<p>Henry Brooks Adams had once said, “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influences stop”. One can vouch for influences and yes, idiosyncrasies too! We’ve all had educationists (I mean the gents. Talking about lady teachers’ peculiarities somehow seems to me a sacrilege!) who sported ponytails and outlandish jackets; cracked bawdy jokes in front of a group of supremely embarrassed adolescents, those who made frequent allusions to their wives who in all probability were clueless of this perfidy; ones who interspersed every sentence they uttered with a ‘Got it?’ or ‘Clear?’, masters who got all lachrymose over a recollected memory; those who spoke about everything under the sea and the sun except the subject they were meant to handle.<br /><br /></p>.<p>Turning the leaves of memory, one recalls a singularly distinctive teacher who was appointed to teach us students in lower primary, the English language. A retired doctor from the Indian army, Dr J had, after retirement, pursued PG in English Literature and taught in umpteen educational institutions sans any payment. Given his ultra-fair complexion, tall stature and somewhat quaint manner of dressing, he could easily have been mistaken for a British gentleman.<br /><br />Dr J was affection personified, an anti-thesis to the other cane-wielding tyrants we suffered during the major portion of our time in school. His entrance brought much respite and succor and evoked such effusiveness in the boys in my class that they made a dash to welcome Dr J, red rose in hand, which was gifted to the gentleman with a courteous kiss on the hand. <br /><br />Dr J accepted the chivalrous offering with grace, showering a profusion of blessings on the benevolent protégé. ‘Dear child, may you become the President of India one day!’ Dr J would say and the gratified student would bow before taking his seat.<br /><br />Dr J clearly didn’t believe in being confined by the textbook. His mode of teaching involved broadening the child’s mind with what he interpreted as general knowledge questions. “Which do you think is the more attractive — the peacock or the peahen he would ask. “The peacock, sir” we’d all chorus in unison. “Now, which of the human species is fairer — the male or the female?” Since the answer to this subject was kind of subjective, all of us were silent. Until a supremely confident specimen’s voice boomed “Male!” Dr J directed a beaming, benign look at the boy and indulgently said “No no, my dear fellow, it’s the female.”<br /><br />For some inexplicable reason, Dr J had developed a particular fondness for the aforementioned student whose personality could best be described by the word ‘rowdy’. <br />A few weeks were to pass before, by some equally mysterious rationale, Dr J’s over-abundant love oscillated towards heavily intense dislike. The former object of affection eventually became Dr J’s favourite whipping boy; destined to bear the brunt of cussing and caning if something (anything in the wide world) happened to irk the master, thus leaving us all a zapped witness to our lovely mentor’s newly revealed mercurial tendencies.<br /><br />Idiosyncrasies notwithstanding, Dr J continues to be an awe-inspiring figure in one’s mind. It has been an eternity, yet his influences continue to affect, perforate all aspects of life.</p>
<p>Henry Brooks Adams had once said, “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influences stop”. One can vouch for influences and yes, idiosyncrasies too! We’ve all had educationists (I mean the gents. Talking about lady teachers’ peculiarities somehow seems to me a sacrilege!) who sported ponytails and outlandish jackets; cracked bawdy jokes in front of a group of supremely embarrassed adolescents, those who made frequent allusions to their wives who in all probability were clueless of this perfidy; ones who interspersed every sentence they uttered with a ‘Got it?’ or ‘Clear?’, masters who got all lachrymose over a recollected memory; those who spoke about everything under the sea and the sun except the subject they were meant to handle.<br /><br /></p>.<p>Turning the leaves of memory, one recalls a singularly distinctive teacher who was appointed to teach us students in lower primary, the English language. A retired doctor from the Indian army, Dr J had, after retirement, pursued PG in English Literature and taught in umpteen educational institutions sans any payment. Given his ultra-fair complexion, tall stature and somewhat quaint manner of dressing, he could easily have been mistaken for a British gentleman.<br /><br />Dr J was affection personified, an anti-thesis to the other cane-wielding tyrants we suffered during the major portion of our time in school. His entrance brought much respite and succor and evoked such effusiveness in the boys in my class that they made a dash to welcome Dr J, red rose in hand, which was gifted to the gentleman with a courteous kiss on the hand. <br /><br />Dr J accepted the chivalrous offering with grace, showering a profusion of blessings on the benevolent protégé. ‘Dear child, may you become the President of India one day!’ Dr J would say and the gratified student would bow before taking his seat.<br /><br />Dr J clearly didn’t believe in being confined by the textbook. His mode of teaching involved broadening the child’s mind with what he interpreted as general knowledge questions. “Which do you think is the more attractive — the peacock or the peahen he would ask. “The peacock, sir” we’d all chorus in unison. “Now, which of the human species is fairer — the male or the female?” Since the answer to this subject was kind of subjective, all of us were silent. Until a supremely confident specimen’s voice boomed “Male!” Dr J directed a beaming, benign look at the boy and indulgently said “No no, my dear fellow, it’s the female.”<br /><br />For some inexplicable reason, Dr J had developed a particular fondness for the aforementioned student whose personality could best be described by the word ‘rowdy’. <br />A few weeks were to pass before, by some equally mysterious rationale, Dr J’s over-abundant love oscillated towards heavily intense dislike. The former object of affection eventually became Dr J’s favourite whipping boy; destined to bear the brunt of cussing and caning if something (anything in the wide world) happened to irk the master, thus leaving us all a zapped witness to our lovely mentor’s newly revealed mercurial tendencies.<br /><br />Idiosyncrasies notwithstanding, Dr J continues to be an awe-inspiring figure in one’s mind. It has been an eternity, yet his influences continue to affect, perforate all aspects of life.</p>