When Hamlet streamed, pre-Internet

About 40 years ago, in the corridors of Christ College in Bengaluru, I sat in Prof Oommen Mathew’s English literature classes. It had not struck me then that he found no use for the blackboard – he never wrote a word on it. Dressed in a simple kurta and leather chappals, he would sit on the edge of the table, textbook in hand, and talk to us.

It didn’t matter if the class was full or if only a handful of sleepy teenagers had turned up. He spoke with the same gusto and taught us with the same passion and love for literature every time. There was no hurry about him. Just a steady voice and complete attention to what he was reading to us. In our first year, he introduced us to Arthur Miller’s All My Sons. He read it as if he knew the Kellers personally. Their regret and unease came through every line he read. Now and then he would wander into small anecdotes about Miller’s life, his Hollywood years – notably the famous “Egghead marries Hourglass” headline of his marriage with Marilyn Monroe – and then return to the lecture as if nothing had interrupted us. Then came Somerset Maugham’s The Lotus Eater. I still remember him saying, “Capri wine, my eye", and smiling to himself for a moment as if in a reverie. He would describe the story’s setting and message simply, but that has stayed with me. 

My first real introduction to Shakespeare also came in his class. Hamlet unfolded through his voice and gestures. His narrations of the grave diggers’ scene, the prince’s soliloquies, and Ophelia’s distress are all indelibly etched in my memory. He knew we needed more than just classroom conversations to spark a lifelong love for the subject. So, in an era long before YouTube and streaming, he arranged a screening on campus of Laurence Olivier’s Hamlet. A television was brought to the auditorium, and a video cassette was borrowed from Mount Carmel College. The thin turnout from our science batches did not seem to bother him. He watched it with us and eagerly pointed out details like costume and stage settings on the grainy screen. 

Prof Mathew sowed seeds of my love for English writings with his simplicity and love for words. Looking back, what stands out now is how simple his approach to literature was. He never tried to be impressive. He just cared about the subject and about his students understanding it. After retirement, he lived in a modest home very close to the campus, I learnt. Driving past his house now evokes memories of the happy hours spent in his class befriending poets and playwrights. 

When a friend posted Prof Mathew’s obituary in our college group, it brought back many memories of college days. There is no easy way to measure what a teacher like Prof Mathew passes on to his students. He gave us literature to hold in our hearts – something we could fondly relate to and keep forever. Thank you, Prof  Mathew - your classes have stayed with me, and so have you.