Teachers.

Teacher's Day come and go
And with every year I learn more
More than I ever teach.

I noticed that on every Teacher's Day ..... at least in recent years ........ it is the old students and ex-students who wish/greet/phone/visit/mail/write. The present students I teach are not always so enthusiastic.

Possible conclusions :-

a. We as teachers are less effective as the years go by.

b. The present lot of students are not sensitive to our teachings.

c. What we teach is a life-time learning for the taught, and that is why the old students come back to us with love and affection. The present students have not yet realised the value of our teaching . However, they will one day.

I copy-paste here on this page a mail which I had sent to some of my students (ex-students) in October, 2005. After 5 years, my sentiments remain the same.

I could not delete Arik's reply to my mail for some "HTML error". I have not disclosed the other recipients and their replies.

Nandini ma'am,

I am fairly certain that most people in this email would agree that you were an inspiration and that you transcended the textbook definition of teacher to become a mentor. If not, we would not have kept touch with you over these years :) ... don't worry about me just yet ... worry when I go to Iraq for my next assignment in January!

Regards,
Arik.

Nandini Dutta wrote:

The past few weeks saw the passing away of three of my educators. I shall not call them teachers.

One was Mother Marie-Claire, a nun at Loreto who put up with my outrageous ways with love and compassion (the hallmark of Loreto education). Never was there a harsh word, no matter how wicked my behaviour. Loreto education is so very wholesome. It sees you through life.

Then passed away my Economics teacher at College. A scatty and eccentric lady , who opened up my mind like no one had before. The modicum of academic discipline I possess today, I owe to her.

The third was dear IG (IGPatel) who saw me through my wild and wilful days at Delhi .Though he did not teach me as such, but he and his wife (Bibi) were always around for any intellectual discussion/argument. Many a times he acted as a 'sounding board' to the rather far fetched and immature hypothesis and paradigms that I presented to him at regular intervals. We ripped the topic apart and that by itself was a great learning process.If today I'm known to be argumentative, its because of IG.

A mere RIP or a prayer does not do them justice.

What I regret today is the fact that we as professors being in the academia, perhaps have not been able to impart to our students (through the years), a greater part of what we received from our mentors. I rue the fact. It is not just me, but many in our generation (professors and teachers) who received so much from our teachers, and yet, perhaps could not pass the same to the young minds that we teach/taught. My apologies

In introspection

Nandini Dutta.

Those at Univ., have fun. Arik, I worry for you. The rest take care. Priya, do mail.

Chico Dear

BREAKING NEWS

Chico listens to Brahms. And he listens to Schubert .... Ave Maria.

I have never ever seen or heard of such a cat.

......of what use is a pencil?

Dear Readers..........who read my blog .... and who think I'm a little off in the head.

On reading this please do believe that I am not really any more eccentric than I normally am. It's just that my differently-abled mind 'sees' a lot more.

I came back from work this afternoon to find that Chico had once again (for the umpteenth time) pulled down some pencils. Now, in our house pencils are held in high esteem. They are all over the house. Mostly soft leaded pencils. I keep my pencils on my desk, on my bed, on the bedside table, all over the drawing room. The cats have free access to pencils for an occasional chew or to play 'chase and roll' with them. Not one of us mind. Cats will play with pencils. And we are all so used to picking up pencils on coming home.

Today Chico and Iago had got hold of my graphite pencil and it was lying on the drawing room floor. I was getting myself to give me 5 minutes to keep my bag, have a glass of water, and then go pencil-picking. At the back of my mind was the precious graphite pencil. I walked back into the drawing room to see Rampyari's baby (Rampyari is a a squirrel) holding the bright blue Steadtler pencil between his paws and the little squirrel was scribbling away on a piece of brownpaper (also on the floor....thanks to Chico? Iago?). The baby squirrel was intently looking at his work of art on the brown paper and Chico was sitting on the divan watching the squirrel with total amusement.

Now, I do not have a camera. However, I will hold this picture in my mind for a long time to come. A squirrel attempting to write/draw with a pencil....... a cat watching the whole procedure. It is a priceless shot.

Please do believe ...... this writing is NOT a work of fiction. This sort of madness can only happen in the old house by the grave yard.

I do believe in Magic.

Reading Corner

I wonder if 'reading corner' is an apt term. Moreover I am not at all sure if every body has a reading corner or even reads as such. Notwithstanding these rather odd factors, I still maintain that every one who reads has a reading corner.

My current reading corner is my bed (my side of the bed). I love to read in bed, and the old and weary mattress was a worn out 'hole' or depression which is ever so comfortable. It's custom made so to say...... conforming to my bulk. My bed has a wide open window behind the headboard and a table lamp on the bedside table. I can read anytime, with adequate light. I love my 'hole in the bed' and I enjoy what I read lying on the bed. What is really strange is that I am not the only one who likes the 'hole'. I am told Bossie used to see me out of the door, see me out on the road..through the window and promptly plonk himself down in my 'hole' with a deep sigh. He, I am told, wouldn't budge for a long long time. Shantam shared my 'hole' and actually had the nerve to consider it his 'hole'. He tried to oust me out all the time. This is inspite of him having other reading corners all over the house. Adarsh, when here from University completely took over my 'hole in the bed'. He almost has to be pushed out when I want to sleep. Of course most other times I reign supreme. After all it's my 'hole in the bed'.

Another favourite reading corner I remember is the small balcony at the LC Road house. I used to sit there in the sun / rain / hail or whatever and read my story book. Sajani too used to bring her book, Toro his bone, Shantam his Lego and we co-habited in that small space.. If I remember rightly, there was a street lamp which shed just enough light to read by.

Another reading corner which probably does not exist any more is the Children's Library at the National Library, Calcutta. My mother used to go to the Library to research, and I would be left to fend for myself in the ground floor/basement section where existed an excellent library in a brightly lit room full of the morning sunshine. They had window seats with red and pink roses on the cushions. I loved those window seats and the book selection there. I wonder if anyone knows what happened to the books and the Children's Library at the NL, Calcutta. Another window seat seat memory is the Library at L.C., Darjeeling. Another well lit room with window seats. I had my own window and therefore my own reading corner. There would be hell to pay if any one tried to occupy my corner !!! I did most of my 'growing up' there, as all problems of life had to be solved while I read my book.

There was a time Mother taught at the University on College Street. It was quite possible that the staff at home would stage a walk-out if I was left in their care for any length of time. Ma had to take me along. She parked me at Dasgupta and Co. on College Street and I had the most wonderful time in the gallery like structure upstairs amongst the dusty books. Arabinda (the present owner) joined me sometimes, and I still go delving for forgotten books in this shop. Arabinda swears that at one time I knew how to / where to locate a book, better than his staff.

AD Road had so many reading corners. My favourite was the steps leading to the terrace and the landing there which also had a small table. The staircase was west facing and it was sheer pleasure to read and eat the oranges provided by my aunt. At AD Road once again there was Dada's room with a small ledge at the window. The window was tall and very airy. I used to read there when Dada permitted me to enter his room. It was not often, but I treasure those few times I could sit there and read. Incidentally Dada walked up and down the room to 'read' or study or whatever he was trying to do. This paichari, I found totally unnerving and would beat a hasty retreat the moment Dada started being restless. Dada had the same habit of walking up and down with a book at his JNU quarters. Equally unnerving I'm afraid. I wonder what he does now.

I do not remember my Father or Sanjoy reading in bed. Baba I will always remember had his desk/writing table to work and a black leather arm chair with a standard lamp next to it to read by. It has never ever varied. Even today, when he can not sit up for too long, he sits on the bed.....lamp and tea and books and radio and cat and all. Minimum movements. Sanjoy has his own reading chair....another black leather chair and he sits there for his 'read' (like Baba) with his books, cigarettes, ash-tray, dog/cat and whatever. His chair too incidentally has a marked 'hole'. Sanjoy hates being disturbed when he reads.

The Goethalls Library at SXC has always been my refuge for serious academic reading and writing. For whatever reason I have a small desk by a tall window. An old fashioned desk with a lift up lid. For years I have sat at that desk and read and thought and reflected and cogitated. I have written and typed (on a laptop) without anybody ever bothering me. In an Institute of 7000 strong pupils, it is a wonder that the Library maintains absolute peace. It is a sanctuary of sorts.

Sheldon House had so many reading corners that I cannot stop to finish the list. The huge balcony, my cubby-hole study (on a pile of stored mattresses), on the pomello tree, on the swings, the staircase, Raju's little verandah. Actually let these remain secret. The less said the better.

Our old and dilapidated house by the grave yard has reading corners too. Sajani for years sat on a large tin trunk and read her book. She now sits on the floor by the window to read in the warm sunlight. Shantam managed to squeeze himself in a corner of the ever-so-narrow balcony to read his Ivanhoe or struggle through Bindur Chhele (and shed copious tears). Of course I was never to notice all this as it was his private corner. Maybe the house was/is too small to offer all its inmates a private corner to read. That is why maybe we sometimes have to take turns. After Shantam grew taller, he could not fit into that small corner of the balcony. He changed base and took over the wooden window seat in the children's room. He stretched himself out there with his toy cars, music, cat/dog, discman and sketch book and would not answer if called. We had given up getting him to come out of his room if he did not wish to. Adarsh has earned himself a rather large 'hole' in the drawing room divan, and also shares the arm chair 'hole' with Chico, and my 'hole in the bed' with me. There are other reading corners....not so exclusively owned ..... which we all share.

There has been other reading corners which I have excluded here..... the DSE Library steps, particularly at night, pavements and curb-sides in many places and many cities. (Shantam was caught reading by street light down our lane ). There has been exclusive corners for all of us in the Schools and Universities we have studied. Some we disclose. Some are secret. The house at Keyatala Road had a cement tank which was perhaps my first ever reading corner. I had a cloth bag full of books which I used to take there to read .... away from my baby sister. Sajani can read anywhere, including Calcutta public buses. Shantam always read with his sketch pads .... I never did get to figure out why he needed to sketch while reading.

It may seem strange but Skippy reads on Sajani's desk, under a table lamp. She obviously reads whatever Sajani reads. Daku had a reading corner ..... the IIT Maths. He used it as a pillow as long as the children were studying. After they went to bed, he slept on my bed. Boss squeezed himself under Sajani's desk and Bagha always studied with Shantam. Chico watches racy action movies on the laptop every evening (thanks to Adarsh and Shantam) curled up his his favourite chair while Iago chews the days newspaper under the bed.

Does not everyone have a reading corner?

Music & Ma

My earliest memory of a song is a snatch of a rhyme ' ghugu soi, shoilya koi......' This was being sung to me by my mother who was rocking me in her lap and I so clearly remember she was wearing something orange, and I remember Ma laughing and the sun on her face. I have absolutely no idea how old I was then.....may be a few months, maybe a year old. It's a photo frame in audio and video memory.

Ma has always been there in my music. Ma perhaps was not a hugely famous singer, but in our family we held her singing in high esteem. She always sang for me ...joy, anger, disappointment, love, all had special songs.

Once when I was about 3 years old and not getting sleep ( I have always been an insomniac of sort), Ma took me to the small garden of the Keyatala house, showed me the moon and sang

' chander hasi bandh bhengechhe uchhle pore aalo....'. I can still recall her voice, and whenever I am even slightly upset, this song in my mother's voice can calm me down. She has sung this song several times for me, whenever I wanted her to sing it. Calcutta, Patna, Darjeeling...over trunk call lines too.

I had diphtheria when I was about 4, and my sister was just a baby. My mother probably had a hard time with her job, the baby and me. More to the point, I had to be kept absolutely isolated, so that my baby sister did not catch the disease. Baba did a lot of the nursing and though Father was besura at his best, he used to carry me and sing ..'Ogo Ma tomay dekhe dekhe ankhi na bhore" (Bengalis nearly always call their daughters Ma, and to Baba I have always been "Ma"). Baba and this song is inseparable. As we grew up it was Baba who instilled his deep love for classical music in us. It was Baba who calmed my temper with a soft Beethoven, and it was he who dried my tears with Tchaikovsky. However, Baba rarely sang. Snatches yes, but never the way Ma sang to us and particularly to me and for me. I don't remember if I was a difficult child, but today I realise that Ma (who brought up, me, her first born on B. Spock) knew right from the beginning that the only thing that worked with me..... in illness, asthma, tantrums, sheer cussedness ... was her singing. She sang to me all the time. Even when I was far away, she would sing over a scratchy phone line and I alone know the joy and peace that her singing brought to me. When I would be very naughty she often sang '.....chotto naditi, pate anka chhobiti' In my mind, I can still hear her sing it. Her soft crooning voice taking away my wickedness. 'Kajla didi koi' was another song Ma would sing to me. This was when I would be unhappy. I would lie awake and be quiet and late into the night, Ma would sing me to sleep with this.

Ma sang everything. Rhymes, Vera Lynn,Cliff Richard, old IPTA songs, Beatles, Dean Martin, old WW II songs, Rabindra Sangeet, Bangla Adhunik, Burmese folk songs (I still remember the words....more or less correctly.... had a Burmese student of mine to listen to my terrible rendering of these songs). I loved her "na go, eije dhula". No one, repeat no one, ever sang it as well as she did. Even till last year she could and would sing to me. Sometimes over the phone....4pm sharp was her regular phone call time. In more recent years she would just sing to herself, and the few times I would visit her, I would sit quietly and listen.

She sang to her grandchildren too. I do not know if they remember, but all of them stopped crying when she sang to the baby who was wanting attention. In later years they would go to her to get tunes clarified, lyrics corrected......even from Goa and Gujarat.

There was a period (I think before my graduation Exams) when I would study late. And then go off to sleep on the drawing room divan. Ma, who always woke up early, would go about her work in the kitchen, humming softly. After a while she would bring her old Royal Albert tea cup and a brown tea pot, sit on the veranda (near the divan), and sing ever so softly. A short 5 to 10 minutes perhaps and two quick cups of tea, and her beautiful songs. She never learnt that I would be awake, at least I never told her, but the joy of sleeping on that old divan was Ma's early morning singing.

I can listen to music in my head. This may sound eccentric, but I really can. At times when there is no record player, or CD player, or Ma or Shantam or Sajani, I can listen to the music I want in my head.

I wish Ma could sing again.

ps. More about my custom made music in a later post.