A place, a person and that time

Sipra Pati

This year has been a very eventful year for my family and me - death in the family, job change, child leaving home, selling a home, and moving to a new city. To quote an old English teacher who was explaining Tennyson and his Enoch Arden, “miseries seldom come alone”; only in my case, it was change – and, it had not come alone. So here I am – an empty nester in a rented apartment in a new city starting a new consultancy with the new friend-making situation in limbo. In the midst of navigating my way through these new roles and circumstances, I found myself suddenly thrust into a virtual time machine to travel down the dusty lanes of my history to my childhood and youth, more specifically to my years in DM School – I connected with my classmates from DM School. As about roughly thirty of us reconnected, plans to have a reunion when the school celebrates its Golden Jubilee have been made made; we have walked down our collective memory lane (and are continuing to do so) - recalling our struggles, our adventures and misadventures, our ordeals and the fun, and we are oh so eagerly looking forward to physically reconnect after decades. Not surprisingly my thoughts in the last few weeks have gone to the one man who was a big influence on my life, as I am sure he was on the lives of my fellow DMites - our headmaster, Mr. KC Das.

KC Das – when you think of him, a vivid image of a stocky man in crisp white khadi and leather sandals comes to mind. And, the next thing one remembers about him is how terrified the entire student collective was of him – it was a strange mix of fear, awe, and respect. One didn’t know which was more dreadful – his glare (the intensity of which could put blast furnaces to shame), his steely voice that had the ability to freeze you in your tracks, or his slap. If one was late coming into school or was making a much-needed-middle-of-class trip to the bathroom, he was the one person no student wanted to encounter. We didn’t realize it then, but looking back on those years now, he reminds me of the Kumhar(potter) in Kabir’s doha:

“Guru Kumhar Sikh Kumbh Hai, Gadh Gadh Kadhe Khot

Antar Hath Sahar De, Bahar Bahe Chot”

A very simple translation tells us that Kabir is drawing an analogy between a teacher and a potter. To mold a clay pot (student) the potter pounds the clay pot-in-the-making from the outside with one hand, while the other palm provides support from the inside. It is that support that few of us could see while under Mr. Das’ tutelage. I have two memories of him which I would like to share.

I don’t know how many students had the opportunity to have had Mr. Das, who we fondly (and, of course, behind his back) called Headu, as a teacher. When I was in 9th class, he was also our History teacher. History was always a subject people scorned at and shunned as being boring. And, yet, when he taught us, the past came alive – both the written and the unwritten. His words and demeanor painted the struggles of the early homo sapien so vividly that we could actually visualize the pre-historic humans hunting with stone tools and rejoicing at the discovery of fire (so much so that when I saw the Neanderthal exhibit at the Smithsonian in Washington DC, I exclaimed to my family that the scene was just like Headu had described); that of investiture ceremonies held in medieval courts in Europe (he actually enacted the scene in class), and more. When he narrated the origin of different world religions, he made us think in terms of space (as in place) and time – ‘why did it happen where it did’ and ‘why did it happen when it did’. I think at the age of 14, I never fully captured the significance of the space and time interplay. With a myriad of events unfolding around the world today, it is not difficult to see the manifestation of the two factors of where and when, in addition to ‘the who’. I owe my ability to appreciate the relevance of space and time and my interest in history to Headu (I admit, I do not share the same passion for the subject as Headu). I hear a lot of contemporary writers calling to disregard history because the need for modern India was to go forward. I wonder what Headu would have told them. I for one, would like to tell these writers – how can you go forward when you don’t know where you are coming from? You can’t disregard history or the past. A direction can only be taken from a point of reference. So if you don’t know your history, you don’t have your point of reference, and hence, rendering the direction you yearn to head in, meaningless.

In 1981 the CBSE curriculum required students entering 9th class to choose one SUPW (or Work Experience, as it was known in DM) class for two consecutive academic years – 9th and 10th. Till Class 8, we rotated between the multiple options that our school had to offer. In 9th the girls were told that their only option was Home Science. To say that we were disappointed would be a gross understatement. Some of us were not even remotely interested in learning how to sew inane pieces of clothing when we had more interesting options like Carpentry, Printing, Electric Works, Typing, etc. available. We felt that we were not being afforded the same opportunities as the boys in our class, and it also brought back hurtful memories of our turned-down request in 8th class to play more interesting sports like volley ball, basketball, and badminton (instead of just kabaddi and kho kho) and having the option of joining the National Cadet Corps. This time around we were more determined – we did not want to take Home Science for two consecutive years. So we decided to protest. When it was time to go to the SUPW labs, some of us (most of the girls from my section, and a couple from other sections) did not go to the Home Science Lab. Instead we went to each of the teachers in the other labs, specifically the Carpentry, Electric and Metal Works labs, and asked those teachers if they would like to have us as their students. We were encouraged by their positive replies which came with a collective caveat that they could not teach us till they were directed to do so by the headmaster. None of us had the courage to walk into Headu’s office. So we sat down on the steps that led to the SUPW rooms discussing among ourselves on how to approach Headu. We saw Headu near the school entrance; he turned and looked at us several times, but didn’t come up to us. In the meanwhile several different teachers saw us ‘not in class’ and wanted to know why. SUPW classes were two consecutive periods in one week – and we sat there for two whole periods – 80 minutes. Next week saw us on the steps to the SUPW rooms again. This time we did not have to wait long. Headu walked into the corridor, saw us and returned to his office. Five minutes later a teacher (or perhaps, one of the administrative clerks) walked up to us and asked to go back to our classrooms, and said that by the next week we would be informed which technology classes we could take in lieu of Home Science. Back in our respective classrooms, we wrote down our choice of technology class on a sheet of paper and gave it to our Class teacher. Next week saw some of us in the Carpentry lab and some in the Printing lab. The deep sense of satisfaction and triumph that we collectively felt is beyond articulation. There was, and is, a deep sense of gratitude for this man because he did not ridicule and herd us into something we considered counter-productive to our education, and more importantly, he instituted a change because he saw a need for it being manifested in his strictly monitored corridors. And in his subtle way he let us know that it was okay to ask for change, it was okay to stand apart from the crowd if you believed in something, and that he would not hesitate to bring about such a change. That was Mr. KC Das.

If I could, I would turn back the hands of time and say thank you, Sir, for giving me the ability to believe in myself.