The classroom calls back

Sawan Public School, Delhi - colours changed until nothing remained

The greatest delight of a teacher, especially a retired one, is a call from one of their earliest students. I was gifted with that delight recently when a student whom I taught in 1989-91 in Shillong called me and recalled some of my classes. She had got her number from another colleague of mine. The trigger for her remembrance was her visit to Kerala along with her 21-year-old son. The conversation soon acquired a warmth that suggested more than just a casual remembrance.

It was my way of teaching math and science that dominated her memory of me while my colleague who gave her my number seemed to occupy a warmer place in her heart. I was not surprised. That colleague had a much more humane approach to students while I was quite arrogant as a young man. Even now, though the arrogance has mellowed substantially, I am not the friendly type.

A few months back, while I was driving a visiting close friend to his destination, we were speaking about some of our old companions (confreres, to be precise) in the seminary. When a particular individual was mentioned, I blurted out that that person was quite fond of me. I added impulsively that I never understood why he liked me because I was not a likeable person at all. My friend did not respond to that. Maybe he thought I was throwing a bait. I wasn’t.  

I was taking toddler steps on the terrain that psychologist Erik Erikson called the last stage of psychosocial development. Older adults (the latter half of one’s sixties onwards) reflect on life, Erikson said, either with a sense of fulfilment or regret. I never felt any palpable sense of fulfilment though there was no regret either.

I completed four decades of successful teaching and have reasons to feel fulfilled. But my inability to establish meaningful personal bonds remained as an irritant all through. I couldn’t even reciprocate the affection people extended me or tried to.

When we celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of our wedding last week, I thanked Maggie for tolerating me all these years. Erikson would have found me an interesting specimen for studying the last stage further. In my “retrospective accounting” (Erikson’s phrase) of my life, I accept my life as it was and come to terms with both successes and failures. But I know the kind of serenity and wisdom that the psychologist visualised for this phase eludes me.

The phone call from one of my first students led me to this reflection.

I am more amused than resigned or fulfilled or regretful when I look back. A lot of things could have been different and happier. I accept that. But without regret.

Two months back, when a journalist friend visited casually, I asked him whether he believed in destiny. An instant No was his response. “I do,” I said. “Your genes are your destiny. Your parents and the significant others who shaped your personality are your destiny. Whatever is not within your control is your destiny.”

All that I am yet to love in me is my destiny! I am amused. Without regret.

PS. February is the month of Write A Page A Day in Blogchatter’s calendar. I usually accept their activities because they bring a few fellow bloggers together in camaraderie, though a brief one. I’ll be using this activity to look at my four decades of teaching career and the way the education process has evolved in India during the period. A teacher’s observations with a personal touch.