A Song For Every Occasion - Part I
With the semester exams behind and a good month-long holiday
ahead, he starts playing on his music system, an evergreen and his all-time
favourite oldie, “Main Zindagi Ka Sath Nibhata Chala Gaya…” and thus sets a
cheery mood boosting his zeal to pack and embark on the trek he had been planning
for months. Whistling away, very soon the tedious task is done and what remains
now is to update his ipod with his latest favourites and clear the one-timers
cluttering the storage. In his hurry to swipe the unwanted out, he almost
deletes a song of which he had made a mental note to never remove. College sure
had been hectic and he had not been able to keep in touch as frequently as he
should have, but at least he owed this much to her…
I Have A Dream…A Song To Sing…
He remembers it as it had happened just yesterday, unlike other
incidents he believed belonged to another lifetime. He had been a rebellious
one since birth and one of the things he always revolted against was studying
math. His utter disinterest never stopped him from acing the subject, having
inherited the power of two genius minds (a physicist and a diagnostician). So
when the unruly years of teenage began, his disinterest turned to a dangerous
hate which was ultimately cured by his 7th grade teacher, Mrs
Mishra. The newly arrived teacher had heard of this prodigious child but was
surprised to see the scowl on his face when she taught.
One day while the entire class was attempting to break a problem, the frowning back-bencher was doodling away at the back of his notebook. Seeing this she went up to him and asked if he wanted a little hint. The boy without stopping his doodling held out the book to her where he had scrawled the answer next to the question. The teacher smiled and asked, “Is it me or is it the subject?” The boy unnerved by the sudden question was at a loss of words. Finally he said,” It’s the subject ma’am. I hate math.” The teacher laughed a little and answered wisely,” It’s neither me nor the subject dear, it’s the structure and the curriculum you hate.” After a little pause she asked,” Why don’t you come over to my house this evening and I’ll show you what mathematics really is? I live just three houses down from you.” The boy, though aghast at the thought of visiting a teacher, let alone of mathematics, nodded in agreement out of unexplainable curiosity. That evening had been the best in a long time, when he beheld the magic that is mathematics and understood its power and applicability in everyday life. That had also been the first of many evening sessions with Mrs Mishra who automatically became his friend, philosopher and guide.
On a particular evening when he was feeling low for no particular reason and even the story of Nash’s quest to formulate a theory to predict social outcomes didn’t cheer him up, Mrs Mishra started singing Abba’s “I Have A Dream…”. Dumbstruck first, then rolling in laughter at his teacher’s lacking musical gifts he asked what was it all about. She explained the song to him and how there’s always something good out there and how your dreams can help to cope with anything life throws at you. Every session after that one ended in both of them singing the song out loud while laughing at each other’s inability to sing properly.
A few months later, a boy reprimanded by her in class for unacceptable behaviour, wrote a suicide note blaming her and jumped off the 4th floor of his building, the whole act inspired by a movie injuring his spine and paralyzing him for life. The parents mobbed her down, destroyed her house and demanded her resignation and immediate arrest. An understanding cop whose son turned out to be her student asked her to leave town and remain gone until things cooled off. But the damage was already done. She spiralled down to acute depression and her mental and physical health suffered a severe blow. A fine lady in her prime was reduced to a whimpering emaciated woman suffering in bed.
When the worst had passed and she had finally agreed to see visitors, he visited her and was immediately reduced to tears looking at her pitiful state. But then remembering the sessions, he started crooning “I Have A Dream…” broken by both sobs and giggles. Then something happened which months of medication and counselling had not been able to achieve. Mrs Mishra started to sing along and after many dark days, smiled. No words were spoken, just loving gazes shared and he departed. Within days Mrs Mishra was up and about and after sorting some legality resumed to teaching through private tuitions. Before leaving for college when he went to visit her, she thanked him for taking her out of the abyss and asked him to keep the song and the memories with it forever in his heart.
One day while the entire class was attempting to break a problem, the frowning back-bencher was doodling away at the back of his notebook. Seeing this she went up to him and asked if he wanted a little hint. The boy without stopping his doodling held out the book to her where he had scrawled the answer next to the question. The teacher smiled and asked, “Is it me or is it the subject?” The boy unnerved by the sudden question was at a loss of words. Finally he said,” It’s the subject ma’am. I hate math.” The teacher laughed a little and answered wisely,” It’s neither me nor the subject dear, it’s the structure and the curriculum you hate.” After a little pause she asked,” Why don’t you come over to my house this evening and I’ll show you what mathematics really is? I live just three houses down from you.” The boy, though aghast at the thought of visiting a teacher, let alone of mathematics, nodded in agreement out of unexplainable curiosity. That evening had been the best in a long time, when he beheld the magic that is mathematics and understood its power and applicability in everyday life. That had also been the first of many evening sessions with Mrs Mishra who automatically became his friend, philosopher and guide.
On a particular evening when he was feeling low for no particular reason and even the story of Nash’s quest to formulate a theory to predict social outcomes didn’t cheer him up, Mrs Mishra started singing Abba’s “I Have A Dream…”. Dumbstruck first, then rolling in laughter at his teacher’s lacking musical gifts he asked what was it all about. She explained the song to him and how there’s always something good out there and how your dreams can help to cope with anything life throws at you. Every session after that one ended in both of them singing the song out loud while laughing at each other’s inability to sing properly.
A few months later, a boy reprimanded by her in class for unacceptable behaviour, wrote a suicide note blaming her and jumped off the 4th floor of his building, the whole act inspired by a movie injuring his spine and paralyzing him for life. The parents mobbed her down, destroyed her house and demanded her resignation and immediate arrest. An understanding cop whose son turned out to be her student asked her to leave town and remain gone until things cooled off. But the damage was already done. She spiralled down to acute depression and her mental and physical health suffered a severe blow. A fine lady in her prime was reduced to a whimpering emaciated woman suffering in bed.
When the worst had passed and she had finally agreed to see visitors, he visited her and was immediately reduced to tears looking at her pitiful state. But then remembering the sessions, he started crooning “I Have A Dream…” broken by both sobs and giggles. Then something happened which months of medication and counselling had not been able to achieve. Mrs Mishra started to sing along and after many dark days, smiled. No words were spoken, just loving gazes shared and he departed. Within days Mrs Mishra was up and about and after sorting some legality resumed to teaching through private tuitions. Before leaving for college when he went to visit her, she thanked him for taking her out of the abyss and asked him to keep the song and the memories with it forever in his heart.
Read on in Part II...
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