<p class="bodytext">“How are you Mushtaque? It has been many days since I last read your article. How fares your grandson, Mohammad Ibrahim?” This heartfelt inquiry came from my revered teacher, Venkaappa H Kaladgi, retired educator of the Anglo Urdu School, Hubballi. Now in his nineties, Venkaappa Kaladgi Sir taught from 1962 to 1996, shaping countless lives. Anyone who is now an octogenarian and was educated at the Anglo Urdu High School in Hubballi would have been his student. </p>.<p class="bodytext">A master of both English and Urdu, with a Master’s degree in the latter, he taught languages and physical education with unmatched dedication. His commitment to academic excellence and student discipline was exemplary. His mere presence on the school grounds commanded respect and order. There were around 10 cinemas near our high school, all within a stone’s throw distance. However, no student dared skip classes and go to the theatres, fearing Venkaappa Sir’s rebuke.</p>.<p class="bodytext">My bond with my teacher grew stronger when I was promoted to principal of a technical college 25 years ago. We were often invited together as guests to various educational institutions in the city. Though we became friendly, he remained a teacher to me. Despite completing 38 years as a teacher, I am always submissive before him, just as I was in high school.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I have a deep passion for literature and frequently host literary gatherings at my residence, where Venkappa Sir, as an esteemed Urdu poet, is always a special guest. He adopted the pen name Kamil (perfect). We have weekly conversations over the phone, and he always inquires about my grandson. He is like my family.</p>.<p class="bodytext">It was Teacher’s Day, and amid the flurry of activities, my students handed me an invitation to attend as the chief guest. An idea immediately struck me: why not invite Venkappa Sir instead? A revered teacher who has shaped thousands of students, he stands as a pillar of ‘Ganga Jamuna Tehzeeb’ in the south,playing a crucial role in uniting different communities.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I called him and requested his presence as the chief guest. He politely declined, citing his commitment to an inter-college sports event in Belagavi. Undeterred, I persuaded him to stay a bit longer at home, and together with all the department heads, I visited his residence to honour him. Overcome with emotion, he remarked, “I may not have accumulated wealth in my life, but I am happy students like Mushtaque are my assets.” I was moved me deeply, and couldn’t hold back my tears.</p>.<p class="bodytext">On the occasion of Annual Day, I invited him as the chief guest to our college. He expressed his wish to our staff that he wanted to honour me, as only five days remained for my retirement. He spoke about me on that occasion. What could be more joyous than a student who, during his school days, feared his teacher being honoured by the same teacher? It was a rare moment.</p>
<p class="bodytext">“How are you Mushtaque? It has been many days since I last read your article. How fares your grandson, Mohammad Ibrahim?” This heartfelt inquiry came from my revered teacher, Venkaappa H Kaladgi, retired educator of the Anglo Urdu School, Hubballi. Now in his nineties, Venkaappa Kaladgi Sir taught from 1962 to 1996, shaping countless lives. Anyone who is now an octogenarian and was educated at the Anglo Urdu High School in Hubballi would have been his student. </p>.<p class="bodytext">A master of both English and Urdu, with a Master’s degree in the latter, he taught languages and physical education with unmatched dedication. His commitment to academic excellence and student discipline was exemplary. His mere presence on the school grounds commanded respect and order. There were around 10 cinemas near our high school, all within a stone’s throw distance. However, no student dared skip classes and go to the theatres, fearing Venkaappa Sir’s rebuke.</p>.<p class="bodytext">My bond with my teacher grew stronger when I was promoted to principal of a technical college 25 years ago. We were often invited together as guests to various educational institutions in the city. Though we became friendly, he remained a teacher to me. Despite completing 38 years as a teacher, I am always submissive before him, just as I was in high school.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I have a deep passion for literature and frequently host literary gatherings at my residence, where Venkappa Sir, as an esteemed Urdu poet, is always a special guest. He adopted the pen name Kamil (perfect). We have weekly conversations over the phone, and he always inquires about my grandson. He is like my family.</p>.<p class="bodytext">It was Teacher’s Day, and amid the flurry of activities, my students handed me an invitation to attend as the chief guest. An idea immediately struck me: why not invite Venkappa Sir instead? A revered teacher who has shaped thousands of students, he stands as a pillar of ‘Ganga Jamuna Tehzeeb’ in the south,playing a crucial role in uniting different communities.</p>.<p class="bodytext">I called him and requested his presence as the chief guest. He politely declined, citing his commitment to an inter-college sports event in Belagavi. Undeterred, I persuaded him to stay a bit longer at home, and together with all the department heads, I visited his residence to honour him. Overcome with emotion, he remarked, “I may not have accumulated wealth in my life, but I am happy students like Mushtaque are my assets.” I was moved me deeply, and couldn’t hold back my tears.</p>.<p class="bodytext">On the occasion of Annual Day, I invited him as the chief guest to our college. He expressed his wish to our staff that he wanted to honour me, as only five days remained for my retirement. He spoke about me on that occasion. What could be more joyous than a student who, during his school days, feared his teacher being honoured by the same teacher? It was a rare moment.</p>
