A teacher worth his salt
With Teachers’ Day around the corner, I look back to the long-forgotten golden era of schooldays. I vividly recall how my mother, an early bird, would coax and cajole me out of deep slumber. After quick morning ablutions, she would serve steaming hot parathas laden with dollops of fresh homemade butter that I would relish to my heart’s fill. She would then bring the freshly laundered uniform made of coarse cotton cloth, dyed deep in henna colour. All agog, I would go to school galloping like a young calf with my satchel slung across my shoulders.
She would keep her gaze fixed on me till I vanished behind a cluster of trees silhouetted against the snow-spangled Dhauladhar ranges.
Special programmes were held to pay glowing tributes to former President Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, whose birth anniversary is commemorated on this day. A flurry of fascinating folk songs and dances, skits, debates and declamations, et al, presented on the occasion, marked the cultural extravaganza.
But my heart goes out to my class teacher and an iconic Sanskrit scholar, Shastri Durga Dutt, author of scores of books on Sanskrit literature and grammar. A five-time national awardee for his significant contribution to Sanskrit literature, he doted on his students like his own progeny. But he would brook no indiscipline.
Donning a massive snow-white turban, he looked every inch a Vedic figure in his spotless kurta-pyjama ensemble. He stood by the economically weaker students and extended a helping hand to those in dire straits. He would, besides paying for their books and stationery, conduct special classes for weak students before and after school, for free.
A rare gesture that is deeply etched in my memory dates back to the time when I was promoted to class IV. It was during admission time when my mother fell terribly ill, following which she remained bed-ridden for months. The treatment incurred huge expenses as my father had to sit at home without work during the period. As a result, I could not pay the admission fee of Rs 2, then a hefty amount.
Seeing me absent for days, he found out from my desk mate that I wasn’t able to pay the admission fee. He sent the school peon to inform me that the fee had been paid and I could attend classes. I was overwhelmed. What brought a lump in my throat was that he refused to accept the money when I tried to pay back. A salute to my teacher who passed away into eternity, years ago.
