Memories of my first teacher

Memories of my first teacher

I was born in an ordinary family, to a peace loving parents with very sober ways and intentions in their lives. So nothing dramatic or ecstatic has happened and my childhood days were just mediocre. Perhaps that mediocrity would have helped me to build a clear thought process and to approach life in a realistic way. Now I feel that I was most fortunate to have a wonderful and a memorable childhood unlike many others.

I should not miss mentioning Gowri Amma teacher or Gowri Amma Miss – as she used to be called in our family circle – when I recap my very early child hood memories. She was my first teacher who brought me to the world of letters. I was around 3-4 years old then. She had been anointed as our family teacher long ago, who had introduced all my elder brothers and sisters and cousins to Malayalam alphabets and simple arithmetic. She was a retired government school teacher, in her mid-seventies when started tutoring me, and was infamous amongst my siblings for her strict discipline and not so friendly interactions. I was also well cautioned by my brothers about the unfriendly pinches she offered for not reaching up to her expectation levels. But contrary to my apprehensions she was really friendly with me. Learning Malayalam was not at all difficult which later manifested through the growing interest inculcated in me for reading books right from my early school days. Another feature I remember was the way she used to write. She used to apply all her strength while writing on the note book with the pencil and the impressions of the letters she writes would be visible over the next several pages. It is heard that she used to walk several tens of kilometres a day to reach and teach her students who stay at different parts of the city.

I do not exactly remember when her classes were stopped. I think when my parents realised that I have somewhat mastered basics of writing and reading Malayalam alphabets, her classes would have had come to a halt.

The school syllabus had never been a headache for me and hence I seldom studied. A last minute brush-up on the eve of the exams had helped me in securing sufficient marks to much of the relief and glee of my parents. Hence I was allowed to spend weekends with my grandparents in the city outskirts where I cherish the most pleasant childhood memories. I was between seven to ten years old when I used to spend my weekends there. Packing me off during the weekends was something of least priority to my parents and nobody would take special care or effort to take me there, which is hardly 6 kms away from my home. The most impatient moments were waiting for somebody to pick and drop me there and sometimes the expectation used to end in distress when nobody turns up. Some relatives or friends would fall in at our doorstep on the Friday evening answering my ardent prayers, with whom I shall be sent to my grandparents’ place. I would pack two pairs of dress and few comics with me and would start immediately in ecstasy without losing any time.

Saturday mornings shall be quite lazy and the most fortunate part was, I was allowed to sleep as much as I wanted – another rare freedom I enjoyed there and which used to be “inhumanly” denied at my home. The golden sunrays would have brightened up the entire place by the time I wake up. It was relatively a larger house lavishly spread in a two acre compound. The compound has various fruit trees, vegetation, a poultry farm, bee hives maintained by my grandfather, "Pathayam"(store house) for rice, large work area for processing paddy, two wells, numerous coconut trees and what not. A silent peek into the kitchen for a moment was enough for me to get a glance of my grandmother who used to be actively engrossed in her kitchen chores. If my presence is felt, she would advise me with a grin to take a quick sprint around the house, the reason only we both knew - to ease my bowels!

During summer when the school closes for vacation, the whole of the holidays shall be spent with my grandparents. In some evenings my grandmother would take me to our family temple which is about 2 kms away. We would start a bit early so that we could reach home before dusk. On the way there was a small stream where we would wash our legs and proceed. During the other evenings we would together explore the possibilities in our kitchen garden with few handy tools and a small watering pot which I was provided. I was always encouraged by grandmother to pluck and munch the budding ladies’ finger. Our garden used to have some rare and uncommon vegetable plants.

It was my grandmother who enticed me to the world of Indian epics and puranas. The bed time stories she narrated still reverberates in my ears with all its beautiful illustrations conjuring up in my mind. Once she was telling me the story of Krishna, Kuchela and their Guru Sandeepani, which gave me a sudden spark to remember my old teacher, Gowri Amma Miss. It has already been two – three years since she had stopped teaching me. So it was decided among us, at that moment itself, to meet my old teacher the very next day morning. I have also decided to present her with few pleasantries, which a seven year old felt apt for the occasion, like a bag of raw rice and a bunch of bananas. In the next day morning, we got up early and the teacher’s house was only at a walk able distance. It was an ordinary old looking thatched house. When we arrived at her place, I vaguely remember now, that few people were sitting in the in the open veranda. Our enquiry about teacher gave a mixed surprising response on their faces as it was evident that she rarely enjoyed any visitors. In a few moments time she appeared before us and literally moved by my warm gesture. My grandmother explained why there was a sudden urge to meet her and how it was decided last night. She was highly excited and embraced me warmly. I spoke only in minimum words due to mixed emotions of a seven year old. Then the dialogues were mainly between my grandmother and the teacher. Pleasantries were bestowed. We departed sooner and before turning the corner I looked back and there I saw my teacher, still standing with the brightest of the eyes I have ever seen.

Though I have a series of memorable moments in my life, I still treasure this moment as it was designed by and emanated from the mind of an innocent seven year old child. I am proud to have showed a divine gesture of tendering due respect and love to my first teacher, at that tender age, who initiated me to the world of letters.