<p>I recall an 80s hit song. “Havina dwesha, hanneradu varusha, nanna rosha, nooru varusha...”<br /><br />Can anger be carried for a hundred years? I would say yes considering that I have carried mine for 40. And if life had gone on in the same track for another 60 years, I too would have been belting the line with as much fury.<br /><br />I not only remember this particular English lecturer’s name and face, I also recall the colour of the saree she wore that day and the lesson she was teaching when the diversion happened.<br /><br />It was the English class for all, second year, science students. Five times a week, 150 odd girls assembled in the lecture hall for the common lessons.<br /><br />To give the devil its due I must say that this lady was the best of the three English lecturers we had and as such was held in great respect by the students.<br /><br />That day it was hard, even for this teacher to hold the students’ attention. The annual election of office bearers was coming up and canvassing was at fever pitch.<br /><br />When I saw the rival candidate come in, my first reaction was one of antagonism. “Doesn’t she know she is not allowed to canvass inside the class?” I thought,<br />“You sent for me Ma’m?” she asked.<br /><br />It seemed odd, even at that point, that the senior teacher should be sending for the candidate, giving her such a patronising smile, and engaging her in deliberate conversation.<br /><br />“A thing of beauty is joy forever!”<br /><br />The line was rendered with so much drama that we all sat up in surprise.<br />The girl had just left and no one had any doubt as to who the reference was to. As we listened in disbelief, the lecturer went on to elaborate the phrase and impress upon the class that objects of inner and outer beauty deserved veneration. The message was as good as being up on the board. “Vote for this girl. Never mind if she is from your class.”<br />The entire class had its eyes on me. Though I was shaking with anger and battling to hold the tears in the throat, I pretended as if it didn’t matter. But I knew my defeat was already a foregone conclusion.<br /><br />The other day I was rummaging through some old photographs and came by one of the college group. I spotted the English teacher in the front row. The old anger surfaced and I was surprised that the memory still hurt! I did some quick arithmetic and concluded that the lady would now be in her late 80s.<br /><br />Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous that I should be holding a grudge, against an old woman, (or worse, against one who was dead and gone!) over an issue that had zero relevance now.<br /><br />I am glad I will be stepping into the New Year, less one, ancient baggage.</p>
<p>I recall an 80s hit song. “Havina dwesha, hanneradu varusha, nanna rosha, nooru varusha...”<br /><br />Can anger be carried for a hundred years? I would say yes considering that I have carried mine for 40. And if life had gone on in the same track for another 60 years, I too would have been belting the line with as much fury.<br /><br />I not only remember this particular English lecturer’s name and face, I also recall the colour of the saree she wore that day and the lesson she was teaching when the diversion happened.<br /><br />It was the English class for all, second year, science students. Five times a week, 150 odd girls assembled in the lecture hall for the common lessons.<br /><br />To give the devil its due I must say that this lady was the best of the three English lecturers we had and as such was held in great respect by the students.<br /><br />That day it was hard, even for this teacher to hold the students’ attention. The annual election of office bearers was coming up and canvassing was at fever pitch.<br /><br />When I saw the rival candidate come in, my first reaction was one of antagonism. “Doesn’t she know she is not allowed to canvass inside the class?” I thought,<br />“You sent for me Ma’m?” she asked.<br /><br />It seemed odd, even at that point, that the senior teacher should be sending for the candidate, giving her such a patronising smile, and engaging her in deliberate conversation.<br /><br />“A thing of beauty is joy forever!”<br /><br />The line was rendered with so much drama that we all sat up in surprise.<br />The girl had just left and no one had any doubt as to who the reference was to. As we listened in disbelief, the lecturer went on to elaborate the phrase and impress upon the class that objects of inner and outer beauty deserved veneration. The message was as good as being up on the board. “Vote for this girl. Never mind if she is from your class.”<br />The entire class had its eyes on me. Though I was shaking with anger and battling to hold the tears in the throat, I pretended as if it didn’t matter. But I knew my defeat was already a foregone conclusion.<br /><br />The other day I was rummaging through some old photographs and came by one of the college group. I spotted the English teacher in the front row. The old anger surfaced and I was surprised that the memory still hurt! I did some quick arithmetic and concluded that the lady would now be in her late 80s.<br /><br />Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous that I should be holding a grudge, against an old woman, (or worse, against one who was dead and gone!) over an issue that had zero relevance now.<br /><br />I am glad I will be stepping into the New Year, less one, ancient baggage.</p>
