There’s something about what I say and how I intend it to be understood that melts my heart and burns it to crisps. In the middle of a rainy night, the shudder, the fierce sky coupled with blackish and whitish mixtures and heavenly odour set my sentiments to run back me. As I walk down my memory lane I realise that perhaps then memories were just black and white spaces without him aching my stomach with sweet and sour reminisces. This guy comes to my mind each time I am personally dignified; or when I simply sink into nostalgia. Like, a BOOK of photographs that speak a thousand words, like the dew drops that meaningfully become the essence of life- this person is someone who has touched my heart in such a way that his touch can never be erased.
Considering my still infant knowledge and more classes to pass, exams to look forward, changes to obtain, obstacles to struggle, I’m in an age smaller than usual to even make captive emotions. Yet I can still say that this MAN is just not a HE, SOMEBODY or ANYBODY for me. He’s been an idol ever since we first exchanged oblique glances, I nourished myself with each word that he uttered- a curing medicine for the hurt and broken heart. My special guy always stood by my shadow, made me realise the 'orange zest' of life in his own, simple way.
After saying so much you might be thinking that I am writing for a boyfriend that maybe I lost; or an old love. No, you people are wrong. This is my teacher Adnan Sir who I talk of- the only person to acknowledge something extraordinary in an ordinary girl and who’s zeal made me be learn to be one of the survivors of 'survival of the fittest'. I worked hard, prayed to God, passed all my exams with great scores, stood high and tall even when I wanted to fall- just for this particular MAN who seemed to talk to me in an ‘epganglish’ language that moved in light waves as our eye contact never seemed to break.
We together had the unsurpassed of the times at school learning from the syllabus, scoring on class tests and he almost impressed the class with his caring attitude towards teaching. I must also not forget that my this special teacher was only 19, he’d mostly wear a blue shirt and sort of a baggy jeans. Now that I come by school roads or just anywhere, my eyes search for him in the crowd.
Someday he left our school, and I don’t remember what that day was. While he hugged me, I cried my heart out and he seemed to understand that what he was leaving aback. Just minutes before he crossed the platform between a dead-end he had promised with a smiling face on the playground huddling around the basketball court saying ‘hey, why are you crying, you want me to come back right? I promise I’ll.’ As I saw him waving goodbyes to the students’ a silent tear escaped my cheeks. It seemed like that day I had lost someone my own, very own. My this special guy, never came back but gave me a bunch of memories to keep him alive forever. I miss him a lot, even today.
Despite his juvenile age, he made teaching such a sacred vocation. I have hardly come across teachers who dedicate their knowledge to their students with so much diligence. I don't know if I will ever meet him or if he remembers me, but I know this much: where memories fade, lives vanish, bulldozers annihilate histories, the heart always connects to the person you love.
1 comments:
I feel I gotta meet this guy who has such a impression on his students. I never had such a teacher in my life, only read in stories of such enigmatic teachers.
Have you ever had contact with him after he left?
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