One of those many journeys we make as we grow older perhaps is to search for a lost part of ourselves. But, none could be as unique as the story of which I am about to tell.
Last week many of us old friends from school gathered at a friend's engagement party. It was splendid- the food and all. Better still, were the moments we got to catch up with old buddies; rare ones amidst all the busy lives we all lead. But, no. That is not the story. This story is different. It is about the search for an old teacher. Someone who had etched her name upon her hearts with her unique way of teaching and of course, quite- hard -to -believe-'REAL'- life-stories. Those stories unlike what we had expected, have stayed on with us and perhaps that was what made us search for her in a world where she is alive and yet forgotten. I say 'alive and forgotten' because ..well you will see.
So it began that after the party lunch that day someone suggested visiting Sharadamma miss. No one really knew where exactly she lived, though the one who suggested it claimed having been to her place a couple of years back. I had not seen her in over 7 years and I presume that must have been the case with most of my friends. So it was, that we all jumped up excited and made off to her place guided by the one who had most lately been there.
The search for her turned out to be more than a mere visit. As our cars pulled in and out of the little lanes, we realized with dismay that perhaps indeed finding her would be much more than an everyday trip. It would become a saga of endless search, through hope, and spin out something like the exploratory pilgrimages that Paulo Coelho writes about in his books. It was both a thriller, a horror and an introspective journey- all in one. Now, you would think I am making a mountain out of an ant hill. No. I am being completely true to the word here. To know why you have got to know her. -Our Sharadamma Miss.
Miss Sharada, as her name must officially be, was an aged and very much experienced teacher from the earliest time that any of us could remember. She would hobble along the school road as we peddled down the lush green water front where our school was (and still is). Upon her wrist would be a heavy blue lunch bag that she would never allow anyone else to carry. Even at 78 she was fiercely independent and never allowed anyone else to do stuff for her. Even though we as students fearfully considered it a privilege to be able to carry down a teacher's bag to school for her (yes, we are pretty much old school that way...), she wouldn't hear of it and would politely decline. 'Politely' for her normal fierce-self. I remember the time when I did once get the privilege of carrying it down to school for her. Come to think of it today as an adult, she must have been really exhausted that day to succumb to my fearful (but persistent) offer. I stood there waiting at the gate holding the heavy blue lunch bag, scared and feeling stupid for not having asked her where she would like it placed. She could be very choosy and particular about things like that- even today, she still is, as our journey finally revealed.
As for her classes- she taught us Social Sciences in high school- they were hours we spent fooling, and came round only for the many unbelievable stories she narrated. They were of landlords of bygone years, agricultural practices her aristocratic family had on their acres of paddy cultivation, the 'diamond-studded dresses' she wore as a little girl, of being the most popular teacher in FACT school, Aluva, during her young years...and on it went. But, the one story most etched upon our minds is the one she told of ghosts and yakshis that inhabited her tharavad (ancestral home), and of the many legends associated with her ancestral temple. Another, was of two friends who came along the Arabian sea, traveled via the western ghats and lost all their precious gifts there to bandits and went along emptying their goods along the way to the Bay of Bengal. They picked up 'gifts' from it and made on to the Aravalli range via the Eastern coast. Now, unless you have guessed it already, it was her brilliant way of helping us remember the route of the South-West monsoons in India!! And she was right. We, at 27, still remember it- with no doubt whatsoever!
In spite of the fact that she was fiercely independent and portrayed the first of the many this age has seen, she must have been lonely. For, you see, she was still unmarried in her late 70s. She had lived her entire life for her sisters and brothers who, after the downfall of their well-to-do--aristocratic lifestyle depended entirely upon her for maintenance. Sadly yet, they all fought with her for the ancestral property once they got independent and she was left alone and lost. We knew this as children, and perhaps this was what drew us to her fate and bound us intricately to it. We felt like her own kids, for we knew she had none other and were drawn to her just as naturally. But, we doubt she ever cherished us as much as her 'FACT' students who she repeatedly vouched loved her a million more times than us. For all we know, it could be true.
So, this journey we took had us spiraling down unknown lanes over a dozen times, as the guide kept asking for directions in whatever ways we knew. Although quite legendary for her many years in the profession, sadly no one seemed to know the way to her house!! She had done well to keep everyone away, intentionally or not, we do not know. Rumor though wants us believe that she fought with neighbors, friends and family for anything and everything. Some people even claimed that her house was out-of-bounds - it being the abode of tabooed baadhas (evil spirits). Although, knowing her, it must have been her fiercely independent nature that drove away everyone who cared.
Finally, we did strike it lucky. We trudged along the sandy road and realized with regret that she had been very serious when she scolded us with 'making all the way down here early in the morning on time from where I come from!!' when we were late for extra classes. The lanes were in the most inaccessible of interior regions.No cars or buses could make it to her house from the main road, and at her age it must have been a tremendous ordeal walking all that distance to the national highway to catch a bus!!
We reached her house only to find it desolated. We knocked repeatedly knowing that an old lonely lady might just be sleeping inside unawares enjoying her afternoon siesta. Still, no one answered. We went about scanning her place , asking her neighbors for her. Although there were scores of people about living nearby no one- ABSOLUTELY NO ONE seemed to have any inclination of where she could be !!! As the day wore on hopelessly we realized that everyone of her stories had been true!! Even those stories of Yakshis and baadhaas!! People of the locality had done all they could to contain the evil spirits to her home, those very spirits that had supposedly destroyed the wealth, peace and prosperity of her once blissful, typically Keralite aristocratic family.
We found sacred red cloth tied over her front door- indications of fervent exorcist poojas and homams that had once taken place there. I imagined the people who like ferocious mythical hounds might have plagued and ostracized the inmates of the house once before. That is the thing with the masses. No matter how educated or liberal we have become we succumb to things we do not fully understand, and fear it with the kind of pure horror that has passed down generations unchanged.
Her deserted plot of land (- for it could be called only that with the house in ruins, the land unkempt, the temple frequented but in neglect and no one venturing in through the front door...!!) - showed no sign of reanimating suddenly. So after a lot of snooping round for signs of life we finally got hold of a relative's phone number. Keeping our fingers crossed, we dialed and waited eagerly. From the man who picked up we got her number, and called. With utter trepidation we realized she was in KVM hospital, Cherthala. Thankfully, she was only looking after her sister who had undergone an eye operation there.
We made off to KVM hospital without a second thought.
There we found her- with a little jar in hand making off to the tea shop to get the patient her evening coffee. She hadn't changed a bit and seemed to be etched in time. For even today, we couldn't figure out her age. I hovered around 88, still unsure. It dawned on us that she was still the selfless old lady who had given up everything for her family. She didn't know any better. While the patient's son not caring for either the house nor the patient (we came to know she now lived with this sister and her son) had gone away somewhere, leaving the two old ladies to care for themselves that day. She had remained.
She was immensely delighted to see us and complained of not being able to see us clearly. Her eye sight was now almost completely gone and was trying hard to recollect our faces from her mind's eye.
We told her how we had missed her and dreamed of her every other night, not knowing what had become of her. Again she ended up rambling about her FACT students who had visited recently and we felt, yet again, seconded in love to them.
As we took leave of her, there was pure need in her eyes. Not wanting to let go, she kept going on about stories she would have liked to hear from us.We told her of what we had finally become, some of us lawyers, some engineers, some teachers....She seemed proud of our accomplishments and blessed us all. She seemed to be able to finally see some of us perhaps through her mind's eye- I am not sure. She mentioned how I hadn't changed much just like another friend next to me. Nevertheless, it gave me no less joy to know she remembered, even though what it was she remembered I cannot guess.
Finally as we bid farewell, her old blurry eyes moistened and her mouth kept echoing blessings after us.
As we drove away, a little part of us felt sure that in reality we were never second to any- for her love. Myself a teacher today, I comprehend that a teacher's love is most expressed by time- and by how she lives on in her students' minds and hearts.
And who else taught us this better than our teacher?
Last week many of us old friends from school gathered at a friend's engagement party. It was splendid- the food and all. Better still, were the moments we got to catch up with old buddies; rare ones amidst all the busy lives we all lead. But, no. That is not the story. This story is different. It is about the search for an old teacher. Someone who had etched her name upon her hearts with her unique way of teaching and of course, quite- hard -to -believe-'REAL'- life-stories. Those stories unlike what we had expected, have stayed on with us and perhaps that was what made us search for her in a world where she is alive and yet forgotten. I say 'alive and forgotten' because ..well you will see.
So it began that after the party lunch that day someone suggested visiting Sharadamma miss. No one really knew where exactly she lived, though the one who suggested it claimed having been to her place a couple of years back. I had not seen her in over 7 years and I presume that must have been the case with most of my friends. So it was, that we all jumped up excited and made off to her place guided by the one who had most lately been there.
The search for her turned out to be more than a mere visit. As our cars pulled in and out of the little lanes, we realized with dismay that perhaps indeed finding her would be much more than an everyday trip. It would become a saga of endless search, through hope, and spin out something like the exploratory pilgrimages that Paulo Coelho writes about in his books. It was both a thriller, a horror and an introspective journey- all in one. Now, you would think I am making a mountain out of an ant hill. No. I am being completely true to the word here. To know why you have got to know her. -Our Sharadamma Miss.
Miss Sharada, as her name must officially be, was an aged and very much experienced teacher from the earliest time that any of us could remember. She would hobble along the school road as we peddled down the lush green water front where our school was (and still is). Upon her wrist would be a heavy blue lunch bag that she would never allow anyone else to carry. Even at 78 she was fiercely independent and never allowed anyone else to do stuff for her. Even though we as students fearfully considered it a privilege to be able to carry down a teacher's bag to school for her (yes, we are pretty much old school that way...), she wouldn't hear of it and would politely decline. 'Politely' for her normal fierce-self. I remember the time when I did once get the privilege of carrying it down to school for her. Come to think of it today as an adult, she must have been really exhausted that day to succumb to my fearful (but persistent) offer. I stood there waiting at the gate holding the heavy blue lunch bag, scared and feeling stupid for not having asked her where she would like it placed. She could be very choosy and particular about things like that- even today, she still is, as our journey finally revealed.
As for her classes- she taught us Social Sciences in high school- they were hours we spent fooling, and came round only for the many unbelievable stories she narrated. They were of landlords of bygone years, agricultural practices her aristocratic family had on their acres of paddy cultivation, the 'diamond-studded dresses' she wore as a little girl, of being the most popular teacher in FACT school, Aluva, during her young years...and on it went. But, the one story most etched upon our minds is the one she told of ghosts and yakshis that inhabited her tharavad (ancestral home), and of the many legends associated with her ancestral temple. Another, was of two friends who came along the Arabian sea, traveled via the western ghats and lost all their precious gifts there to bandits and went along emptying their goods along the way to the Bay of Bengal. They picked up 'gifts' from it and made on to the Aravalli range via the Eastern coast. Now, unless you have guessed it already, it was her brilliant way of helping us remember the route of the South-West monsoons in India!! And she was right. We, at 27, still remember it- with no doubt whatsoever!
In spite of the fact that she was fiercely independent and portrayed the first of the many this age has seen, she must have been lonely. For, you see, she was still unmarried in her late 70s. She had lived her entire life for her sisters and brothers who, after the downfall of their well-to-do--aristocratic lifestyle depended entirely upon her for maintenance. Sadly yet, they all fought with her for the ancestral property once they got independent and she was left alone and lost. We knew this as children, and perhaps this was what drew us to her fate and bound us intricately to it. We felt like her own kids, for we knew she had none other and were drawn to her just as naturally. But, we doubt she ever cherished us as much as her 'FACT' students who she repeatedly vouched loved her a million more times than us. For all we know, it could be true.
So, this journey we took had us spiraling down unknown lanes over a dozen times, as the guide kept asking for directions in whatever ways we knew. Although quite legendary for her many years in the profession, sadly no one seemed to know the way to her house!! She had done well to keep everyone away, intentionally or not, we do not know. Rumor though wants us believe that she fought with neighbors, friends and family for anything and everything. Some people even claimed that her house was out-of-bounds - it being the abode of tabooed baadhas (evil spirits). Although, knowing her, it must have been her fiercely independent nature that drove away everyone who cared.
Finally, we did strike it lucky. We trudged along the sandy road and realized with regret that she had been very serious when she scolded us with 'making all the way down here early in the morning on time from where I come from!!' when we were late for extra classes. The lanes were in the most inaccessible of interior regions.No cars or buses could make it to her house from the main road, and at her age it must have been a tremendous ordeal walking all that distance to the national highway to catch a bus!!
We reached her house only to find it desolated. We knocked repeatedly knowing that an old lonely lady might just be sleeping inside unawares enjoying her afternoon siesta. Still, no one answered. We went about scanning her place , asking her neighbors for her. Although there were scores of people about living nearby no one- ABSOLUTELY NO ONE seemed to have any inclination of where she could be !!! As the day wore on hopelessly we realized that everyone of her stories had been true!! Even those stories of Yakshis and baadhaas!! People of the locality had done all they could to contain the evil spirits to her home, those very spirits that had supposedly destroyed the wealth, peace and prosperity of her once blissful, typically Keralite aristocratic family.
 |
| Looking at the desolated house at the end of a long search. |
 |
| Frequented but unmaintained ancestral temple |
 |
| Unkempt and shunned backyards |
Her deserted plot of land (- for it could be called only that with the house in ruins, the land unkempt, the temple frequented but in neglect and no one venturing in through the front door...!!) - showed no sign of reanimating suddenly. So after a lot of snooping round for signs of life we finally got hold of a relative's phone number. Keeping our fingers crossed, we dialed and waited eagerly. From the man who picked up we got her number, and called. With utter trepidation we realized she was in KVM hospital, Cherthala. Thankfully, she was only looking after her sister who had undergone an eye operation there.
We made off to KVM hospital without a second thought.
There we found her- with a little jar in hand making off to the tea shop to get the patient her evening coffee. She hadn't changed a bit and seemed to be etched in time. For even today, we couldn't figure out her age. I hovered around 88, still unsure. It dawned on us that she was still the selfless old lady who had given up everything for her family. She didn't know any better. While the patient's son not caring for either the house nor the patient (we came to know she now lived with this sister and her son) had gone away somewhere, leaving the two old ladies to care for themselves that day. She had remained.
 |
| Complaining about lost eyes sight. |
As we took leave of her, there was pure need in her eyes. Not wanting to let go, she kept going on about stories she would have liked to hear from us.We told her of what we had finally become, some of us lawyers, some engineers, some teachers....She seemed proud of our accomplishments and blessed us all. She seemed to be able to finally see some of us perhaps through her mind's eye- I am not sure. She mentioned how I hadn't changed much just like another friend next to me. Nevertheless, it gave me no less joy to know she remembered, even though what it was she remembered I cannot guess.
 |
| recollecting memories.... |
 |
| Wondering and expressing anxiety for what we could become.. |
 |
| Following her footsteps. |
As we drove away, a little part of us felt sure that in reality we were never second to any- for her love. Myself a teacher today, I comprehend that a teacher's love is most expressed by time- and by how she lives on in her students' minds and hearts.
A good teacher, like a good entertainer first must hold his audience's attention,
then he can teach his lesson.
- John Henrik Clarke
And who else taught us this better than our teacher?
