I lived in an old Nair Tharavadu community in Kerala. This story is of the time when I was studying in 7th standard in the Government High School Cherthuruthy in Kerala. My school was five kilometers away from my village. There used to be buses on the route but we used to walk to the school most of the days. The bus fare was 10 paise. My mother used to give me that change which I used while returning from school.
We were sixteen boys in the class. Most of us were from underprivileged families to the extent that we never had sandals to wear. Walking barefoot was a habit those days.
I was fluent in Sanskrit which made me a chance to be in a class with other girls. I was an average student and like many other students, even I was terribly scared of maths. Our teacher was called Syed who lived in a village called Nedumbura closer to the village canal on the opposite side of our school. Sir Syed suffered from polio though it did not affect his dedication towards his job. Every day just before the morning bell we used to wait in front of the class door. The sight of a black umbrella approaching us slowly from the other side of the canal was enough to freak all of out. Among all the boys in my class, Sir Syed’s presence terrified me the most. My daily routine was actually incomplete without an incomplete or incorrect Mathematics homework, which made me a victim of the teacher's wrath.
One fine day everything was going on routine. As expected the bell rang for the second period and my maths phobia took over me. Sir Syed entered the room and we all stood up to greet him. Not even did we settle down when he dropped the torturous question.
"Ok. Students. Who are the ones with a finished homework?"
A few bright kids stood up and even I was one of them. This ended up as a shock to a few of my friends who ended up sending a few curse words at me.
"VK!! Bring your book !" the master screamed. Though I had finished up my work, a feeling of terror had seized me. His mere presence was enough to get me goosebumps. I showed my book to him. Master looked at my face till bottom. I was staring at the professor with an unsure face. My friends Saral and Vasa were looking at me with sympathy in their eyes. Master got up from his place and picked up the cane kept close to his seat. By now I was aware of what awaited me and had my palm held out. He hit me twice with it and when the pain was unbearable I sat down.
The next period was Physics master Chandran came with the test results. He called out my name first. "VK. Come here !!!". I was still in shock from the last class. I got up from my seat slowly and went to him with a gloomy face. I had a look at my friends and then back at the teacher. All had that evident sorry face for me. Sir patted my shoulder and handed me my paper. I was really surprised at seeing my marks. A 33 out of 50. "VK stood 1st in the class." he said.
"I am really happy with your result and hope that you will continue the same. "
Sura, a classmate got up from his bench and remarked, "Sir I think he copied the answers". I glanced at him though kept quiet.
The period ended and Chandran sir left. We rushed out and started playing in the Verandah. Suddenly an elegant looking woman entered our classroom. "Is this is Class VII-A?". I replied "Yes miss."
"Ok. All please get in. ". "My name is Rosamma & I will be your Chemistry teacher."
"Ok. Students." "Who is 1st in this class for Science subjects?".
Sari got up and told. "I was the first until now but VK got the first rank in Physics this time."
"Who is VK?" I stood up. The teacher asked me a few things and then allowed me to sit down.
I was walking towards the well after having lunch. Our school was having student wings of all the major political parties in Kerala. Haridas was one of the main leaders. He waved at me and asked me to come along with him for the meeting. There was an issue in the school due to which a strike was planned for the next day. Even I joined them and along with a few seniors started convincing the children to join the protest.
The day after the strike was a Sunday so I went to my aunt's house in Pudusseri. I was returning home and was about to cross my school when I heard someone calling out my name. "VK. Come here." I could see Rosamma madam standing on the road. "Good evening ma’am. How are you ?"
"I am not fine." "Let it be like that." "Tell me where you are coming from?"
"Teacher, I had been to my Aunt's house in Pudusseri."
"So you are enjoying even after doing all miss-chief at school"
I had noticed that the teacher was very annoyed while talking to me. "No teacher, I wasn’t a part of any miss-chief."
"Do you know how many valuable study hours were lost due to the strike?" So, this was the reason. Rosamma madam was upset due to the strike.
"Why were you supporting the group organizing the strike ?"
"The leader Haridas is a family friend of mine."
"So?", she asked and she really was very angry. I was not able to look into her eyes.
"I think, VK, you are a smart and intelligent boy."
"Do not blindly follow these people organizing strikes in the
school"
"If I ever see you again, I will not hesitate in taking strict action."
"Let me meet your aunt or mother." I realized that this would lead to a huge ruckus at my place. it was better to accept my mistake and apologize. "Sorry teacher. I will not repeat it. I promise. I will not join any strikes or be a part of any miss-chief in school."
Bowing my head down I walked to the Chungam bus stop. I was thinking about the care she showed for me and my future. I realized the importance of this. the incident changed my mentality. I was a different boy after this. I had stopped all the unproductive activities and started concentrating on studies. Very few of my friends passed out of the Cheruthuruthy High school that year and I was one of them.
Looking back now after reaching the present successful career in the Middle East I owe this success to my favorite teacher Rosamma.
‘Thank you Rosamma teacher !’
I do not know whether she is around, but I am sure she will remember me forever as I do too. Few people live in our heart for times immemorial.