Ram Avadh was a paan shop owner. His shop was the epicenter of the hustle bustle of
all intellectual talks pertaining to the street, city, and the country. He had
a family of three including him. His wife and his 6 years old son completed his
world.
Many people used to come to his small but busy shop that he used to
manage with a minion named Tirlochan,
who was from his village and had come to the city in search of satisfying his
fondness for watching new Bollywood movies every Friday. He was a sucker for hindi film magazines also because it had
steamy pictures of movie heroines.
Moving on,Ram Avadh was not that highly educated,
he could complete the education only till class sixth and that too can’t be
said as completed because he flunked in the annual exams three times on the
trot so he said good bye to the studies after the third and last attempt. After
that, he joined a small gang from his village that used to steal hens and goats
in and around the village. One time he got caught while in the act and the police
beat him black and blue.
After that
he said good bye to the gang also, though they pressurized him to come and rejoin
the gang he declined the offer. Fearing any backlash from the gang, his father
decided to send him to his cousin (brother) who was an auto rickshaw driver in
the city. This was where he developed a liking for paan and with the help of his uncle he opened a paan shop. Now he was well settled in
the business.
Ram Avadh wanted to make his only son an engineer.
But the govt. school, where he went to, considered his son a weak student at
numbers. He wanted to change this situation of his son. He would like him to be
a number cruncher. There was one person, who was a teacher at a coaching institute
for engineering and medical preparations, who used to frequent his shop for
having cigarette puffs.
One day,Ram Avadh decided to ask him questions
about engineering : “How one can become an injineer saar? I have heard that you
make injineers in your askool.”
“Well we
prepare them for engineering examinations and can proudly say that our students
have done marvelously well in entrance exams.”
“Intrance
igjams? Bhaat iz entrance igjams…you mean you doesn’t make injineers …you only
prepare them for intrance igjams?” asked puzzled Ram
Avadh crushing on paan leaves
under his stony dentures.
“Look Ram Avadh, entrance exams are like doors
that open the world of engineering schools…if you pass the exam you will get
admission in the engineering schools,” explained the teacher.
“Bhaat is
the prize of preparation saar?” asked Ram
Avadh.
“Price… you
mean fees, the fee ranges from 1 lakh to 1.5 lakhs depending on the courses
students choose.”
“1.5 lakh!
Oh my gode… if only you prepare for injineering igjaams, then bhaat do askools do in so many
years( from class one to class twelve) that a chaaild is at the askool… I have
heard that they also charge heavy amount for studies… is it not their
responsibility to prepare a chaaild for ingineering intrance igjams?”
The teacher
got startled at the innocent but pricking question from the nincompoop and innocuous
looking person. In the meanwhile, another customer came and Ram Avadh got busy with him and the
teacher got a chance to escape the embarrassing situation of answering the
innocent but thought provoking questions of the Paanwallah.
Amid the
catering and serving to the customers, Ram
Avadh kept searching for ways to increase the mental ability of his son. Someone
told him about a newspaper advertisement in which a doctor had claimed to make
brain of a child sharp given he/she is under 10 years of age. For more details
the address was given to be visited. Ram
Avadh decided to go to the place and meet the doctor. The place was away from
the city. So, he assigned the responsibility of the shop to Tirlochan and took one day of time off
from his business.
He took his
wife and his son with him to the journey in pursuit of a brilliant brain. His
wife Phoolmani was from his neighboring
village and was as docile as expected. She followed her husband to a tee. After
going to 50 Kilometers by bus they had to walk on foot for another 2
kilometers. They saw fruit born trees, translucent pond, and a Devi temple on the hill through their
journey to their destination.
His wife and
his child were enjoying the scenic beauty through and through. Since he
considered his wife innocent in the ways of the world and many a times had
called her a ‘Phoolis ledi’, was happy to see that amid the strong wind she had
managed to keep her pallu clinging to
her head.
Savoring the
beauty of nature, he reached the destination. There was an imposing building
surrounded by the big trees of teak and Jamun.
There were many SUVs parked outside the gate. There were a handful of well -dressed
parents with their children looking gentlemen and gentlewomen in every right. This
gave a sense of inferiority to Ram Avadh. He had never visited any such place in life where people from upper echelon consisted major part of the crowd. He dithered to enter the main gate of the building but he didn’t want to show
any signs of anxiety on his face either as this would have belittled him in the
eyes of his ‘phoolis ledi’ aka his wife.
So, breathing deeply and summoning some courage he entered the building.
The place had squeaky clean marbles but these he had seen in
Banks and Post Offices too, so these didn’t intimidate him. Encouraged, he moved to
the reception desk and asked for an appointment with the doctor. The expression
of receptionist was an amalgamation of amusement and surprise to see the
simpleton guys at the place. The simple dressing of Kurta payjama and Sutee Saree were a far cry from snazzy
suits and silk sarees that sahibs and
memsahibs were wearing. They were
sartorially a misfit and this they were being made to feel by the scanning eyes
of other visitors.
After an hour or so their number came.
“Dakter Sahib, my son is beek at maths and numbers…I have heard
that you make barilliant barain, could you paliz make my chaaild’s barain sharp?”
asked Ram Avadh.
“Yes…I can do it but it will take some huge money… what do
you do for a living?” asked the doctor.
“I am a biznessman saar, I have a paan sop,” replied Ram Avadh.
“I think then it will be tough for you to avail our services
financially…I mean such are our charges.”
The reply of the doctor made him feel dejected and he saw in
the eyes of his wife for some consolation.
“Bhaat bood be total cost of making barain sharper saar?”
enquired Ram Avadh.
“Look… since the brain sharpening therapy continues for five
years it costs around 5 lakhs. It means some 8,000 odd rupees per month.”
“8,000 rupeez per month!”
“See, if you could manage at least 7000 per month I can start
the treatment of your child. Look once your child’s brain gets sharper, he will
do great in life, he will make 1 lakh just in a month… he will go to foreign
countries and make big money,“ explained doctor about the bright avenues that
could be awaiting his child.
“Bat, bhaat is the gaaranty that my son will become a good
human being after making money?… I hab heard about rape of booman in India…
bood my son be able to be a man ,after you treatment, who respects a booman, I have also read that sons who make
money, leave their parents for the attraction of foreign land and return only
when their parents have died or reduced to skeleton. I baant a eemosnally and
mentally responsible human being not a eerresponsible money minting masine. ”
The doctor didn’t have any answer to the blunt questions of Phoolmani.
Ram Avadh didn’t expect such intellekchual sentences from the mouth
of his phoolis ledi. For the first
time in life he was in awe of his wife.
They left the room of the doctor after Phoolmani made him mute.
Ram Avadh came out of the building a more
confident man than he was before entering it. He was proud of his wife. But one
thing that was still bothering him was that from where did his wife knew so
much about the ways of the world?
Though he had a TEE.BHEE at his house but he liked mostly the movie and music channels
and he had never seen his wife watching news channels while he was at home. Anyways,
listening to and watching news channels demanded some sort of intelligence,
that he was sure that his wife lacked severely. He always found her busy
preparing food, washing cloths and making paper bags (thonga) that he had himself introduced his wife to, to earn some
more money in a month.
“How do you know about these things, I have never seen you
baach neuz channels?” asked a puzzled and bit embarrassed (because he used to
think her a phoolis ledi) Ram Avadh.
“ I baach news channels when you are not at home otherwise
you bood hab said that I banted to become kueen bictoria… and I also read the newspapers
that you bring to make paper bags(thonga),
these heinous and filthy accounts are there on everyday basis in Tee.Bhee and newspapers,” replied Phoolmani with utter innocence sans any airs of intellectuality.
The travel to this faraway place had been an enriching experience
and an opportunity for self- exploration for Ram Avadh. He had come here with perception of a ‘phoolis
ledi’ but returning with perception of an ‘eentelijhent ledi’and a caring mother about his wife. The intelligent
aspect of his wife was quite like unraveling of a mystery for him.
“If a mother is so eentelijhent in the ways of the world…she
bood surely be able to shape a responsible barain…and a responsible barain is
most in the need of our times than a barilliant barain,” ruminated an
enlightened Ram Avadh returning back
to his home. And during the return he didn’t care much if the pallu of his wife slipped from her head.
“Maa, maa….eroplane!” exclaimed the son.“Someday, I bood like to be on that plane maa
with you and papa,” expressed the son.
“Yes sure, we bood be on that plane provided you do all the
hard work…promise me you bood do everything sincerely in your life, be it
studies or sports or music,” demanded Phoolmani.
“Yes,sure maa, I promise,” said son waving ‘Lufthansa plane’ that sowed one more seed in
tender eyes to touch the sky!
Yesterday, I
read a piece of news about a student researcher in engineering field committing suicide in one
of the premier engineering institutes of India located in Jharkhand. The rumored
reason has love angle. Now that he is gone, his parents are left with only the painful
reminiscence of a brilliant son because of whom they were party to much happiness
in their lives.
It is not
that people don’t commit suicide but the thing that bothers more in this case is
about the involvement of a guy who was doing his research and doing research
means that he had done his graduation and his P.G, so a certain level of maturity
is expected of him. I mean we hear news about students succumbing to study
pressures at lower rung of educational stairs, but if somebody commits suicide
at almost the utmost level of studies, then he should be examined as an example
as to whether the scintillating educational achievements provide necessary succor
to deal with the real problems of life.
The problems
that can be termed the real McCoy of the practical world.
Agreed that
demon of the brain can pulverize the logical thinking but if a guy doing a
research program kneels down before the demons, then as a society we seriously
need to ruminate about the mental salubrity of the achievers who live beneath
the veneer of polymathic air in society. Why we should worry about the self-eliminatory
attempts by these brilliant brains is that if they are alive then they can
contribute positively to the society in a way that could be inimitable and unprecedented
in nature.
What I feel,
and it is entirely my opinion which can be termed entirely unfounded as well,
is that being brilliant gives you a sense that mentally you are indomitable.
And when you feel mentally crippled, you feel it beneath your dignity to
realize that you can also lose a fight in life, given you have been overcoming
all educational hurdles so far.
Actually,
life is not a one pronged challenge but a multi -pronged contest. So, the
technique for one type of challenge is not that effective for other type of
test. So, it is necessary to adapt oneself in different situations. And for once
if you stop feeling special or gifted and bother to look around, you will find
many reasons to feel ashamed about thinking to design your death.
When some
brilliant brain is deciding to design his/her death, they must look around and
see that people are struggling to have even a normal life and normal happiness in
that life.
There is one
organization that does the fundraising work for people in physical distress along
with other financial distresses. Reading about the stories at their website can
give one feeling about how lucky one is to be alive and kicking.
This is just
one site, if you rummage around the web and around the social milieu, you might
find plethora of such instances that will help take the mind away from suicidal
thoughts.
Thing is that
no one has come on the earth to live forever, we have to die. We will die anyway
in accidents, in natural calamities, through ailments and diseases. So why put
mind to design death, why not put your mind to design life!
I think that
everybody should act responsibly towards their family and think about others
who are not that well off in terms of living the life and this will give a
reason to shun the thought of suicide at the overpowering moment and once the
menacing suicidal thoughts are over, the sun of life will smile proudly on you
to have chosen life from next day.
Nowadays in T.V debates, more often than not, a question
springs up about whether someone’s forefathers (or organization with reference
to parties for that matter) were part of freedom struggle or not. And here
every effort is made to make the other participants of the debate feel guilty
and one-self sublime on the basis of whether their forefathers took part in the
freedom struggle or they didn’t.
Generally, the years before the 15th of August
1947 are pictured as the years where only thing that every Indian was doing was: Angrezon Bharat Chodo & Bharat Mata Ki Jai.
From the eyes of today’s India we would like to proudly paint
every Indian’s forefathers with the colour of freedom struggle. And now, everyone
is also gregariously willing to have the traces of lathi -charged bruises on the body of their forefathers as the
emblem of allegiance to the freedom struggle.
On the contrary to the view of the gloomy and despondent
India, the pre-independent- era people were also busy bringing smile on the
faces of Indians through singing and dancing. Dada Saheb Phalke, Ashok
Kumar,Kanan Devi and Sohrab Modi are some names that tried to shape a different
identity of India on the basis of which we take pride in our Indian films
having a worldwide reputation for entertainment. I mean to say can we label
these stars as sinners because they indulged in activities that gave bliss to
senses necessary to lead a life free of depressive milieu?
During the era of so called diametrical darkness, Mr.
Srinivasa Ramanujan was busy with his Maths, C.V.Raman and Satyendranath Bose were busy with their Physics,
J.C Bose was busy with his biology, P.C Mahalnobis was busy with his statistics.
What I am trying to put forth is that only singing “Vande Matram” is not the
sole yardstick of patriotism to be gung-ho about. Being able to unravel the mysteries
of maths and physics is by no means a less service to the nation than yelling
chants of Bharat Mata ki Jai and
having Lathi bruises.
If we go by the today’s gung-ho patriots who argue vehemently
that every one of the pre-independence era needs to have an appellation of
freedom fighter and especially that kind of freedom fighter who raised anti-imperialism
slogan and went to jails then what kind of people we would have left with and got
to calculate the poverty, income and expenditure indices of independent India
after the strike of midnight on 15th August 1947? What kind of
people we wanted to run our nuclear plants and steel plants? Many of you would agree that pursuing a
specific branch of study needs its own secluded space and uninterrupted
attention and if someone is doing that then it is not less pious a job than
crying slogans of freedom.
Because a nation doesn’t only need the mob; it needs the
minds also.
Had it not been the case, the party (that claims to be the
front runner of freedom struggle) would have made a simpleton rustic, who
chanted slogans of Bharat Mata Ki Jai.,
its prime minister candidate for independent India instead of a well -educated
person that it did make.
Incidentally, the country infatuated with freedom -struggler
tag forgets the treatment that the independent India meted out to Mr.
Batukeshwar Dutt who was a (friend ) partner
of Bhagat Singh, Sukhdev, and Rajguru in making India independent through their
own revolutionary struggle. Whereas many
who were only titular freedom-strugglers got most of the butter from the milk they
never churned.
Coming again to the point in discussion, to paint the pre-independent
India as a place rife with only poverty, illiteracy, and darkness and to
attribute only handful of people responsible for the renaissance of India
post-independence are kindsof mistakes that people should shun making.
Had everyone been busy reciting only bhajans and chanting slogans, from where we would have got the
expertise to understand the science that helps make a nuclear bomb and thus makes
a nation capable of saving its sovereignty and making it independent in real
terms?
So, India as a nation is not an independent piece of
contribution from a certain group of people who had bruise- blanketed body,
instead it is a patchwork of all those who wrote poetry, who wrote
statistical thesis, who served patients, and who made bridges in
pre-independent era. The India of today also owes a lot to film-related people,
sports -related people, and business- related people who worked tirelessly in
pre-independent India to give India a foundation on which we have today sculpted
a formidable existence that is respected world-wide.
By no means, I am trying to belittle the people who got
thrashed by imperial rule; they are entitled to all the respect of the country
but at the same time do not forgot the contribution of those who didn’t get the
physical bruises but were mentally bothered to contribute tremendously to help
blossom the notion of India as a nation in palpable terms.
Generally, on teacher’s day, the sea of emotions with surfs
of reverence ripple in hearts of students and they write eulogies and sing
hosanna to show their gratitude towards the human mortal who is raised to the
status of GOD . And this gratitude showing sometimes falls to a level where it
seems diametrical boot licking.
The concept of GURU
in India is so sacrosanct that speaking about any shortcoming of the GURUS might be as tantamount to blasphemy.
But this doesn’t mean that teachers are sans flaws.
The favoritism on the part of teachers start at the very
nascent stages, say from standard I or Standard II. Only one or two students
are the apple of eyes of the class teacher, rest of the class is left on its own
ability and destiny to learn the ropes of the behemoth burden that education
system of India imparts to them.
And by god’s limitless grace, if you fall under the tag of
slow learner, the partisan teacher will leave no stone unturned to make you
feel trivial before the student who is a number-cruncher or who is a gifted
orator. It is not that you have any allergy to hard work, but it is such in
life that hard work is one thing and your mind grasping educative errands is
the other. And that is why you remain aloof from the praising periphery of the
teacher’s wisdom. And since you are branded slow learner, the teacher couldn’t
care less about your progress in the class.
Gradually, time passes and you manage to survive with the
serpentine labyrinth of the Indian education system. But whereas you only
managed to survive, the apple eyed guys secured their places in medical or
engineering institutes. So, your meek survival is again outshined by their
blinding achievements and again they get all the praise from their teachers. Such
teachers’ chest gets swelled with pride having bright and successful students.
And you remain slithering on the ground of the education system to make sense
of it and make sense of your life.
By mistake or by God’s grace (for your hard work, and grey
matter, matter zilch!), if you also manage to secure a place in a technical
education school, the partisan species of teacher will hound you there also. Around
the end of the academic year, the most sophisticated teacher will ask the class
to raise hands in order to know who has got placement and who has not. And
again, under the light of partisan thunderbolt your unplaced gloomy face
withers. But the teacher is happy to know the 90% placement data of the class.
What about remaining ten percent? Does it count!
I agree that not all teachers are the same. Some do care
about the last- benchers or the eternal flunk artists. But the teaching arena
has majority of teachers who are parochial in their approach about their
concept of teaching.
On this teacher’s day, I hope that such teachers will find
time out from the razzmatazz of celebrations and introspect about how they have
impacted lives in their active years as a teacher.
