Thank you, Sir

Mr. A. R. Parameswaran, revered mathematics teacher to three generations, including mine at St. Xavier’s Durgapur, passed away on the 26th of December. He must have been close to ninety.

He was one of those teachers to whom I personally owe a lifelong debt. I was his pupil in class 5, all the way back in 1974. From him I learnt how a stern disciplinarian of the old school can also be great fun. I am sure some of the best attributes I have acquired, used and benefited from as a teacher I learnt from him. He cured me forever, with a single tongue-lashing, of the bad habit of misspelling common words, and it was thanks to him that I can still, at my age, do mental arithmetic much faster than most smart kids I deal with. He had a mild heart attack and quit the school job early. His older son, Ramchandra, was one of my gang of close friends in school and junior college (what they call plus-two), and we stayed in touch off and on through the decades. Sir settled down with Madam in his house half a kilometer from mine, and happily continued to coach hordes of young pupils in his idiosyncratic style.

Ages later, when he was an old man and my daughter went up to class five, I sent her to his tuition – this despite my being strongly against sending children to tutors as a rule, and despite my very low opinion of most tutors I know. I was not mistaken. Sir took her under his wing, and she spent four very happy years with him; though she never grew to like math, he managed to cure her fear of it. He had been an instructor in the Air Force once upon a time, and often and again he urged her to become a doctor and join the military: we are sorry that we couldn’t make him happy that way. It was he, too, who told her about why he smeared his forehead with ash every day; he, too, was probably one of those who gave her an abiding love of dogs. 

My daughter outgrew her nest and flew away, but Sir and I remained in touch off and on. He was an incredibly proud, self-reliant and active man far into his old age. He toyed with the idea of going back to his home state Kerala, but eventually decided against it. I was saddened to hear that Madam was becoming increasingly bedridden, and that there was nothing I could do to help. Also, that Sir had finally given up tutoring and wasn’t too happy about it. I shall remember that lesson long after I have stopped needing to teach for a living, in case I survive that long.

On Sunday the 22nd December I met ’Chandra on the street. He had flown over in a hurry from the US upon hearing that Sir was in critical care, following almost total kidney failure. It was good to see, however, that Madam was up and about, and taking things stoically. It was while I was away in Delhi that an ex student rang me up to tell me that Sir was no more, and this evening ’Chandra called me with an invitation to the sraddh ceremony.

I do not, of course, attend such things as a matter of principle, but, Sir, my thoughts will be with you. Thank you for everything, and may your soul rest in peace. They don’t make teachers like you any more. Maybe they don’t even want such teachers any more. But some of us will remain eternally thankful and grateful.