remarkable. After all, he got a Ph.D. from London in literature – oh, that old school rigor and high quality. 

In the college after graduating with flying colors I was at a loss to pick a subject for higher studies. I liked all the physical sciences but how to narrow down to one area? Then all our lecturers were throwing odd suggestions like go for chemistry, statistics, or applied mathematics. But there was one newly recruited nuclear physics faculty member in the staff room. He looked straight at me with genuine concern and offered the advice – go for the best top of the heap like physics, electronics, or nuclear. His free counsel shaped my future. Some times a stray ray of light lights up our dark alley of life. We should be immensely grateful for such random luck.

Once I ran into some difficulty with my precious fellowship. Nothing seemed to work and things were getting messy. A well-meaning gentlemanly clerk came to my rescue. He was looking after the fellows, their monthly honorariums, and assorted bills. Suddenly he understood my plight and desperation. Being a well-versed palmist, he gently examined my right hand, and gave a stunning opinion thus: “With such a bright adventurous future ahead, why are you so sad? This is just a passing phase. Have full confidence in yourself and things will work out well.” That he could see the distant horizon clearly is still a mystery to me! I bow in reverence to all.

(October 5th is the UNO World Teachers Day. Saraswathi puja day falls on October 11/12 this year.) Copyright 2021 by the author