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Saturday, January 11, 2020

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.

6 comments:

Subhasis said...

Dear Sir,
I read this news just today morning and it makes me sad, that such a brilliant teacher passed away. I never took tuitions from him but have heard plenty of stories from people who attended his classes that it was enjoyable to learn maths from him.

I hope he can finally rest in peace and may his soul now travel through the unending universe. I pray that God gives strength to his family and take care of him, wherever he is.

My condolences to Parameswaran Sir.

Subhasis Chakraborty

Sromana said...

Dear Sir,

I am very sorry to hear about his loss and can never thank him enough for everything that he has been to my life. My dad sent me to his tuition exactly twenty years back and like for several others in my town, he ended up being my most favorite teacher. I can hardly recollect even the names of the many teachers I have had in life, but his classes are still fresh in my mind.

He had a scornful way of dealing with his wards and we have often been subjected to his canings with Mr. Bambino as he used to call it. He abhorred indiscipline and lack of punctuality in a person to the highest order and his punishments in return seemed idiosyncratic at that time. Like for instance, we had been asked to do a twenty-pages handwriting when someone in the class accidentally broke off one of his flower pots. He had a lot of authority in his voice and I can still picture myself getting awestruck as I listened to him sharing stories of his life and teaching us how to deal with numbers. My credulous teenage mind admired him and some of his principles in life are profoundly rooted within me. I never count on my fingers, my equal-to signs are always in a row, I never leave my shoes disorganized or close doors loudly and many other little things that I have learnt from him. Also, thanks to him that I have always loved Mathematics despite ending up with a Doctoral degree in Developmental Biology.

He would always greet my father in the local market, and it was good knowing that he was still active and self-reliant till his last days. May his soul rest in peace and many of us will always remember him as an incredible teacher. Co-incidentally, his birthday happened to be on Teacher’s day!

Regards,
Sromana

Unknown said...

Sir,

Being the mother of Sumit Dey, one ex-student of Parameswaran Sir I only want to say that every tutor needs to know how a tutor should be from the principles Sir maintained throughout his life. His memories will ever remain fresh in the mind of his students.

Nishant said...

Dear Sir,

That was a very heartfelt and wonderful obituary. I remember how I used to be terrified of him in school and always used to pray that I wouldn't be in his section. Maybe it was his stern demeanour or the ash-creases on his forehead or stories of Mr. Bambino! But once I started attending his tuition, my fear of him faded away, just as did Pupu's fear of maths. I used to enjoy solving his problems: prices of potatoes and onions, fifteen people working for twenty days and such, trains moving in opposite directions and sometimes competing against each other. Each of us used to have a printed time-table for the week, along with a four-letter code derived from our names.

There are two incidents which stand out in the two years I went to his classes. On one occasion, because of my sloppy work (either too many scratches in my notebook or perhaps the equal-to signs not being vertically aligned), he had given me a handwriting exercise, with freedom to choose the passage. I had, in the past, read a chapter from our Radiant Reader called “The last lesson”, even though it wasn't taught in class, and I remember liking it immensely. So I used that as the passage for my writing exercise. Sir returned the homework, with the comment, “Passage well chosen.” I was ecstatic to receive such a wonderful comment on a punishment assignment! In hindsight, it makes sense because the passage conveys a very benevolent kind of patriotism, and Sir, having been in the army, could perhaps relate to it in a way many wouldn't.

Another time, while waiting outside the gate for class to begin, a gentleman parked his scooter outside and started chatting with me. I asked him some question but in the form of a statement and he said: “Are you asking me or telling me?” He also remarked, “Doesn't Sir ask you similar questions?” In class, I repeated the conversation to Sir and told him the person's name. Sir laughed his characteristic deep belly laugh and said, “That's my son!”

I think I met him and Miss last in 2013. He was as fine as his age would allow him to be, at the time, and so was Miss. I hope she's coping well now. I have wonderful (and some very distinct) memories from when I was in Kindergarten with her as our class teacher. The two years at Sir's were a lot of fun: solving his problems and arriving at the correct answers always gave me a mild high. I'll never forget his active self, the way he used to roll his Capstan cigarettes, his dog Goldie, his “chup of ca” or “cup of poison” and, of course, his legendary laughter.

Sincerely
Nishant.

Tanmoy said...

Dear Suvroda

I have never attended a class of Parameswaran Sir, but heard so many stories from you. I feel it is indeed true that some teachers and their principles can never be replaced.

Regards
Tanmoy

Unknown said...

This is Piyush batch 1980. Parameswaran Sir was a true teacher in every sense of word. Might want to get in touch with Mam and Ramachandran.

Homage to Sir.