On this Easter Day
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| Image Courtesy: Google |
On this
Easter day, I would like to share a memory and a seed I had planted on the
luscious ground of that memory.
Although
I had thought of posting my Easter story today, I could not. The reason is that
I received the Easter story only yesterday night [7-4-12] at the church where
my family and I visited for prayers. I returned home late and could not write
the story down. Still, I am hopeful that I will be able to contain the story in
words soon and present it to you.
I feel
the story and its writing down is very important, since the story is my
experience itself, though it would be told in the language of fiction. It is
through this experience I received the wisdom of ‘the Candle’. I am eager
myself to write it down and to see how it all turns out.
The
memory I intend to talk to you today about is embedded in my student days,
during my graduation. I did my graduation in English Literature as
correspondence course, where you get all the course materials postal and no
classes to attend like regular colleges.
There
were of course some days of formal classes called ‘contact classes’ where
teachers come and introduce different courses to the students. These teachers
were appointed by the University and were always in a hurry to finish things
off within the allotted time. Yes, there was an allotted time schedule for
these classes, eight hours, in two days for one paper, usually.
So a
couple of my friends and I decided to join a parallel college to help us with
the portions. After one year, the
manager of the parallel college called me and told me it would be difficult for
them to carry us as a class, because we were just three students and we must
therefore start looking for some other college to help us.
We all
had this common thing, then,—and I attribute this to a specific reaction common
with humans—we were totally, pathetically shaken. The problem was with the
course we were doing. There was no other parallel college in the city or nearby
areas that took Literature as a course, as all of them were obsessed with
Commerce and Engineering Diplomas, the vogues of the day.
We felt
ourselves a bunch of outmoded morons, who now had to go looking for someone to
help. The first person I decided to call was Prof. Kammat, an old retired professor
who taught us in the parallel college, kind, benevolent, and good hearted.
“Don’t
worry, I am with you,” he said and nothing more, even though I expected more
words to cool off our hearts full of the lava of concern.
The next
day he rang me up and said, “I have talked with our manager and made
arrangements. We can use one of their rooms and I will teach you whatever you
need. Don’t worry. You are no longer vagabonds.”
Another
of our teachers too came forward to help us, Mr. J.P, at the request of Kammat
sir. J.P is known by this short name, and till this day I have no idea what his
real name is.
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| Image Courtesy: Google |
Our marks
in the final exams were top row, especially among the correspondence students. Later,
I joined for Masters in Literature and Professor Kammat went to Bangalore
I kept my
contact with him all through these years. There was something always special
about him; he did not just reply our queries, but always came for us, asked how
we all were doing and told us how he enjoyed teaching in Bangalore
The
previous Saturday, I sent him a text message, just to let him know what I feel
about him. It’s true that he knows it as I never kept my thoughts from him.
I would
like to quote that text message here, for my readers:
“Hello
sir,
There is
a magic in every living organism that is hidden, for the most part, in their
lives, even from themselves, until a wizard comes along and transforms their
lives forever. In my life, you are the wizard and I am the magic you initiated.
Good day!
Anu.
The seed
of these fifty-one words has grown in the fertile soil of memory to become this
article. I am just a spell. The wizard is hidden from everyday sight.
Happy
Easter!
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