A Tribute To a Teacher
The teacher is regarded as next to mother and father. I vividly remember all my teachers
from my schooldays. In those days there was no kinder garten concept. It is simply impossible to pay their dues to all my teahcers in one essay. I have to do justice to every one of them. I mean to write about them all in the coming days. But today I will write about the
teacher who gave me the values I am having today. Before going to the main topic I should give an introduction of some sort about my village, the school and the life of those times.
I hail from a small village named Sundararajapuram, colloquially called in Teleugu as Kothur, meaing the new village, though it was situated in a southern district of Tamil Nadu, India. The village consisted of hardly forty to fifty peasant houselholds and most of them were illterates including my own family people, though my father could read Tamil news paper and sign in Tamil due to his brief (hardly few months) stint in a Gurukul School called "thinnai pallikoodam - school on the verandah of the household of the GURU, that is, the teacher. There was no school in my village and I had to go the nearby village, Perapatti, for my Ist and II standards. By the time I went to Class III, a Panchayat Board (Local Body) primary school (upto fifth standard) was opened in my village. I had to again go to Perapatti for my 'higher education', that is from 6th Std. to 8th Std.
I met my great teacher named Mr.Baluchamy when I reached my 8th Std. He was the Head Master of the school and he was a very strict disciplinarian. His life was the school. He lived in a house adjacent to the school with his wife, also a teacher in the same school (we thought her to be fair complexioned and extremely beautiful), and his only son named Thirumaran. I think Mr. Thirumaran is a civil engineer now and he is working in the Gulf.
Our HM used to wear white dhoti and white shirt with a well ironed folded white towel on the right shoulder( the national dress of Tamil people). He would never part with his chalk piece, which he used to write on the black board, and a stick which he mostly used to point out the lines on the board and rarely to mete out some measured punishment ( not by losing one's temper and not with the intention of mentally and physically injuring the child). His love for his students knew no bounds and no student ever could take exception when some corporal punishment was given with due care of course. ( always apply the stick on the seat and back side the leg.) He taught me the English language and its grammar. Whatever little English I have learnt in my life, the credit goes to him. Afterwards I studied under professors including a Cambridge alumnus. But whenever I think of my English language education, I think of my beloved HM, Mr. Baluchamy. Though I studied in Tamil medium up to my school final, I never felt handicapped when I switched over to English on entering university education.
Systematic and disciplined way of life was so natural to our HM, Mr. Baluchamy, that we got that character from him. He loved the melody numbers of P.Suseela, the great singer from the south. He used to ask me and some other good singers to sing those songs. He staged a drama based on the life of
Socrates in which I played the part of Socrates. For the cup of poison I was given 'payasam', a sweet drink of Tamil food. The drama was actually taken from a film in which the dialogues were written by the present Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu. Socrates was charged by the authorities of Athens that he was poisoning the young minds of Athens by teaching them to know themselves and be critical. Socrates was criticised by his wife for not taking care of the family. My childhood friend and classmate N.Padmanabhan played the role of Socrates's wife as he was fair complexioned. When Socrates's wife pays her last visit to the prison to bid farewell to her husband, Socrates would request her to take care of the children. Then Socrates will say a few words to the youth of Athens, take the poison, walk to and fro, falter and fall dead. The Craft Teacher, already an old man then, was the make up artist. He made me old by putting some cotton over my hair.
Well, I have digressed too much. Mr.Baluchamy was definitely a great teacher. When I was doing college education, I heard that our beloved HM died of heart attack. I could never reconcile myself to that reality to this day. How can our HM die? Is he not omnipotent? Why such a good man should die so young? Can any one answer me this question?