SOME OLD TEACHERS

The teachers were of various sorts. Some had a way with words, others fumbled and made heavy going of expressing themselves, reminisces J.VASANTHAN.






I WAS watching a TV programme on Teachers' Day last week when I started thinking about some of my old teachers who taught me in school in the 1940s. I remembered many of them, but in particular, I thought about these few that I am writing about.

Geography and hot coffee



Our Geography master, Muthuswami Iyer, was a gangling old gentleman. When he talked about a country, we seemed to be living in it. A large map was hung over the blackboard, and Muthuswami Iyer would use a pointer to show us the various places of the world. He didn't even have to look at the map to do so. Sometimes he pointed to a place in the map behind him while looking straight at us. Knowing that this thrilled us, he kept doing it often. Sometimes the pointer took on the role of a cane.

At about 11 O' clock every morning he would send for some coffee from the shop opposite to the school. Since he wanted it to be piping hot, the owner of the shop would himself bring it across, covering it with another vessel. Our geography master would raise the tumbler high and pour the steaming liquid straight down his throat. We watched in fascination as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as the coffee coursed down his gullet.

The shop owner would have an appreciate smile as Muthuswami Iyer handed back the tumbler, wiped his lips on his shawl, and took up the pointer again. "Was it hot enough for you, Sir?" he would ask. "Could have been hotter," our master would say. This was a daily ritual that never palled on us. No wonder geography was one of our favourite subjects.

A voice to remember


Shanmuga Sundaram Pillai was short, thin, Pigeon-chested, and had a stiff, strutting walk. He had a way of suddenly changing his voice from a hoarse rasp to a quivering falsetto. This was highly amusing, but no one dared to laugh for fear of his quick temper. Later we found this kind of voice change in the actor, M.R. Radha. Even today when I see an M.R. Radha film I am reminded of Shanmuga Sundaram Pillai.

A determined teacher


Durairaj Naidu was a remarkable person in every way. Even those days when yoga was not heard about, he did some exercises every morning that resembled yogasanas. He walked a mile or two before sunrise and then had a bath in a garden on the outskirts of the town, drawing the water manually from a well. Though his subject was mathematics, he was a great lover of literature, his favourites being Dickens, Shelley and V.S. Gandekar, the Marathi novelist. He was a hockey aficionado, and with Dr. Durairaj, another hockey fan, and the help of a local business group, he succeeded in putting our town, Kovilpatti, on the hockey map of India. He was one of the founders of `Thinkers' Club', an association that met every fortnight and discussed intellectual subjects.

Though he was a family friend, he didn't know how I was faring at school, since he went only to the higher classes. When I came to the 5th form (Standard X), he came to teach us maths. Within a few minutes he knew that I didn't much care for maths, and that maths didn't care for me. "Say, I never knew you were so bad in maths," he said. And then he added resolutely. "I'll see that you get first class marks in the final exams." And so he did, after several hours of extra coaching and the diligent use of threats and cajoling.

An elegant lady


My mother was also a teacher in the same school, but she made sure that I was never in the section that she taught. My class teacher in Std. V was Mrs. Chelliah, a dainty old lady. She was always dressed in costly nine-yard sarees, which she wore in the old Brahmin style (madisaar), though she was a Christian. (She had built a chapel in the compound of her house where services were held regularly.)

Mrs. Chelliah and my mother had had a fight, and were not on speaking terms. They went past each other like ships in the night, studiously avoiding each other. But Mrs. Chelliah never allowed this to come in the way of her relationship with me. She showered a lot of affection on me, and appreciated and encouraged whatever I did. And I always scored very high marks in her subjects.

After one particular exam, I went home and showed my marks to my mother. She was really touched by the fairness and good heartedness of Mrs. Chelliah.

The next day as my mother and I were walking home from school, Mrs. Chelliah happened to come that way. My mother stopped and said, "You have been very kind and generous to my son". And Mrs. Chelliah said, "The only reason I gave him 95 was because we are not allowed to give centum in history". Whereupon they both laughed and hugged each other as tears streamed down their cheeks. That was the end of the feud. Quarrels never lasted long those days.

A varied lot


The teachers were of various sorts. Some were meticulous in their attire and grooming, others were shabby and unkempt. Some had a way with words, others fumbled and made heavy going of expressing themselves. Some were masters of their subject, others learnt it along with us. But they were all genuinely concerned about us.

And we loved them all.