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The Last Word
A Passing Tribute
Rajen Kumar
Apr 2011
Apr 2011
I instantly recognized him as I drove past the crowded bus stand. The same old face wearing a look of wrinkled toughness. The long years had elapsed appeared to have left their imprint on him. Stopping and talking to him came spontaneously.
The passage of quarter a century had softened the gleam in his otherwise searching eyes. But the memory of the packed classroom with him standing against the backdrop of the imposing blackboard came alive vividly in my mind. The six-foot frame with strong shoulders still retained something of the majesty of those distinct years.
He noticed me only cursorily as he turned his head with alacrity in the opposite direction to decipher the number of the approaching bus. As I stood facing him, he became attentive. I was wondering how to wish him in full view of the dozens of bystanders. He gave me a half smile, so familiar to us.
“Sir, do you recognize me,” I asked him. Seeing the puzzled look on his face, I thought I would supply the answer my self. “Sir, you can't. I am one of those thousands of students whom you taught and saw past to college and career.” I waited to drive the pleasure of his reaction.
His smile turned full as he extended his hand to wish me in gratitude, the same hand we once dreaded when it was stretched to us with a stick at the end. I took his hand into mine and felt the warmth and its power as we moved towards a corner to talk. Nostalgia gripped me.
“Sir, I remember you, remember you well. You taught us Geometry, my favourite subject, in our ninth class.” His eyes gleamed in perfect harmony with his laughter.
“What do you do now”, was his query. “Sir, I am into journalism. I have been an active newspaper journalist and have served dailies and international news agencies over the years.”
His reaction was warm. “I am happy, very happy on seeing my students going up the ladder of success.” I thought for a while wondering what I should ask him. “Sir, are you fine, are you still teaching,” was all I could think of asking him as we were so used to answering, never questioning him
He gave a rueful smile, recalling a phase in life that is over. “What can we do? We are teachers. We remain teachers until the law decides it's time for us to call it a day. I will retire soon.” He said it all in one breath and added, “but we are contended at the sight of students like you.”
I could see the look of resignation on his tired face. He was dressed ordinarily, but the clothes were clean. His shirt had the marks of a day-long schedule in the classroom. Before I could think of it, he slipped into the nearby shop, excusing himself, and came out holding two bottles of soft drink.
“Please take it, it is very hot.” His voice had the aura of an imposing Guru ordering his disciple to follow his instructions. I at once accepted the offer feeling richly poor and defeated.
“Sir, let me drop you home,” I gathered courage to say.
“No my child, my bus may be coming. Why waste your precious time for me. You must see me again. A poor teacher like me feels richly rewarded by such meetings,” he said, patting me on my back.
The bus went off leaving a thick cloud of smoke behind. My eyes became moist as I thought of the debt of gratitude we owed to the humble tribe who made us what we are, getting a pittance in return. It took me sometime to recompose before I started for another worldly day.
The Last Word - 1
http://www.smeworld.org/story/last-word/how-secured-we-are.php
1 Comments >>
Aradhana Dhawan
11 Apr 2011 (05:58:52)
What an account of a chance meeting. Rajen Kumar, your pen speaks much more than it writes. Hats off to you. You account touched my heart.
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