Some Teachers Stay With Us Forever

It is a tantalizing twilight; a crimson sunset on a beach in Thailand.

I am walking across the hem of the waters. Both my children are clinging to my arms and asking me to swing them along. My wife is in the waters calling me to come closer to the sea. I have always been slightly hydrophobic. I laugh and she comes forward and sprinkles water on me, slapping into the tender waves.

This moment is perfect. I feel at peace. I have a sweet family and all my NGOs are doing a really great job. I am content. My papers are published every other day and I get good feedback for my work. I am satisfied. Thankful to God.

My kids are really happy in this moment. I see the little me in them. Everything is calm and mesmerising. In a moment, I think I see someone I know. A very familiar face. My heart stirs. My legs go numb. I am not able to decide what to do. Go near him or not? What would I say?

But I am very excited. I asked my kids to get down my arms and I run towards the face which is lit like a moon. It has always been like this. So energetic. So positive. So inviting. So loving. I say, “Sir?”. He turns around. ” Yes?” he says with a tint of surprise evident on his brow. I ignore that. I am way too excited to get disappointed.

“Sir, it’s me, Akshat…. Akshat Tripathi. Ramjas History Honours…. Sir? Don’t you remember me?” Sir tries very hard to concentrate. He still has a very awkward look on his face. He doesn’t remember me. He fails at recalling my name. I don’t blame him. I have always been the shy student who never talked in class. Never responded to any question, though I had a lot going on in my mind. But I always listened to teachers carefully, especially Milind Sir. I was like a sponge who absorbed everything he said. He was like a candle, a torchbearer for me and everyone else.

Today If I am successful, I owe my success to my hard work and to all the teachers who have taught me but… if by any chance I am a good human today, I owe it all to Milind Sir. I am laughing, looking into those eyes. They are ever bright like they have always been. They have not lost the spark even if the body looks old. Physically Sir has become quite senile but he still seems in high spirits as he has always been.

He tells me, “Areyyyy yaar” with a stress on R as his accent has always been . “Arrey yaar tum mujhey yaad toh nai ho but how does it matter man! Come on. Tell me your story.” And at that moment my tears come out unannounced. I never got to speak one on one with Milind Sir in my college days as I was really very shy. He tells me “Arey ro kyun rai ho dost?” pats me on my back and hugs me. My kids come running to me and I tell them, “Call your mother, guys.”

Within seconds they all come and I tell them excitedly, “Meet Milind Sir.” My wife’s eyes brighten like a kid’s while seeing a shooting star. She squeals “Oh my God… Milind Sir! We keep on hearing about you, Sir. Whenever Akshat is in any extreme emotion, he starts telling us ‘Milind Sir used to say this, say that…’ Sir, you have been like a member of our family. You are not among us but your spirit has always been there.”

Milind Sir’s countenance tells it all. He feels like heaven. He hugs me again. He hugs my kids. We all play with the water. We decide to go for dinner together and  I tell Sir my story. He talks to me about many things. Even after so many years, he has the same energy, same spark. He is alive at heart. He is aged but not old. He is happy to see where I stand in life and flattered to hear that I incorporate his lessons even now.

In his trips, he once said, he always has some marvellous moments to take back and this moment with me has been added to his priceless possessions, he tells me. We decide to go sky diving together, the next day and he bids adieu.

Later in the hotel, reclining on the soft cushion, I think of everything. The flashback is so vivid, so lovely! Nostalgia tears my heart to pieces and each piece has a special memory laden in it to give me pleasure. This is the best form of heartbreak anyone could ever have experienced. I close my eyes. The room is cool, the window is ajar and a calm breeze is swaying the curtains. I am at peace. I think about the life of a teacher. I think about how great and wonderful it must be to be a teacher.

Today it felt like it is one of the greatest feelings to have been a teacher, touched hundreds of lives, known them, learnt from them and taught them. How in teacher’s lives students come and go. Teachers get attached to many students but they know the students have to go. They are sad on leaving their students but happy that their students will leave, along with a part of them; their teachings, their love.

In colleges, every three years they have to love and let go. Love again and let go. Raise the baby birds, help them build their wings and leave them to fly in the sky, unbridled!

© Muntaha Amin

(English Honours, Second Year)

What If?

Image by cathline dickens.

Sofia was gazing at the clouds from the window of the airplane and cherishing her near-perfect life. A husband who loved her, kind in-laws and a nice home with a garden; everything she had dreamt of was finally hers.

As the plane descended towards the city and the tiny buildings grew larger, something unusual caught her eye. She saw a house on fire, with black smoke billowing towards the sky, and felt a chill run through her spine. It had just been half a year since her wedding. The fear of unpredictability and uncertainty still existed and she wondered what would happen if her life hit disequilibrium, if her happiness was inflated to its limit and it burst. It was the fear of the unknown, this unknown element that may enter her life and burn it like the charred house. She hugged Joe and stared into his eyes, finding reassurance within them.

They were returning to California after a sojourn in Goa at Sofia’s childhood home. Joe had recently been promoted in his company and a greater workload was expected.

They reached home shortly after midnight, both exhausted. Sofia still chose to unpack some items before sleeping, finding reassurance in her familiar belongings around her. The last thing she saw before she slept was her bedside lamp. This square-base metal lamp was special to her as it had been at her bedside since she was a young girl. But it was as fresh and shiny as it was on the day when her father brought it as a present. Nothing about it had changed.

***

Three months passed, but now Sofia was no longer happy. Joe didn’t talk to her much or take her anywhere; he started traveling a lot, and rarely stayed at their home. The earlier fear had wormed its way slowly but surely into her brain and she had started talking to herself out of loneliness, looking at the dusty bed lamp. It wasn’t shiny anymore; Sofia wasn’t taking care of it or anything else these days. Her life had become as still as that lamp now. She was okay with it, she knew that he was working for the post of Vice President and as soon as he became one, everything would be alright.

He consumed alcohol moderately earlier, but now after the magnified stress he had become somewhat of an addict. His daily drinking was affecting their relationship. She started suspecting that Joe was seeing someone else and his behavior wasn’t solely because of work. She knew that there was something else, someone else. The fear was now engulfing her.

She had to talk to him about this, but ironically the fear which planted the initial idea wouldn’t allow her do this. She wondered whether he was just busy and she was being foolish in suspecting him. But one day, she braved the fear and asked what the problem was; Joe’s flippant response increased her suspicion. She asked the question repeatedly and he confessed.

There was something else, someone else. A heated discussion followed and consequently Sofia faced the punishment of the ringmaster for the first time in her life. Joe hit her. They couldn’t believe what had happened. Both of them stood still, he stared at her while she fixed her eyes on the floor where her tears fell. This silenced the poor woman – she became submissive. But the man changed as well.

His alcoholism was constantly present; he tortured her, physically and mentally. Imagine the fear we have for a second when we are threatened -every second of Sofia’s life was now like this. Joe was the demon who was destroying her perfect life; the one who was the most important part of her dream was still one, but it wasn’t a dream anymore, it was a nightmare. The fears were chaining her. The wedding ring held her to this relationship. It belonged to the ringmaster. Poor Sofia was ringed with the ordeals she was mastered by.

The fear completely took over. She thought that leaving him wasn’t a solution, what would she do all alone in this foreign land. Going back to India was not an option as he had her passport and wouldn’t give her access to their bank account. Sofia didn’t contact the police hoping that he would understand some day. She feared that no one would accept her and ultimately he would come back and torture her even more. The fear of the society and the man himself kept her silent.

It had now been four months of torture for Sofia. She sat there looking at the lamp, when Joe came into the room. The tamed animal stood straight on the sight of the master. He threw her to the bed, held her hands to it and started forcing himself on her. She struggled but lost. Thinking that she had lost all energy, Joe released her hands. When you’re afraid, there are two options – fight or flight. But she had just one – to fight. In a moment, she picked up the lamp and hit him in the head, just above his ear. The edges of the square metal base hurt him badly, he fell on the other side of the bed, profusely bleeding.

Sofia couldn’t believe what she had done. The fear of the man had vanished, now she feared no one but herself. The lamp had broken.

She was left with two options this time – flight or flight. She could runway back to India, she could report the police or she could end it all in a single act.

No one would believe her story, they would condemn and persecute her, she was fearful of her own home now. She wasn’t sure of what others would do to her. She did not know. The fear had earlier engulfed her heart, but now her mind sank in its swamp. Fully drowned, she saw her marriage bed- one day she had imagined roses on it, but it was a different red she saw today. Fear was the price of her imagination. Sofia’s dreams had vanished, and now so would her nightmare. She went to the bathroom, took the blade and performed her final act.

© Keshav Sharma

(B. Com. Programme 1st Year)

Here Comes The Sun

(Picture Credit: Lambieb123)

I am subdued, almost afraid to rise. I move slowly, wrapping my warm golden tendrils around the deep purple night. I beat it down to a chalky mauve, and I get stronger. I sculpt the sky to my liking – today it is lavender and peach. The morning dew glistens, and I extend my control. I cast a web of light, my luminescence filtering through the leaves.

Soon, I reach my zenith. I am formidable. I am dominant. I penetrate the darkest corners of your world; I even make the dust dance. I am amber and maize, an orb of incandescence like no other. I blaze mercilessly, a blinding inferno against cornflower blue. I am radiant.

Suddenly, I am hurtling towards the horizon. I shoot out haphazard streaks of magenta and tangerine – byzantine sparks following close behind. The dying embers of day tint the sky crimson and I create ink black silhouettes against it. I am fire itself, scarlet and majestic.

I allow my rays to swirl around the clouds, burning and returning, racing with the wind. I am surrounded by a whirlwind of colour and chaos; a perfect round, cut in half by the edge of the world.

Without warning, I find myself struggling to stay afloat. I am weighed down, and I feel my might wavering. The sky fades to a dull rose, my lustre diminished. I no longer dazzle. I am a mere shadow of myself, and the sky is now a bruise of ultramarine and violet.

I am engulfed by Stygian darkness. The stars are sequins, glittering impertinently. I retreat into a cavern, having resigned myself to defeat. I am the colour of midnight.

I convalesce, and I regain a fragment of my former strength. I stretch, tentatively peering beyond the horizon. I extend myself further, willing myself to illuminate and overcome the night.

And again, I rise.

© Anushka Baruah

(English Honours, 1st Year)

Shades

[Image: misty eruption in greyscale by arcquidrone]

Smoky grey floats across the sky, seemingly harmless. The innocent meeting of neighbours builds into a dense, dark mass of similar purpose, obscuring lighter nonchalance. The thundering mass, driven by a single purpose, bellows and roars its woes, deafening in its furious glory. The sheer strength in numbers compels and commands complete attention. This swirling mass has darker and lighter hues, or as I see it, two different ways of thought, expression and action that make up our world.

The dark builds rapidly, impulsively and impetuously, black in blind fury, diving headlong into the easiest opportunity. Steel grey merges with inky black, hints of a deep vermillion wink slyly, weaving a shroud of evil intent, malicious in its ever changing forms. The sky darkens and shrouds the world in its single goal; destruction.

Insidious wisps snake out, coiling relentlessly around hapless, helpless voices of reason, smothering and poisoning them. Reason withers, sense is lost and the dark writhes in the ecstasy of violence, destruction and chaos. The weak willed are penetrated and brain washed; morphing into blind followers. Volatile, with an ever ready temper, it waits for the smallest reason to lash out in crackling bursts of lightning, cackling in spite, gleefully destroying any hindrance in its way. Thunder rumbles moments after, applauding this mindless devastation.

Time and again, innocence is corrupted, setting the world on fire. Why the fury? The initial cause is long forgotten, only the thirst to wreak more havoc remains. Thousands of lives are lost, these storms sweep across the world, leaving us with no choice. We must listen, be bombarded with their views and thoughts, until we either join, or succumb. This way seeks to blind, to overpower, and ultimately to rule.

The lighter grey is controlled, but no less breath-taking or mighty in its anger. It builds up methodically; layer after layer painstakingly laid out, although gathering only in times of need. The ones who seek to help, to work as one, and eventually, to move towards progress.

Pure white melds with smoky grey, weaving an intricate tapestry; hints of a darker grey, of azure, of brilliant blues blend in. This tapestry seeks not to smother the light, but to work with it. Not one voice is silenced; all are welcome to join, to add their own colour, vibrancy and texture. Often, a colour gradually enfolds another; ultimately merging into one. New ideas are born from lessons learnt, from the perfect melding of two minds.

The light rumbles, showing its displeasure, but never obliterates. Its passion is palpable in the dense tapestry it weaves, but it does not seek to conquer, to overpower or subdue. There is no room for the weak willed; only the clever and determined shine the brightest, welcoming newcomers with rationale, truth and wisdom. This blend of colours is beautiful, and due to its diversity, the new opinions, the strength of thousands of minds working together, is all the more powerful.

© Anjini Chandra

(Zoology Hons 2nd Year)