In my life of 20-some years, I have had the opportunity of been taught by a humongous number of tutors. As a young child, my parents did not believe in sending me off to tuitions much but that thought quickly changed owing to the kind of people around us and the way they brought their children up.
I am not complaining. I am just setting the record straight Having said that, I deem myself quite lucky because I did not have it the worst. Some of my friends were bogged down with tuitions from classes two and three. I started at six, perhaps. But a few teachers in my life have given me more than teaching their subject to me. A very few of them could give me something that I could carry for life, let alone cherish it. But when I was fourteen and in class eight, my parents got me admitted to an English class. I violently fought it. I was adamant and resolute that I would not take a class for English. I felt trampled, like my self-confidence was punched in the stomach.
I don’t know what I was thinking of back then but I just remember being reluctant and vehemently opposing my need for that tuition. But, my father is a stern man. He is not rude. He seldom raises his voice but there is a certainty in the way he speaks: when he says something with conviction, you gotta do it. So I made a deal with Baba: I would go there for the first month and then if I still don’t like it, I shall never go again. He agreed: from then to now, I make these twiddly deals with him often and he always agrees. Perhaps, both of us believe that experiences can’t be taught. One has to go through them and develop an understanding for themselves.
Back in the day, I was certain that I would not like this teacher of English and after one month, I’d never see this man ever again. He had a reputation, this man. His name was Suvro Chatterjee and my parents said he was mad. I was dumbfounded. But if he is crazy, why do parents like yourselves want him to teach us? He is a good teacher, my parents quietly said. I did not understand it back then but that was my introduction to hypocrisy. We take the best out of people and yet, as soon as we are behind their backs, we gossip. He changes young minds, I’d heard. That wasn’t a gossip. Twas the truth.
But a decade in the line, I’d do anything to have my mind changed like that. I don’t say this to everybody but he changed my life. He did and he did it stealthily. It was he who taught me about pain and the importance of it and how it’s not something to be ashamed or afraid of. It was he who ingrained in me a passion for writing which eventually led me to start this blog in 2015. It was him who changed me from the inside out. And I have ever longed to get another teacher like him but I think he was custom-made: one of a kind. Limited edition.
Whatever I do, wherever I go, I shall never forget the first time I met him. With a pessimism at the back of my head, I went to his first class. I was always an introvert, never talked a lot with anybody to the point of looking rude. I have been told so many times by so many people I appeared rude to them initially. But, I honestly don’t care. So, there I was huddled at the corner of the large dining hall which my English teacher had converted into his classroom. There were chairs all along the walls and mattresses on the floor. You could sit either on the floor or on the chairs, as per your personal choice and availability. The room was well-lit and there were large windows along with one of the walls.
At five minutes to three, a middle-aged man strode down the stairway and into the hall. He was about six feet tall, as tall as my father and had a lean figure. He waded through the stream of students and made his plate on a chair that was placed at the centre of a line of chairs against one of the walls. I sat there three chairs away from him looking at his face still reluctant but I could feel the intensity of my reluctance dropping. I don’t know if it was his calm voice or his composed demeanour, but it was working its magic on me already. He taught us The Hummingbird Who Lived Through Winter by William Saroyan that day and I fell in love with him. I did and I am not ashamed to say it. Now, let me tell you a thing about my memory. I do not remember anything. You give me a task and I’ll forget before I say goodbye to you. I forget trivial things. I forget names of people, people, places and whole experiences.
Last day, somebody talked about a specific kiss and I did not remember. Last month, I saw a classmate of two years and I could not recognize him and I called him by another name. So, when I remember what my English teacher taught in an afternoon in 2013, it must have meant something to me; as I said, he changed me for the very best.
I shall always carry the knowledge that he bestowed on me and cherish the lessons he gave. Not just English lessons but also the lessons for life. He taught about cliches and how words like amazing and great lost their meanings because they were used everywhere. He said Literature makes us human. Otherwise, we are just semi-automata.
He was a great storyteller. I remember each story that he told us: the funny one, the chilling one, the scary one-all of them. It was he who first told: Life is Pain. Anyone saying otherwise is trying to sell ya something. I know it’s a movie line but he first introduced me to it. And now my life revolves around that, the realization of the importance of pain and the wonders pain can work on our souls. He was funny. While teaching Act Four, Scene 2 of The Merchant of Venice, he made a joke I’ll never forget. It was such a serious scene with mercy speeches and no blood spilling dialogues and in the middle of that, he said something so funny that it lightened everyone up.
I am just writing this today because I miss his presence in my life. And although, he might admonish me and say: you write a 1500 word essay about me and yet, you can’t come by my place which is a kilometre away from yours. Well, I can but it won’t bring back the classes and also, I’m the kind who’ll better write articles about love and pain and meaning of life than go and say hello to an old friend. It’s strange to call him that but in odd ways of his own, he had turned into a friend of mine, at least in my mind.
And I just want to be thankful to him; thankful for being such an amazing teacher, thankful for being so frank that it hurt, thankful that he writes such detailed blogs that help people like me stay connected to him, thankful for not just being my English teacher. I don’t know if he knows this but he changes lives. He makes better human beings and If this world has people more like him, it will be a more bearable place.
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