Country roads, take me home

One of the favourite songs of my youth was ‘Take me home country roads’ by John Denver. I was a denizen of Shillong in those days. Shillong had uncanny knack for making people feel out of place. The place made me feel like a second-class citizen all through the 15 years of my subsistence there. [One of the chapters of my memoirs, Autumn Shadows, has that title: ‘Second-class citizen’.] It’s only natural that I yearned for a better place, one that made me feel at home.

Why didn’t I leave the place sooner than I did? That is one of the mysteries of life. Destiny. Probably, I was scared of venturing out to a new place. Probably, I lacked the confidence that I would find a good job elsewhere. When I left Shillong finally, it was more out of a compulsion than my choice. I was ejected, so to say.

I spent the next decade and a half in Delhi, the place which I didn’t want to leave until my retirement. I liked Delhi for various reasons. It left you alone, for one. Delhi was the least bothered about your religious inclinations or disinclinations, your political views, your intellectual stands, and so on. Everyone was busy doing their own things. I was lost in that vast multitude of people. I savoured the anonymity.

The autumn of my life took me to my village. I wanted a relaxed life. I thought my native place was the place I belonged to. Rather, maybe, I longed to belong there. Now, five years after my rendezvous with my birthplace, I wonder whether this was what I wanted.

I don’t mind making another choice now. Even my age doesn’t deter me. The other day an old student of mine rang me from Japan and told me that English teachers were in demand in that country. “Age is just a number, sir,” he said with a laugh. I laughed too. Age hasn’t started bothering me yet. “You need to pass a simple test in Japanese language,” he added. “Just elementary knowledge. Most of the Japanese don’t know English beyond the rudimentary things.” That put me off. I am not going to work with the mystifying shapes of the Japanese alphabet now.

A friend whom I met quite by chance the other day told me about teaching jobs in Thailand. I toyed with that too. I think somewhere in a dark corner of my heart, Thailand awakens occasionally like Denver’s country roads.

Your place chooses you, I think, rather than the other way around. Delhi chose me as no other place has done so far. Now with all that’s happening in the country, my heart longs for an escape. Longs for “the place I belong.” Somewhere “dark and dusty” with a “misty taste of moonshine” and perhaps a “teardrop in my eye.”

I have quite a few friends, relatives and old students who live abroad. From Australia to Canada, from Nigeria to Saudi Arabia, a lot of countries have been chosen by these people to settle down. They have given me the impression that they are happy there. Most of them have told me in no uncertain terms that they are happier there than here. Patriotism is a different sentiment altogether.

I find myself longing for a change. That’s why I suggested the topic for this week’s Indispire:

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The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below. Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Re-exploring the Past: The Fort Kochi Chapters – 4

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Good Life

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Re-exploring the Past: The Fort Kochi Chapters – 1

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Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let...

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