My Favorite Teacher

Without frills or frame, a black and white portrait of a teacher. I loved Amid a haphazard heap of faded memories, an image sticks out, the image of my favorite teacher. It was in my degree class that I met him, quite serious by nature, not very pleasing but commanding respect, who the students looked upon with reverence, more of fear. We never knew, beneath the façade of his rough exterior, he hid a heart loaded with love and concern for others. He was one among my many English teachers. One day, towards the end of our first year in Degree, he gave us an assignment; ‘Write on what you wish to become, once you pass out of college.’ Putting a lot of thought into it, I wrote my plan to pursue Law, an ambition inculcated in me by my father. Actually, I was at crossroads, unable to take a proper decision. The next day he came to the class, with our assignments corrected. Coming to my seat, he said in a low voice, “You have written this beautifully well. Indeed, you have a flair for language, but being such a sensitive person, Law, I fear is not suited to your disposition. You’ll shine if you take Literature and Art.” I wondered how he could guess, I was sensitive. Later, through the succeeding two years of our degree course, we understood that he had x-ray eyes and an intimate knowledge of each of his students, their strengths and weakness. His words were a spark that ignited a flame, an observation that changed my life’s course. For me, with his words, new perspectives dawned and a new path came into view. Love of Literature was something, I never knew, I had in me. He was there always to guide and lead us and stood by our side as a mentor and well -wisher. He explained to us the lessons of life, not found in text books, but tested through life. He knew those students who concealed their sadness with smiles. He tried his best to lift their despondent spirits, not before others, but in private. He reminded us, it is O. K to fail once in a while. It was evident that he loved us from his actions, but his words, he often kept locked up. He had no pretentious stance and was never a pedant who tried to flaunt his knowledge, but added meaning to our lives. wisdom’s steady flow, with the milk of humaneness~ a fountain of love. All through my studies in a different college, he continued to give his counsel and guidance. After a couple of years, with high marks, when I completed my M. A. in English Language and Literature and got an appointment in a nearby college, he came to my home to congratulate me. I, forever remained his student and he, my mentor and guide at every turn of life till through waning health, he finally lost his faculties. I feel an indebtedness to him that transcends the limits of time. Whenever I expressed my obligation and gratitude to him, he used to repeat Emerson’s words- “The only way to have a friend is to be one”. The years have gracefully passed. Now I am a retired teacher. My dear teacher is dead and gone. Yet he lives in my heart and in my thoughts! a true gentleman with a heart of lustrous gold~ guiding light that shines.