The nobility of change

We've all seen movies with the "Maybe I can change them" trope, yes? Is there a more naive, foolhardy thought than that? Why would you want to change someone? Why would you delude yourself into thinking you can change someone? And most of all, why would you think someone would be willing to change for you? As much as change is the only constant in all of existence, it happens only for two reasons: Either the circumstances force the change on someone or someone changes for their benefit. Nothing else.

We all have people in our lives we put ourselves out there for, don't we? Is there a more joyous feeling than that? We love them, we are willing to do anything for them and the most noble thing of all - we change ourselves for them. But, all of this is worth it under one and only condition - They're willing to do it for you as well. I'm not saying it has to be transactional. I'm saying it has to be fair. You change something about yourself and they change something about themselves. And you grow together into a beautiful new you.

As beautiful as a sentiment as the above statement is, realize one thing - expecting someone to change for you, even a little bit, just because you did for them is the most naive and unfounded thought. For no one will change unless it benefits them or they're forced to change by the environment around them. Humans are organisms that have evolved over a truly long time and as such, our brains hold our personalities quite closely. To paraphrase Master Yoda - "Strong, the sense of individuality with most humans is, hmm". As we go through life and get older, we accumulate new experiences that form the basis for all new choices we make and directions we take. The only way to go through this chaotic life with all its uncertainties is to have confidence in your decisions. To believe that you have taken the right choice based on everything you've accrued till that point. And to affect change on yourself proactively is to change those 'elements' about you which guide such decisions and choices.

Which is why I say - changing for someone is the most noble notion of all. That brings me back to my original point - Don't expect people to change just because it would suit you or because you changed for them or because it would be the right thing. Expect them to be selfish. Expect them to be calculating and self-centered irrespective of what you do because that, is human nature. That is the sense of individuality ingrained into all of us over millennia of evolution and survival instincts so why would it betray us?

After all, all humans are alike in many ways so trust those baseline behaviors. We take and take and take without any notion of giving. We are creatures of habit and don't respond well to change. We hold our comforts above the inconveniences of others. All of these are an intrinsic part of all humans and as such, the point isn't if they're right or wrong, but if those behaviors are or are not what is to be expected. And the answer is they are. They are how 99 out of 100 humans operate. They are how 99 out of 100 choices are made when faced with dilemmas.

Think about it. And now to the biggest question inside all this. What can you do about it? Easy. You can choose to what extent you're willing to acknowledge, accept and adjust. For that is how you grow as a person if you want to build something together.

So, don't fool yourself into callously thinking someone will be willing to change for you, even a little. No. They will only if it benefits them, no matter the cost to you. After all, you're expecting them to change only so it would benefit you, aren't you?

War, huh?

"Those who cannot wage ware do not get to demand peace!"

This statement by Golda Meir captures the role of strength in maintaining peace. How many times have we been down this road? India and Pakistan, two brothers, at each others' throats for 75+ years. We're now at a point where reasons don't matter. No one wants to debate how and why this started. Maybe the British successfully drove a wedge between our religions and left it to us to sort out. Maybe we always resented each other due to all the historical conflict that comes with opposing faiths. Honestly, now it doesn't matter and shouldn't matter. We have had enough wars and enough hate on both sides. An entire generation has grown up seeing unhealthy amounts of propaganda that an entire nation is evil!

Why must we continue this chain of hatred? The truth is, simply, that it is easy for the vast majority of humans to hate someone than it is to forgive and accept them. And we, the common people without power have been fed enough propaganda periodically to not be able to let go of this hate fully. How do we tackle this? How do we prepare ourselves to better deal with all the flaring emotions political tensions evoke in us?

We think and we disassemble what we hear. It is not an easy process but it has worked for me. Anytime anyone says the other side is wrong, let us think about what they said instead of piling the hate on. Let us disassemble the items they're using in their arguments and see the individual pieces instead of what they're being used for in that hateful argument. Don't let ourselves get caught up in the emotion of the argument but peer beyond it to look at the logic and facts. In the digital age, empires can be built and torn down in a blink of eye with a biased post or a doctored image. We should equip ourselves to be better than the lies and propaganda that's sent our way.

Now, War, huh? What is it, good for? Absolutely nothing!! The legendary song by the Temptations is timeless not just for its catchy tune, but because it speaks a fundamental truth! War cannot make life, it takes. Those who ask for war have not experienced the horrors of it! Those who think fire and brimstone are the solution to this long standing problem of ours, have never had to put their lives on the line! They've never had to experience the loss of life, limb and brethren to the vagaries of war!

We are working class humans. We do not make decisions that change the course of nations and lives of thousands! We hear what we're told, see what we're shown and have to fight for even forming a healthy opinion about many things.

I'm no political analyst. I'm just a guy who realizes zero sum game is never the answer. Do I believe we have to fight to protect ourselves? I absolutely do. And we will fight with such righteous fury that no one will ever again want to try to harm us. But I urge you all to not covet, romanticize and propose war and violence. Peace cannot be had without war. But war isn't the only way to peace. 

Might should be a deterrent, not exercised.  War doesn't give anything, like I said earlier. It takes. Limbs. Lives. Land. Everything. It takes and takes, leaving desolation in its wake. On a good day, anyone can win a war. But after a war, the victor mourns, as does the defeated. The one who stops coveting war is the only one who gets to walk away.

"Kings lay down plans. Soldiers lay down lives."

Let us fight to protect our motherland, our rights, our fellow humans and our respect. But let us not, in this fighting, give ourselves in to the emotions of war and promote it. War should be avoided, not coveted.

Keep On Keeping On

 I won't fall, he said 

Though mightily he bled

Ever had he known this pain

Falling all over and forever like rain

 

Why won't you fall? They screamed

But throughout it all, he beamed

Alone, unparalleled, unrepressed

He stood, as they with abuse, him pelted

 

I won't fall, he told himself

Not here, not ever, not from them

My odyssey had no begin

And I shan't give it an end, not from them

Why am I standing

Where am I going

He now knew but to only keep on keeping on

For they couldn't stop him so they took away his destination

Match - 1

 'Again!' his coach's voice rang in his ears as he was mid air, crashing to the ground. As he hit the ground ear first, the ringing amplified in his head - again and again. He was not particularly gifted physically. Or mentally. By all means, he was just average. He'd been in this school 4 years now and hardly anyone in his class noticed him outside of the physical education class. And that was not because he was an athlete of repute. It was because he was the one who always lasted longest. Running, he wasn't first but he didn't stop the track halfway. Throwing, he always got it right the second time. Swimming, he always got the requisite laps in, even if he was behind the others. Wrestling and boxing, he was the partner of choice, because he rarely fought back, but took a lot of punishment without staying down for long.

'Ya gotta channel that grit into something else, kid!' his coach, Mr. Gold would say, trying to get him interested in taking up a sport over the others. He believed he had some kind of hidden potential, see. But no one knew. The kid wasn't interested in any of that. He just wanted to experience it all. Every punch from every one. Everything around him. He wanted to observe and learn. He wanted to take it all in and store in his head. Even he didn't know what he was doing all this for on some days. Maybe he was preparing for something. He just didn't know. But he kept at it, nonetheless.

'So, junior? How long did you last today? Did you make it to the end?' his father always asked the same question. The father had a very strict policy to see through things he started and hoped beyond hope that his son learnt the same. He love his son to the moon and back. He encouraged his son to talk about the problems he had at school. Thankfully, they didn't go beyond the occasional 'freak' some jock would yell at him out of jealousy for his stamina and endurance. He taught his son both things - to ignore and to stand up for himself. And son did. Anytime anyone threw a punch, he fended it off. He hadn't thrown one back, yet, for reasons he couldn't identify, but he made sure the other person knew he wouldn't take it lying. His name was Matt Singh and he was a warrior for as long as he could remember. 'We fight, son, because we want to inspire others to stand up for themselves'. Nothing more, nothing less'.

Jith was a truck driver. He drove during the day across states when his son was at school. He usually returned by the time Matt returned from the gym late evening everyday. His wife and Matt's mother, Jan died at childbirth. Jith remembered Jan's last words: Stay strong, for the both of you. On some days, when he thought back to the incident, weirdly enough, he thought she was maybe talking to their infant son and not him. He smiled to himself, musing at how his wife always made him smile, no matter what. He was running a little late that day; one too many traffic stops and over enthusiastic policemen looking to rip anyone under the excuse of DUI. Trying to recall if there was any food Matt could microwave, he leaned on the accelerator.

Matt got up, steadying himself from the imbalance the ringing in his ears caused. 'Put 'em up, kid. You know you still got more in you' Mr. Gold was an old fashioned man who always rooted for the underdog. The guy no one else saw any worth in. 'Yeah, come on, you freak'. Matt's opponent was edging him on, hoping to impress his girlfriend who was waiting outside the ring. Just as Matt got his fists up, he felt his opponent's training gloves connect with his forearms. The punch that previously knocked him to his feet now didn't feel heavy at all. He could feel the force of it dying the moment it hit connected. 'A perfect block' he thought to himself. His opponent was frustrated 'I just floored him with this punch, what the hell?'

Matt got ready for the next volley and come it did. His opponent was determined to knock him out, proving his superiority. The punches didn't faze Matt, unsurprisingly. It was always this way. The second time was always in his favor. It was only the first that hurt him. Mr. Gold was eyeing Matt with pride. 'That was good, kid. Now why don't you throw a punch for once, eh? Come on. A fight is more than just defending, ya gotta show the other guy he has to stay away from you!' Before he could take a decision, the fist connected again. This time, it was above his eye. 'You think you're better than me? you can't even throw a punch! You're no good' his opponent spat at him and walked away. Any other day, he would've let it slide, but today he felt different. Something was eating at him, trying to breakout. And he was going to let it out. He was going to throw a punch, finally. 'Gong!' Mr. Gold shouted, stepping in between the two. Tuck, good show. Stop getting so damn carried away. Learn to read your opponent. Matt, learn to throw a bloody punch, kid. Or you're going to be stepped on your whole life. Even if you can take it, doesn't mean you should. We'll meet tomorrow, now scoot! Mr. Gold was a punctual man and he closed his gym at the same time everyday. Matt wiped the blood off from above his eye and got changed. Realizing his dad wasn't there to pick him up, he started his walk home. It was a little far but he was used to the route. 'Maybe I'll get a nice run in on my way back' he thought, breaking into a brisk jog.

'Are you alright? Thank god there was no collision! I don't know how this happened, glad no one got hurt, right?' Jith had narrowly avoided a crash a few blocks away from his place. Since their place was close to the state border, the traffic was a little unruly. His truck had narrowly missed colliding with another and he was just glad no one got hurt. The people in the other car just got out. It was two guys, probably returning from a booze run, based on the swagger in their walk. 'Yo, you almost killed us man, what the hell?' 'Hey, you said almost. We good?' 'You think that's going to fix this? All my booze is spilled. You going to pay for that?' 'That's not my fault. You're clearly drunk. Just walk away, man' 'You telling me what to do, man? Hey, what'd we do to the last guy who tried that?' 'Oh yeah, that was neat, dude. So, you going to pay for our booze, man?' 'Son, walk away. I don't want any trouble. I almost lost control of my truck, you were drunk. How about we call it even and have a good night? This is a busy center, who knows when the cops might walk in?' 'Did you just threaten me, man? Oh, now you are definitely paying me my money back!' The two of them rushed at Jith, pounding away at the forearms he'd put up to defend himself. He could feel what was going to happen, with the force of each blow making him clench his fists a little less tighter.

Another 5 minutes and he'd be home. Matt was making good time on his run and was looking forward to reaching home and fixing dinner for his dad. Maybe some chicken - his train of thought was interrupted by grunts and jeers. There were a couple of people assaulting someone. He was curious as to who would be so brazen on this busy road. 'I should probably call the police' he wanted to get some proof before the police could dismiss his complaint. But once he got closer, he saw what was happening. 'Get up, dad!' he yelled, as he jumped in, trying to fend the blows off. 'You got a kid, old man? This just got interesting!' They turned their attention to Matt, giving Jith a brief respite from the violence. Jith was trying to sit up and get his bearings, his ringing ears and misty eyes getting in the way of understanding who it was bought him those few moments.

Matt was having trouble guarding against two people. The pain wasn't as much, fortunately. As usual, after the first blow, he felt little pain. But he couldn't do anything but guard. 'Junior! What are you doing?' Jith just came to his senses. 'Get out of here!' 'Why do we fight, dad? Why do we fight?' 'You think you can just talk? Here comes the big one!' A kick with the weight of a full grown man landed in Matt's stomach, knocking his breath out and throwing him a few feet away. This hurt. Groaning, he got up. 'Leave my dad alone!' 'So the kid can take a few hits more than his old man. Big surprise. See if you can take this, you punk' he charge at Matt rabidly. 'It's not a fight if you just defend, junior. Why don't you try throwing a punch instead of defending?' He thought back to the ring with Tucker. How he had almost thrown a punch. He visualized the same feeling again and did it. He threw a punch. His first ever with the conviction to actually hit his opponent.

His fist connected, but not with flesh. With steel. Apparently, one of his assailants was wearing a glove with a metal plate in it. 'Agh! Matt pulled his fist back in pain.His assailant was clutching his fist in agony. 'What did you do, you freak?' Matt saw just then - he had dislocated the attacker's wrist and now it was causing him agony. But if he was strong enough to punch through a metal plate, why did his fist hurt so much? He didn't have much time to ponder over that thought because he could see the other guy run back to the car and pull something out. A baseball bat made of metal. 'You're done for now, I'm going to beat your brains in with this'. 'Matt, remember. It's not a fight if you don't throw a punch' Jith's words fell on deaf ears, since Matt was already charging at his assailant.

Matt felt his fist connect with the metal bat. He should've felt pain. He should've broken or at least dislocated his wrist, punching a lump of solid metal as hard as he did. But he didn't feel any of that. He felt a brief amount of pressure when his fist connected with the bat and then a screams and whimpering. The next thing he saw, the two attackers were climbing back into the car and running away. 'Dad, you okay? Dad!' Matt rushed to Jith. 'Yeah, I'm fine, junior. Just a few scratches and bruises, no more. Let's go home.' 'Sure, let me help you up'. As they walked back, Jith spoke up 'When did you get so jacked?' Matt saw his arm and took a few minutes to identify it. It was a muscular

Break the Silence on Rote Learning

The story that follows is based on things that transpired in the lives of millions; the inhuman things that are still happening every day to the future of our world. The stage is between 2005 and 07, in a city in Andhra Pradesh, with the point of focus being the life of a 16 year old who left home for the first time in his life to further his studies.

The day started late for him. He was always an early riser but he was determined to not let it go to waste. He wanted to have a productive day for once. ‘Your life is the sum total of the choices you take towards realizing your goals’ he voiced the poster at the foot of his bed, before going to freshen up. ‘Walk out, you lazy scum!’ he heard the grating, domineering voice of the supervisor shout outside his room. He steeled his resolve to walk into the washroom that hadn’t been cleaned in a week now and did his business. ‘As long as you can leave this place at the end of 2 years with a good score, nothing else matters’. So he kept silent.

As he walked downstairs to attend the classes for the day, he noticed the usual sombre tone and dour expressions on everyone. Their classes started at 6 AM. And they had classes and study sessions till 11 PM. This was their every day, all year. The years during which they had to be trained in the ways of the world, build their personalities, develop their interests and gain experience in dealing with all kinds of people were being filled with one and only directive – ROTE LEARNING. And they were forced to stay silent, lacking a voice to state their concerns.

Parents want their kids to be great people. They want them to be successful and happy. They want their kids to receive acknowledgements from their peers and the world for their achievements. And they invest their sweat, blood and tears into preparing their kids for the world. But then why do they admit their kids in institutes where the only priority is the institute? Why do they tell their kids to be silent no matter what cruelties are perpetrated against them?

I shall not name those “institutions”, for we all know them. In my state alone, there are more than a 50 of such what I call Internment camps? Let me tell you the living conditions in these so called educational institutes – An apartment designed for a family of 5 sees 24 people crammed into it. Some of them are given a bed in the kitchen, for god’s sake! Water is supplied thrice during the day, irrespective of the students’ needs 5:30 to 6:00 AM, 12:30 PM to 2:00 PM and 10:00 PM to 11:00 PM. But the occupants keep silent, realizing they lacked the power to do anything. Anything they say is lodged as a transgression and they’re subjected to physical punishment, after all.

The city in context is known for being sweltering hot, with temperatures averaging 40⁰C year round. Summers in particular see highs of 46. And even with such inhuman conditions, the classrooms in which the students are housed were not properly built, with makeshift roofs that provided no protection against the heat. In the afternoons, some of the students were made to sit outside with nothing over their heads just so the college could save a few pennies on the electricity bill. The poor souls kept silent.

As he was mulling all these things over, he reached class. They could see their professor was already there. As they entered the class one after another, the supervisor glared at all of them, asserting his absolute dominance over anything and everything they had the choice to do. Believe it or not, one of the supervisors on campus was a convicted felon who had returned from spending 6 months in the jail the previous year. And these were the people who tasked with ‘overseeing’ how the students studied. All these supervisors were folks who had hardly cleared their schooling themselves. They were no more than the goons you would see in movies who misbehave with people. But the students stayed silent, for they knew this was the price they were told to pay for getting what was touted as the best education before they started their specializations during under graduation.

As the class for the day started, he got to thinking – these are 16 year olds like me, who’ve left home to come build their future. And this is how they’re being treated? Like they’re cattle the institute rears till the inadvertent ‘harvest’ of the exams comes around? The institute cares not one bit for our aptitude and unique capabilities. It tells us only one thing- Mug it all up; the entire text book and the additional study material. And in the exam, don’t think, just vomit it all on the paper and hope for the best. Not one day have been taught to approach the problems with a unique problem solving approach. Not once! If all we are doing is being forced to learn the text book by heart, why are we in an educational institution for that? The subject that day was Zoology. The professor was going to teach us about various ecosystems. But before he could internalize what the concept of an ecosystem truly meant, he would be yelled at by the exceptionally under-qualified supervisor to copy what was in the text book into their ‘practice notes’ enough times to parrot it out in his sleep. But he stayed silent, for he knew the supervisors were stronger than him.

The subject he chose was biology. In Zoology alone, he would have to be instructed in the dissection procedures of various insects and fauna before it was his turn to wield a scalpel on a cadaver without passing out. He wanted to become a doctor. If he had to be comfortable with cutting into human flesh, he needed to prepare by starting with other less personal beings, but that was not part of the curriculum! The college did not care! But he stayed silent like those around him, realizing they had no alternative.

In the meantime, they rang the bell to signal breakfast was ready. Of everything on that measly excuse for a human settlement, he feared the food the most. For every time he lifted his head up, he could see the area in which the vegetables were chopped and cooked. That place was 6 feet away from the public washrooms. If you had the stomach to watch, you could see the flies that flitted between the washrooms and vegetables. But they all stayed silent, since every time they requested for more hygienic conditions they were met with the trademark ‘no preferential treatment, you entitled little lout!’ speech.

One day, there was a massive uproar the other side of the campus. We all ran out to see what was happening. A brief inquiry laid it out: Apparently one of the oh-so-well qualified supervisors had bad mouthed a whole class’ parents by comparing them to livestock bred for the fun of it, and they lashed back, asking him to address their parents with respect. Of course, the supervisor couldn’t reprimand everyone in the class, so he took to making an example of one unfortunate soul. He took the kid by the scruff of his neck and hit his head against the bench that resulted in a loud bang. He then lifted the dazed boy by his collar and slapped him around a few minutes, yelling how the kids were supposed to just keep their heads down and kowtow to any and every instruction. This action of unbridled violence was enough to snuff out any further thought of breaking our silence. We went back in to study, equal parts angry, worried and scared.

He thought long, that night. Is that kid who got brutalized fine? Have his parents been notified? Why did the rest of us not break our silence on what was happening? Are we going to be subjected to the whims of these madmen in similar fashion in the future? Why did these institutions come up in the first place? He was a kid without any experience and knowledge of the world, so he could just resign himself to his fate. He went back to sleep at the instructed time, lest he have to bear the supervisor’s brutalities the next day. He spent the whole two years without breaking the silence.

Some of the kids from that college of 553 people went on to achieve their goals in life, some gave up due to the undue pressure and some just changed their goals, realizing they did not want to live a life bound to authorities like the ones that let their ‘college’ exist. A decade later, the kid drove past his old college and got to thinking again. Why do such places even exist? Places filled with exploitation, cruelty and greed. This time, he had an answer: We let them. When the first such college popped up, we should have stamped it out, telling them we did not need such uncivilized means to educate our kids. We should have realized they would kill the inquisitiveness and curiosity that made people want to get up in the morning. But we did not. At least now, let us Break the Silence! Let us strive for better education for our future generations, one that encourages creativity, a love for learning, and nurtures free thinking. Break. The. Silence.

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Immortality

November 2015, when I was working in Delhi. It was a time when I was going through a lot of revelations in life and taking a lot of strong decisions. One of them was the proverbial question: What do I want out of this life?

I originally thought it an easy question. A good job that would help me take care of my family.. A life partner I could love and cherish. And a lightsaber, if science would only be so kind, one day. A couple of months passed and I moved back home. I was speaking to my grandpa about the time I spent in Delhi and what it had done to me. I spoke to him about what I decided I wanted in life and he was very happy. "Not a lot of people figure this out in life, child. It's good that you have" was all he said before he went on to talk about our family and his forefathers. He spoke to me about his great-grandfather, a man known for going around the country, spending time with well educated pandits and helping them in whatever way he could. And then, it hit me.

This was a man who walked the earth 6 generations ago. And we were still talking about him. Granted, we knew not his personal life, only the deeds that made him immortal in our memories. Then it struck me. The good deeds of a man from almost two centuries ago have kept him alive till now. And he will live on through my memories now, won't he? And through his deeds, he has achieved immortality. The concept of this stuck with me. And a few days later, I spoke to my grandfather about the same. His answer was very simple. "Greatness isn't the same for all of us. Not everyone has to live their lives large. You decide what you want to do with your life. And you decide what greatness means to you." And then, I did. After I'm long gone, if at least one person on this earth remembers me with fondness in their heart and a warm smile on their face, I must have lived a good life. But this story isn't about my goals. It's about immortals.

I attribute a lot of my traits to what I learnt during my teens during high school. And my high school can be defined by 3 things: Dr. N. Manjula Krishnamohan, our English teacher, Mr. K. Phani Kumar, our maths teacher and Quizzing. I've studied in 5 different institutions. I've attended a number of coaching centers for miscellaneous exams. Never have I come across an instructor quiet as complete as the aforementioned Dr. N. Manjula Krishnamohan.

Manjula ma'am, like I mentioned previously, taught us English. I knew her beyond school, since her husband was a doctor and my dad was one too. Because of that, I got extra scrutiny on what I did at school. Fortunately, I was a good student. But when it came to English, I was an exceptional student. I was encouraged to embrace the language as wholly as possible at a young age and because of that, I came to love the language, as well as the subject. She realized this and always encouraged my pursuit of the language. I picked up Shakespeare at a very young age; 7th class to be exact, when my father had ordered the complete unabridged set of Shakespeare's 36 plays from the India Today Book Club. She didn't question me why. She didn't reprimand me that it was beyond our curriculum or age. She told me, "read it with passion; read it with concentration; keep in mind that everything about the works is a few centuries old".

A lot of people laud me for my skill and dexterity with the English language. They tell me my grammar is impeccable, or my sentence formation is flawless; or that the way I play with words leaves a lot to be learnt from; or that my pronunciation of words is perfect. And in every single one of such commendations lies my gratitude for our English teacher, Manjula ma'am. If you know me well, you would've heard me say I wanted to become an English teacher when I was younger. Even now, one day, I want to be a teacher. At least a part time one. Manjula ma'am is one of the reasons. She never 'taught' us English. She made us want to learn it! She instilled a love and a thirst for delving deep into the language and making it our own! She taught us more than just a subject. Not to take anything away from any other teacher of ours, but she taught us what a teacher truly meant.

A teacher nurtures their students in every sense of the word. And that is what she did for us. She taught us not because we had a subject to be covered. She taught us because she believed in each of us and wanted to prepare us to realize our ambitions once we left our school. And I like to think she did more than her share towards the same. Like I mentioned earlier, I was scrutinized a little more since she knew my parents personally. She always gave me the same feedback. "Why is it that your answers are so good but your writing makes it so difficult to read them? Think about it- what you say is just as equally important as how you say it!"

Not just I, but our whole class of Akshara '05 and many before us will attest to her greatness. She was a house master for one of the 4 houses we had at school. They used to tell us how she encouraged them to pursue extracurricular activities with just as much zeal as academics. Whenever we had a school level event, she was always the master of ceremonies. For me, she was the first person I ever aspired to be. A teacher. A role model.

I like to think I was a good student of hers beyond school. The discipline she helped us cultivate, the zeal to pursue excellence, the commitment to our goals, all of these were ingrained into her teachings. And when I thanked her for the great things she did for us, she brushed them aside, saying it was her privilege that she got to teach us. She spoke with great regret how the teaching profession was corrupted by over reaching parents and money hungry corporate entities. I remember her words verbatim "The days of the teacher are gone now, Anirudh. I wouldn't want you to have that as a life goal anymore. We are now forced to do what the management says, like mindless automatons. We are not allowed to tailor our teaching methods to what would benefit the students more, nowadays". It's a good thing you kids got out when you did!

And yesterday, my dad tells me she passed, all of a sudden. I'm someone who knows loss. I've lost friends and family over the years. But never has the passing of someone struck me as deeply as that of the teacher who taught me my core values. Whenever something large happened in my life, I've always imagined telling ma'am and getting her blessings. But now that she is with us no more, I can only pray I don't lose the essence of what she has taught me. She was my teacher. She was my guru. She was my inspiration. She is going to be remembered for ever more as the lady who helped me build a good life. She is an immortal.

 

Thank you, Manjula Ma'am, for seeing fit to educate me in English and the world. You will always be the teacher I strive to one day become.

Languages, Teachers and Language teachers.

August 29th is the international Telugu day. And on that occasion, I now introduce you all to the exemplary beings that were my Telugu teachers during schooling.

Teachers don't just introduce us to subjects. They introduce us to whole worlds that we can fall in love with. This is their story.

It was in my fourth standard, quite a few years ago that I remember my first Telugu teacher, Mrs. Manjula. Though I do not remember what was taught that day but I remember her very vividly. And that is because she was one of the four reasons our class fell in love with Telugu beyond just as a medium of communication. She was the first of four Telugu teachers we had across our schooling.

Fifth standard, day one. We had an assembly for the whole school every day. And on that day, we saw one of our Telugu teachers being felicitated for an award he received in Telugu literature. Though it would be three years more before we were taught by this Mr. Chandrasekar Rao, we knew to take pride in the fact that our beloved instructor and our own Telugu were recognized.

During standards six and seven, we had two instructors; Mr. Shankar Rao and Mr. Neela Rao. They blew us away with their knowledge of the variety in Telugu words and the many ways in which we could utilize them. They are the reason my classmates and I became at least a little aware of the dearth of literary treasures Telugu offers. These instructors introduced us to many literary works in Telugu - The purity of the Panchatantra stories, the morals from the Puranas, the wisdom from the Ramayana and Mahabharata and many many more.

Classes nine and ten saw us taught by Mr. Chandrasekhar Rao, a man who's skill in teaching us the many complex modalities of Telugu grammar was extraordinary!

Unfortunately, Telugu wasn't a part of my curriculum post my tenth standard. But the lessons learnt during school stuck with me. Because what they taught us was more than just the language. They taught us the traditional Telugu way of life and the beautiful approach to life the Telugu culture offers.

I can still recall the first time we were taught the way to address our Telugu teachers in Telugu. It was in the sixth standard. That was then that they taught us unadulterated Telugu words for some of the daily use words. We were taught at a young age the difference between the Telugu we use in every day life and the original Telugu that was borne of Sanskrit. Every time they taught us a new concept, we could see their love of the language and their commitment to our education.

Truth be told, I'm an English language aficionado. So much so that I wanted to grow up to be an English language professor during my younger years. But the Telugu instruction we received was so wholesome, that we never considered any language inferior to the other.

I've mentioned the Panchatantra stories earlier, yes? They were written in five parts, out of which we were taught one as our Telugu non-detailed. But we were taught so well that I developed an interest in the entirety of the Panchatantra and came back after our summer vacation having read all the five parts. Though I took a few raps on the head for interrupting our teachers with my over-eagerness, they did realize that their instruction was indeed inculcating in us a love of Telugu and its rich literature.

Similarly, in our seventh standard, we had a poem that described the beauties of the Indian holy city Varanasi through the words of a sage who was out on a moonlit night by the banks of Ganges river. The way the city, the bliss of the flowing river, the peace of the sand dunes shining in the light of the moon were described still is a fond and immensely vivid memory. That is the quality of their instruction.

The pinnacle of our Telugu education came in our final school years, where we had a legendary Telugu novel 'Barrister Parvateesam' as our Telugu non-detailed text book. The novel is set in pre-independence India that laid out the comical situations that a  village man faced following his decision to go to the U.K. to study law. The way we were explained his innocence in deciding what he would need to survive in London, how he thought a simple 500 rupees would be enough for his journey and many other such situations made us fall in love with the novel so much that for a few days, our class neglected other subjects!

If I were to attributed all the credit for my love and respect of Telugu to my teachers, I would be lying. Our school administration also encouraged us to embrace the wide variety Telugu literature offered and many unique practices to it, like 'Avadhaanam'. Avadhaanam is a practice of unparalleled intellectual display in which one man is questioned by multiple people, numbering anything between 8 - 1000, all at the same time which he answers on the spot. In my eight standard, we were given the experience of this intellectual event, wherein the school invited the renowned Mr. Garikapati Narasimha Rao, a man known for his feat of successfully facing 1000 people at once in this 'Avadhaanam'. The pride we felt when we were informed that this intellectual practice was unique to Telugu, is unparalleled.

Though we do not remember the intricacies of Telugu grammar our teachers taught us, we remember the richness of Telugu literature, the beautiful outlook to life and holistic approach to everything. 'Mother tongue' was coined to address the language one is affiliated with on birth because, if you ask me, our mothers teach us the value of life and languages teaches us how to live by opening doors to the rich culture and tradition it represents.

A few parting words: Be proud of your language, for it is more than just a communication medium. It is how you communicate your soul to your family and loved ones!