"We are all like match sticks. We carry our fire within us
but only as a possibility. We have to come to the match box surface, to grind
ourselves in and bang our heads for the fire to come out. And a true teacher is
like that – a match box surface..."
I believe everyone has at least one blessing in his or her life.
Mine has been that God brought great teachers into my life. Many of them were
formal teachers, yet many were those who presented themselves at various times
in my life and taught great, invaluable lessons.
So, I was luckier than most in that aspect. However, I am sure
that we can all look back at our lives and will be able to locate that one
teacher who had that great impression on us and somewhere shaped who we are.
These were the people who gave more and more without expecting anything in
return. At least in their relationship with us, they gave out of love and they
often gave of themselves. No gratitude expressed is enough for these great men
and women, who, neither rich nor famous, will always hold the highest pedestal
of reverence in my heart.
They say that human mind cannot distinguish between memory and
imagination. To it, an actual experience and an imagined experience are quite
the same (which really explains why positive thinking, visualization techniques
and many other therapies work!)
As I look back at many of these teachers now after a gap of years
and decades, the mind gets muddled in the detail of things. The line between
what actually happened and the interpretation of what happened blurs. However,
the impressions of what happened, to whatever degree they are accurate (and I
should like to believe that they mostly are), are very real and sharp in my
mind. And since it’s these impressions, and not necessarily the truth, which has
remained with me and shaped my life, I would like to share some of them.
Year 1977-78, Jaipur, me about 11 years and in class 7…
Ms Anuradha Pandit is assigned our class as a young English
teacher. Now, we were from that generation of ‘Hindi medium’ middle class
people where English was actually a foreign language, a chore and something which had to
be endured and scraped through. But that changed soon with Ms Pandit. Her
classes used to be one fun filled riot. She would play pranks with us and
occasionally even whistle!... We had a game where all of us had to speak in
English and anybody using a Hindi word was fined 10p (the penalty always
accrued but never collected). Hers was one class in the whole day everyone
looked forward to.
And of course she taught. Taught better than many. But more
importantly, she made me interested in a subject for the first time in my life.
Before that you studied something because you were told to do so, you wanted to
impress your parents and teachers, or whatever. For the first time I studied
because I enjoyed doing so.
Personally, what I learnt from her, looking back, is the
importance of engagement and fun in teaching. She was the first of the great
teachers in my life and a smile comes on my face whenever I think of her and
those years.
Year 1981-82, Delhi, me about 14 years and in class 9…
The session had just started. We were sitting in the class waiting
for the new History teacher, someone who had come on transfer and had just
joined the school.
By class 9th, it was clear that we were the ‘science’ types. There
was neither any interest nor motivation to study History and the past
experience with the subject was nothing to talk about. I think many kids, even
if they were sure shot ‘arts’ cases felt the same and it was one bunch of 45
disinterested, lackadaisical and sleepy children awaiting the new teacher in a
sultry July afternoon.
And the teacher walks in. He was one extremely fair, short and
rotund guy in mid-thirties whose aspect ratio might have been rather uncommonly
exaggerated for a human male. He had a kind face and mischievous eyes.
Plonk! He raised himself and sat on the table, facing us. He
looked like someone who loved teaching and belonged, every inch of his girth,
in that class at that moment.
And thus spake M Tahir Nayyar…
History is His (Mankind’s) Story and I will tell you the story.
Kitaaben band, copiyaan band… Mein kahaani sunaoonga aur tum
sunna… Par kitaab padhte rahna kyonki main test mein sawaal kitaab mein se
poochhoonga… Kitaab mein kuchh na samajh mein aaye toh bejhijak poochhna… Lekin
ek shart hai… Mujhse ye na poochhna ki Hindustan kab aazad hua… Kyonki ye har
kitaab mein likha hai aur ye poochhne ka matlab hai ki tumne kitab nahi padhi…
Mujhse ye poochhna ki Hindustan 15 August 1947 ko hi kyon aazad hua, 14 ko kyon
nahi aur 16 ko kyo nahi?
Only Tahir sir could have said that. What command over his
subject, what love for the kids and what a story-teller!
I can still visualize people standing on the deck throwing cartons
and boxes of tea into the sea! That’s how vivid ‘Boston Tea Party’ of 1773 and
the whole of American Revolution is in my mind even today.
It was some coincidence that in 1989 when I joined Hindustan Zinc
Ltd. at Zawar Mines after my B.Tech. he was the principal of the Central School
there. He stayed there for one more year before he was transferred to Dehradoon
but during that one year, I had a free access to his house. If I did not go for
2 days, he will call the third. Though his own children were much too small at
that time, he loved me as his own…
I recently learnt that he passed away few years back and the world
is much the poorer because they hardly make such teachers any more.
June 1991, me 23 years, in first class compartment of
Chetak Express coming from Udaipur to Delhi on LTC…
The cabin had four berths. I occupied one of the lower berths and
was waiting for the train to depart. It was still half an hour before the train
left. The evening breeze was building up and felt good on my tired, sweaty
face. Leaning on the window, I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes…
Images. Last few months had been bad. I was feeling suffocated at
Zawar Mines. The lead-zinc mining township of Hindustan Zinc Ltd. had a
population of about 25000. It was located 8 km off Udaipur Ahmedabad highway,
about 45 km from Udaipur. Practically, it was a hilly adivasi area essentially
in the middle of nowhere.
The plant was old, the technology nowhere close to what I studied
in Engineering, the politics was as petty as it was stifling and the salary?
Class I officer grade used to be ‘baees sau se chaar hazaar’. With Rs. 1064/-
basic, I used to get less than Rs. 2000/- (after deductions, etc) every month
for my life locked into the endless A-B-C shift misery.
The economic crisis was yet to hit India, Dr. Manmohan Singh was
hardly a known name and liberalization was a word very few were acquainted
with. For someone brought up in Delhi, I just could not see myself spending the
next 35 years of my life in this back of beyond.
I had been telling my seniors for some months that I will leave
before completing 2 years here. They used to laugh at me telling they felt the
same when they initially joined. Now those guys were around for 15 year,
married, kids… settled. I had joined HZL on 1st July 1989. This was June 1991.
Time was running out…
Yet, what could I do? I had taken some MBA entrance exams but
could not get through. The shift duties never really agreed with me and it was
physically beyond me to put any decent study hours for the preparation.
Chucking the job that too a government (PSU) job was too much a
risk back then for our middle-class (actually lower middle-class if you
consider the salary that a government officer – my dad – used to get in those
days!) situation and sensibilities.
So, here I was pensive and smoking, leaning on a train window. You
could actually put a Dev Anand Hum Dono song as a voice over to that visual –
main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya, har fikr ko dhuen mein udata chala
gaya… Only the fikr was more adamant in my case!
Two guys entered the coupe. Both in their mid-thirtees.
One was this heavy set giant of a man of about 6 ft 3 or 4 inches.
The other was a more normal packaging. The train started. The two gents chatted
for some time and then the ‘normal’ guy retired to the upper berth.
I could make out from their conversation (clarified further later
by my giant friend) that they were both architects working for Udaipur town
planning department and were going to Jaipur for some official work.
As soon as it was
night, my friend took out a bottle of rum, some cola and namkeen and invited me
to join him. The invitation was as earnest as it was tempting. I could not
refuse. There was also no reason to…
Intimacy comes fast when the spirits are high! I do not remember what we talked or how we got down discussing my
particular predicament but that’s the topic which consumed most of the evening.
Considering my state of mind at the time and the magical effects of rum, it
might have been an outpouring!
What I do remember very clearly is my senior friend telling me…..
if you think you are not doing justice to the job and the job is not doing
justice to you, it is criminal to continue. Leave NOW!... A worthy life may be
tough but it is still better than a life of unceasing compromise… Do not
imagine it will be easy. Your family and friends may call you a fool, numerable
hardships may come but no compromise… For there is nothing nobler or more
spectacular than a man living his life on his own terms with courage and
conviction… and willing to pay the price…
With these impressions I dozed off. When I got up in the morning
he was gone. I don’t even know his name nor I ever went back to enquire about
him at Udaipur. But almost as a tribute to him, I reached Delhi and never quite
went back to my job. It was 30th June 1991, precisely 2 years from the date of
my joining HZL!
The least I can say is that conversation and the subsequent action
changed my life forever and continue to shape it today. Though some people
close to me would rather have it otherwise!
Thank you sir. Hope to meet you some day…
I hope that some day I will be able to touch a
life like that! That would be a fitting tribute to all my teachers... Till
then, let's remember them all.
(This post is previously published in one of my other blogs)