A BOUQUET FOR C.N.

A lecturer who held everyone spellbound


WELL INFORMED C.R. Narayanan

THE PROFESSORS who were there in my college days were a remarkable lot. They were masters of their subjects, and took studying and teaching very seriously. Some professors embellished their erudition in a chaste and expressive language, and then the classes became very delightful indeed.


Articulate and Artistic

One of the most brilliant lecturers I had the privilege of studying under was Prof. C.R.Narayanan of American College. He taught us Botany, and one must say that Botany was in his blood. He carried no book or notes to the classroom. The moment attendance was taken, he unleashed a flood of facts and figures in his mild voice that had a slight nasal twang. And all the while his nimble fingers were producing exquisite drawings of flowers and leaves on the blackboard at lightning speed. It was as fascinating as a magic show.


In spite of CRN's brilliance, there were some students who preferred the wide open spaces. So every time the professor turned to the board, three or four students in the last row would make an exit through the door at the back. Some others occupied the vacated seats and waited for their opportunity to `escape.' This went on till the class became much smaller than it was originally. But CRN never noticed this. He was too engrossed in his wizardry to take note of such mundane things.
One day a student hurrying to the back door dashed against a chair in the last row, fell, got up and kept going. The crash of the chair made CRN turn from the board, and he saw the retreating figure disappearing around the corner. "I say," said CRN addressing the class, "don't make so much noise when going."


Impersonal relationship

CRN never got to know the names of the students, nor did he make any effort to cultivate their acquaintance outside the classroom. Throughout the two years we were in his class, we were only "Light blue shirt" or "Dark green shirt" to him. But we never resented this, since our admiration for him made us overlook these minor faults.


CRN was well read in other subjects too. Once in the Faculty Room two young professors of English were trying to identify the author of a particular passage. One said it was Shelley, and the other asserted that it was Keats. CRN, who was seated nearby, lifted his head over the newspaper he was reading and said: "Excuse me, Gentlemen, for intruding. But that is neither Shelley nor Keats. It is Spenser." The professors of English nodded dumbly, and then made a discreet exit to avoid further mishap.


We had never heard CRN talking Tamil. So one day when he identified a plant for us as "Pulicha Keerai," the class burst into tumult. "What is it, Sir?" we asked again and again, forcing him to say "Pulicha Keerai" several times. It made our day.
Next to our Botany classroom was a large room that seated 150 students. English and Tamil classes were held there. Some professors had a tough time controlling this unwieldy class. One senior professor in particular found it impossible to maintain order. The noise level was deafening. And in our class CRN could hardly go on, since his gentle voice was drowned out in the racket from the next room. He stood silently, irritation writ large on his face. And then the professor next door let his class go. There was a riotous exodus, and then silence. "I say," said CRN, "have you seen the film `All Quiet on the Western Front'?"


It would have been nice to have given a real bouquet to CRN. He would immediately have identified all the flowers and leaves in it, mentioning the family they belonged to and their characteristics and so on, holding everyone spellbound
But now only this bouquet is possible.





J. VASANTHAN
(e-mail: jvasanthan@sancharnet.in)