My Memories of Easow Mar Thimotheos Thirumeni

Easow Mar Thimotheos Thirumeni was the first Thirumeni that I knew of. He is the epitome of how a Bishop should be.When I look back at my journey towards ministry, Thirumeni holds a very special place. My mother has helped me live and relive the moment of my encounter with Thirumeni. It has formed me and helped me reach thus far by the Grace of God.

It was the year 1987. Thirumeni was to come to Lonavala for Western India Youth Conference. The then Vicar of St. Peter’s Mar Thoma Church, Pune,  Rev K. M. Issac arranged a Holy Qurbana on 22^rd October 1987 which was a Thursday.  According to the instructions of Thirumeni, he arranged for a “Aathya  Jaatha Samarpana Susroosha” (Dedication of the First Born). Issac Achen who is a very important person in my life asked my parents if they were ready to dedicate their child for ministry. My parents after a lot of prayer agreed to do the same. I was only 5 years then. I did not know what I was getting into. Parents were ready to dedicate me fully trusting in the providence of God. My mother recalls that “The appearance of Thirumeni was like a Sanyasi. His simplicity was very evident.” That day three children were to be dedicated. One was Rev Ronald Raju, myself and one more boy. After the first part of the Qurbana, Thirumeni called the 3 of us along with respective parents to kneel before the Altar. My parents recall that “Thirumeni in his prayer was filled with Holy Spirit. His face had a radiance that we had never seen. When he put his hands to bless the three of us, we could feel the work of the Holy Spirit.” My mother further remembers the sermon he delivered. She says “Thirumeni emphasized the importance of Evangelization of Maharashtra. We need young people to Go for our Great God. I thank the parents who dedicated their children for the Glory Of God”.

I remember very little of what happened then. But the continuous narration of my parents of that event made me part of it. It helped me form as a child ready to go for Ministry. I modeled myself accordingly. It formed my character. I yearned to be a minister. Things were all fine till my graduation. Then the confusions set in. I did not know whether this was my calling. I doubted whether I was meant for it. These confusions disturbed my parents. But they prayed. I remember my father say “We dedicated you with full faith. It is now your choice. If God wants you to be his minister he will call you. We are sure that the prayer of Thirumeni was the work of the Holy Spirit”. I really appreciate the fact that in my trials my parents understood me and prayed for me. Their biggest hope was the event that took place of 22^nd October 1987. After my personal explorations at Navjeevan Centre under the mentorship of Rev Dr Moni Mathew, I finally realized my calling. I expressed my willingness to go for ministry. I remember the face of my parents. The faith that they lived by had won over my confusions.

When I look back today I thank God for calling me to his Great Ministry. I feel very unfit and unworthy but I know God had planned it even before I knew it or could understand it. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29: 11. On the occasion of 25 years since Thirumeni was called to Eternal Rest, I thank God for using him and moulding me. Praise be to God.

Rev Merin Mathew

Mar Thoma Syrian Church

Vicar of the Northeast India Parishes

Guwahati

Friend Who Taught Me To "Win".

When I was studying in Nowrosjee Wadia College doing B.A. in Psychology I was more faithful in attending theChai ki tapri (tea shop) nearby, debating endlessly about everything under the sun along with six friends of which I was the only one who was from Pune. One of my friends Sudip was a big fan of Rap music and he was so zealous that he made everyone of us love it. It became an obsession with us. But we could make no head nor tail of what the rappers rapped. We who hardly bothered to take notes about our syllabus, started taking printouts of this particular rap Hit em’ Up by Tupac and this was more like our clan anthem. This song ran for 3 pages but mind you no one dared not to memorize it. We were the homies from the hood. When college was about to end we played the song Changes by 2pac. Those were the days. We look back and laugh. GERMAN Bakery was our hang out. It feels sad as some maniac chose to bomb it on 13 february 2010. We used to sit at GB as we called it, for hours. We used to buy one special tea and six of us used to drink from it. And we spoke about army, politics, women, religion, education. We used to call it Group discussion which was certainly never a discussion but a commotion. Our egos were so inflated that we never gave in to any argument, so much so that the decibel levels reached so high that for the first time from GB any group was thrown out with a notice never to come there again.

I am not intending to write a memoir of my college days. Who the hell am I? As I mentioned before all these friends were from different parts of India. So was Biren. He was from Sikkim. One of my friend said he looked like Jacky Chan. The smile, the body language et al. his dressing was very trendy and at times carried the guitar along. His trademark wear was a bandana, a tight fit t-shirt and a track pant. Strangely he had an American accent and the reason he said was that the school he studied had many Americans. We said “rubbish.” He had a ‘killer’ sense of humor. I have heard him say the same joke ten times and every subsequent time my laughter was more earth shattering than the previous. For general knowledge I have been famous for my uncivilized laughter that I am proud of. I take it as a personal evangelism to tell people that one should laugh without inhibitions. Biren very innocently used to say “You Indians are very good at cricket.” We used to get very offended and ask “Who the hell are you?” As I reminded you at times Biren carried his guitar. But he was a very reluctant singer. But once he starts he is in a trance and so are we. I so clearly remember how spellbound we were when he sang November Rain from the band Guns n’ Roses. He was passion personified. Other than singing karate was his passion. Every day he practiced for three hours. One day I stumbled upon the heap of certificates he had. And there I was shocked to see “National Kickboxing Champion 2000”. I was like ‘What?’. He very modestly said, “I have been winning it for past two years”. I had won some intra college debating competition where 3 of us competed and the whole world knew that I had won this very ‘prestigious’ debate. At that time Manish, our friend and Biren’s flatmate said “These days he is practicing for 8 hours to defend his title. The tournament is to be held in August”. The period that I am talking about is July 2001 and the world had not changed yet. 9/11 was yet to happen. Biren became more and more of a rare sight even if he lived 10 minutes from my house. He was practicing. Then came the month of August. It was time for Biren to leave to defend his title. We had seen him very purposefully practice day in and day out. On the day before he was about to embark upon his journey we wished him luck, and in our rap style we banged our chest and said ‘Yo Homie, go conquer the world.’ (Man, we were juveniles). The entire tournament would take 10 days. We were planning as to take a treat from him when he comes back. We loved food for free. I guess we were more excited than him.

But two days after he left, he was back. We were shocked. We speculated that he had an early exit in the tourney. But that was unfathomable. We did not dare to ask him. Then one of us asked “Dude, what happened.” He said “I did not fight.” We all had a blank face. He explained. “Every year the tournament registration fee is Rs. 1500. But this year in Mumbai, they made it Rs 5000.” So I jumped the gun. “You dint have money?” he said “No, not like that. There was a boy who came all the way from Sikkim to participate. He had only Rs 2000. He knew nobody. Even I was seeing him for the first time. But we spoke. I know Sikkim. People go for such tournaments with a lot of expectations. The whole village expects a lot. I gave him the money and told him to win. So here I am.” I was the first to tell him what a loser he was. But was he? A national champion who had the detachment to forsake what was at stake for a complete stranger. This story will always remain with me. It’s a decade back it happened. But even today I have nowhere reached that point. It has become my personal yardstick in my journey to be a human.

P.S. Biren today is a commando with the Indian Army. He was the most focused of the six of us. A true inspiration.

Triumph Over Adversity

• As a student of Master’s of Social Work, my first internship was with The Poona Blind School. A school established by Dr. Machawe in the year 1949. This school has hostel facilities and it educates visually impaired boys till they finish their schooling. Sharayu Deshpande was my co-intern. We had to go every Tuesdays and Fridays. In the first few weeks I took out time to observe the methods of the school. The social worker was of great help in orienting us. After seeing movies like ‘Black’, nobody could blame me for having a romantic picture of the children who were visually impaired. I remember the endless sermons I have delivered on the Blind Bartimaeus from the bible and how Jesus had compassion on him. So here I was in close quarters pretending to be good but very unconsciously maintaining a distance with these children. Being kind to myself I was naive about it and so did not know how to react to the touches and gestures. Sharayu was my teacher in this respect. She is fabulously spontaneous and whenever she interacted with the children she spoke of mundane things, cracked jokes, made them very comfortable with her loud laughter and teased them at will about sleeping in the class or liking a girl in the school. This was revelation for me. I was always sermonising and trying to correct them and trying hard to inspire them. I made friends with boys from 7th to 10th standard. I started speaking to them of how I was as a student, how low on confidence I was and how much I hated maths and how madly I loved history. This broke the ice between us. Some said they loved maths and I gestured with folded hands ‘Aap Mahan Ho’. (You are great). Slowly a bond was being built over the weeks. The social worker told me that the children lack ambition and they need guidance in studies. So in the break I spoke to some boys of the 9th standard. I asked them what they wanted to become. Some said doctors, some said musicians but none knew how to get there. Basava, a handsome boy studying in 8th standard said “I don’t know what to do after school. It’s all blank”. I thought that I cannot preach to them. It will be futile.
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• Divyanshu, a friend of mine is visually impaired. He lost his sight when he was 18 years due to glaucoma. His life was plunged into darkness. But he is a true fighter. At the time of my internship, he was doing his M. A. in Psychology from Pune University. I called him to ask if he could come and talk to the boys about career as he was the right person. He was enthused and agreed immediately. On a Friday in January 2004(I forget the date) I arranged a very informal session for 16 boys of the hostel from class 8-10. I did not give any expectation to the boys. Divyanshu came at about 3 p.m. I greeted him and we gathered at the garden of the school. We all sat down in a circle. He just broke the ice by asking “Kasakaay Mitrano?” (How are you friends?) That opening statement set the tone for the session. After cracking some jokes he came to the point. “I know you may be feeling why we should study? What is the point? What can we do? Let me tell you stop saying such things.” The boys were intently listening. “I am studying Psychology from Pune University. You know when I first applied for Psychology at B.A. level, the department said that visually impaired students cannot opt for psychology as it has practicals. I laughed. I said I am going to do it and I challenged the department saying if you do not give me seat I will see you in court. Seeing my determination and constant visit to the department they finally relented. But the drama started all over again when I applied for M.A. I had to keep visiting the offices. Again the legal threat is what granted me a seat. Remember I had marks and the aptitude but my disability was used to deny me my right. My friends let me tell you many will discourage you, tell you to choose a profession that suits you. But I tell you, never stop dreaming. Work very hard. Life is not easy.” I was also learning and what he said after this really shook me out of my seat. “You are blind. But that is not a disability.They can take your eyes away, they can take your ears away, they can take your hands and legs away, but nobody, I say nobody, nobody can take your attitude away from you. You may be blind but you have vision. My friends I pray you overcome the disability of ‘I cannot do it’ attitude. Aim for the sky. We can overcome all barriers.”
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• All the boys came and hugged me and said “Sir we will do big things. What a great guy is Divyanshu dada. If he can do it, we can too.” I escorted Divyanshu to the auto rickshaw. I expressed my gratitude. He said “Merin, thank you for this opportunity. You know I do not think being blind is a disability. The people who only see us as blind are actually disabled. They are blind. They cannot see our ability, our struggles. I know parents who take their children to Blind schools to show them the blind children, so that they realise how lucky they are. I feel such people are disabled. People who are not sensitive are disabled. These children deserve respect. I hope these boys will do great things in life”. I just smiled. We bid good bye.
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• P. S. The last when I met Divyanshu he was working as a H.R. manager at Tata Motors.

Unless A Grain of Wheat.........

In the summer of 2003 I decided to do Master’s in Social Work (M.S.W) from Karve Institute of Social Service, Pune after doing B.A. in Psychology. I got admission in the department of Medical and Psychiatric Social Work. After studying in a cosmopolitan College like Nowrosjee Wadia, Karve Institute was definitely a disappointment. There were no so called hot chicks that qualified a college to be happening I always displayed my elitism and hardly mingled with people from the rural background. Once while eating dabba I refused to sit on the ground with my classmates. And all this was the prototypes of an arrogant urbanite that was sadly ingrained in me and I would condemn it only now in retrospect. I knew hindi but preferred speaking to those who conversed in English. So the divide was rather very clear in my attitude.

 In my department we had an interesting character whose name was Amey Apte. He was articulate and very critical in his thinking. He was one guy who I enjoyed talking to about history. Mahatma Gandhi was our point of admiration. Whenever I went to college (which was rare and far in between) we both did have a chat. My first year at the college was anything but memorable and I really was contemplating a drop, as I felt this was not meant to be. But nonetheless I did continue. By the end of our first year, Amey and his friends were going through a very serious transformation. Questions like ‘What is the point of Social Work without addressing issues like poverty and destitution’ became more than academic rumblings. Amey was being guided by a friend Ravi Bansode who is a Dalit Activist. Ravi introduced him to the world of slums and its poverty, the need for action, rather than social work. This led him to get more involved at the grassroot. When the second year of M.S.W began, Amey’s sudden transformation was a point of discussion and derision. He had some friends along with him and now they seemed to get deeper into Dalit activism. I personally felt it was a phase and did not give much credence. As we had become seniors, there was a new batch for the year 2004-2006. This new batch was way more dynamic and focused than we were. Anil Varghese was symbol of the dynamism and vibrancy of this batch along with many others. Anil had serious engagements with social movements before he joined the institute. He is a man of many hues and his grasp on issues is profound. The phenomenon of Amey was explained to me by Anil who was supportive of the new development. I have to credit Anil for broadening my narrow worldview. More or less it was in the shadow of Anil and Amey that I started enjoying the course and I began to see people in some ways as they are. This was very important a change and sadly the urban bred have way too many prejudices about everything. For them good clothes and sophistication alone qualified people to be worthy of socialization and friendship.(i am sorry for the gross generalization, it may not be entirely true)

Amey was a Brahmin by birth who was now working for the upliftment of the Dalits (I am sure he would not be pleased with that usage). He belonged to a group called Baudh Yuva Sangharsh Samiti that was Ambedkarite in Politics and subscribed to Neo-Buddhism. In the month of August 2004, he along with his friends underwent Diksha(Which means accepting the tenets of Neo- Buddhism) and Amey Apte was rechristened as Sangharsh Alka Arun Apte. The choice of his name was interesting as he wanted it as a significance and message of his life and also wanted his mother's name to be part of his identity. As every new convert has his overdrive of zeal, so did Sangharsh have his own share. He offended people, ridiculed them and their beliefs, he made fun of the elite culture of some friends which made him very unpopular. But all in all he was now a man with a purpose and one could see his drive. We debated endlessly about his change. I tried to reason out with him without actually knowing anything. Then in October 2004 there came a Study tour in Bangalore and this was the real beginning of our friendship. I atleast started to get his point which till then I just dismissed. In May 2005 our course came to an end. And I particularly felt that his zeal will fade away. But his convictions inspired me and in my internship I read immensely about Dr. B. R. Ambedkar and Dalit issue.  I realized how warped my worldview was. Along with Anil, he helped me revisit my taken for granted assumptions in life and personally helped me to have my own journey of self discovery and purpose. Sangharsh chose to live in the slums and decided that education would be his focus. He tried in his own ways to give tuitions to the children of slums. He told me “Education is a big barrier for these children. They drop out very early and have no one to guide them so they later enter into gangs, drugs and alcoholism. We are trying to make education as a focal point in this Basti. We are trying.”

His experiments were really noteworthy and full of introspection. He did not prefer social work so for employment he started to ride Auto Rickshaw. This according to him would help him to relate more to the problems of livelihood of the people he was trying to cater. This went on for some months but it was not sustainable. Then he took a job as a librarian in a Communist Study Group Library, Bhagat Singh Library. Then he took up work with a Documentation centre where he would get exposure to Dalit Movement literature and also got a platform to meet many leaders of the movement. His work in the slums were increasing and he invited me to his place. As I said, I can only appreciate such steps and write about what he has done, but not sure if I will have the courage to live for my convictions like he does. He was living with his mentor Ravi Bansode, in Ambedkar vasti and living conditions was something that i could never reconcile to.

Pallavi Harshe, another very interesting character, a fellow batchmate at Karve, fell in love with Sangharsh and in August 2005 they both tied the knot. Pallavi matches him in his zeal and they both have decided not to have children, so as to dedicate their lives for the cause. Pallavi is more practical and systematic in her approach and she is academically inclined and has the talent to integrate activism and academics. I always remind Sangharsh that it is his fortune to have a wife like Pallavi who shares the same zeal and is ready to make sacrifice for their common cause.

After all his exposure with the movement, Sangharsh entered into party politics and was a candidate of Prabudh Republican Party in Election held in 2009. They fought for a rehabilitation package for the slums. There were Dharnas for many days to get the government to notice the plight of the people of the slums. To what I have seen, Sangharsh is an excellent organizer and a man with extraordinary oratory skills. A great leader of sorts. He felt that the plight of Dalits could be addressed through democratic ways and being in power is necessary. He is still working hard on his convictions. In all these years we have remained in touch. I used to meet him to just feel the energy and optimism he exuded. He had many things going against him, but he never gave up. We used to meet in the campus of Pune University and discussed endlessly in the Open Canteen with  one Chai  shared in two cups . He is always driven by concerns of poverty and social justice. at times one does feel he is extreme but i feel it is the madness of such people that make this world worth living.

Let me conclude. Sangharsh is a man with great virtues and similar madness. He has had many downfalls in his experiments. Many friends he lost, all in the journey for his ideals and dreams. He is still a very misunderstood person.In a way i guess it is his virtue that he is not slave of public opinion.  I am aware of his failures and stupidity but more than that I admire his volition and courage. He has set a yardstick that I will always fall short of. But he helped me rethink my faith and helped me reorient my life. I can say I am a better Christian because of him. Moreover he helped me get over my elitism to a great extent. I, in some way could practice ‘dignity of humanity’ that I always preached. His journey from being Amey to Sangharsh is a challenge for us to live life more meaningfully, even if it entails failures and disdain. He has the courage to live a life which people like me love to preach, read and write about.

‘I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.’ John 12:24.

She Helped Me Steal Away to My Neverland

I have always been intrigued by my childhood and the role it has played in making me, me. In this sense I keep visiting the memories of my days in Sangamwadi, Pune. It is a very unassuming place where houses with a bedroom and hall and a small kitchen was the norm. There was a bathroom attached but toilet was a Public one. Being a Child I had the luxury of the fields and gutters, which ever I preferred. Honestly the moments of ablutions were time for a retreat into another world where animals spoke, mice had a train of their own, cats had buses and there were pygmies who had an army that was at my disposal. Going to shit (sorry for using such a crass word, but what else to use) was my ticket to Neverland. And I used to be at this maidan (field) for hours to the dismay and disgust of my parents. Where was I getting these stories from? Who led me to this fascinating world that I refused to come to reality? How did I entertain myself to believe in a parallel world where children taught and the elders went to school? When I saw the crows flying by in the evening, why did I tell myself that their school is over, they are all going home?

Vimala Bai, as we called her, was our maid as a working mother needed someone to look after her only son. Vimala Bai lived in a slum nearby. Her husband had abandoned her. She lived with her mother and two daughters. Our previous maid was Nanda who was a very benevolent soul, but after her wedding she went to Baramati. It was in such a context that Vimala Bai filled the void of a caretaker and help. I was 5 years old when she took over. She was a short lady of dark complexion and weak constitution. Her energy level was high. She did her work incredibly well and got along with my mother. As my school got over by 1.30, I spent a lot of time with her. Initially I kept comparing her with Nanda who was way more beautiful than Vimala Bai. It took me some time to get close to her. Vimala Bai had a very animated way of speaking and expressing. She knew I was keeping a distance but she knew how to break the ice. She started telling me stories every afternoon. The first story that she told me was about a sparrow and crow. The impact was so good that I started believing that birds could speak. I tried talking to them and kept wondering why they never spoke to me. Somehow cats were always negative characters in her story. Dogs were given the best treatment. Elephants had interesting textures. She had unusually great stories of elephants that sacrificed, fought against cunning tigers and in trying to save a rabbit, the elephant fought against a lion and a snake, eventually bravely rescuing the rabbit but himself dying in the end. Listening to that story I remember crying so much that she changed the tragic end to suit my taste. Then she started telling stories of small human beings who were far away and lived a fascinating life in the jungle along with lions and elephants. I later guessed this would be the pygmies. This story remained with me and became an alter ego. It was always the subject of my day dreaming where pygmies travelled on the trunk of an elephant, had ants and flies as pets and used cats and dogs as horses.

As told earlier she lived in a slum nearby. One day I went there. I really loved the place and the swing that was outside. She asked me if I wanted food and as a child I had never learned to say no. The dal and rice I had was of a different league. To this day the dal she made has had no parallel. I loved the way she cooked. My mother used to make food for me but after eating Vimala Bai’s food, I knew where my preference lied. When my mother came home, she was happy that I had eaten the food she (my mother) made and had wasted none. She never realized that the food she made was exchanged with the daughters of Vimala Bai, Rekha and Radhika, and their food I had. Radhika was just a year elder to me and we played together. She was the one who taught me to fly a kite and I must say I was a very poor student. She taught me all the childhood games like Blindfold, Chor Police, Dhapandi Stop and what not. I started becoming very popular in their house and I loved being there. I loved the attention and respect that I got. Every holiday I used to be at their place living life with abandon. During Raksha Bandhan , Vimala Bai asked permission of my mother, if Rekha and Radhika could tie rakhi on my hand. My mother agreed and there I was beaming with joy with 2 rakhis.

Paradise could not go on for long. I, as a child fell ill quite often and the diagnosis of a very worthy neighbor was my frequent trips to the slum. My mother could not agree to this but my health was important for her. So indirectly she informed Vimala bai not to take me to her home. This was a big setback for me. Everything that I associated with joy and fun was in that slum, in the small house of Vimala Bai. But disobeying and rebelling is how childhood is explored and I broke the sanction imposed upon me, time and again. Vimala Bai tried to dissuade me but I dint relent. But a day came when we left Sanghamwadi for good. Now we had a flat of our own. Vimala Bai continued coming to our new place but her health took a back seat. She informed my mother that she could not continue for long and the last day dawned upon us. I still remember that I refused to come out when she left for good. I was inconsolable. When she walked out, I rushed to the balcony to say good bye. But Radhika and Vimala Bai came on every Rakshabandhan dayi so that Radhika could tie me rakhi. This went on till I was in my 6th standard. When they came I felt embarrassed and I kind of indicated that ‘I was not liking this’. I don’t know why I did that. From next year they stopped coming. I know my attitude might have really hurt them and I recently told my mom “I wish I had not done that, I want to see her again.”

When I look back Vimala Bai has been a very integral and formative part of my childhood. She was a mother to me when my mother was away at work. She, through her stories helped me to see a world that is beautiful and wonderful. A world where birds and animals spoke, truth got rewarded, love was always the winner. But was I fair to her? I have thanked many of my teachers for making me who I am. But I have never thanked Vimala Bai or any of my maids. Nobody is going to commemorate a Maid’s day where we appreciate them. We will keep having sick Ads like Tata Docomo where a maid is the one who always steals. I wish to meet her real soon to say “Thank you and I am very sorry”.

P.S. I wrote this experience after seeing the very disgusting ad of Tata Docomo where a maid is the one who steals. Maids are integral in an urban house system and yet they have the roughest deal with no holiday to claim, with Provident Fund being a fantasy. If they have anything in abundance it is prejudices of the so called middle class who will always view them with suspicion laced with theories of conspiracy.

Rev Merin Mathew

Mar Thoma Syrian Church

Guwahati

To Shitole Sir, With Love

Teacher’s day has passed into oblivion only to rear its head next year on September 5th. But I do not choose a Teacher’s Day to realize what my teachers have been to me. From Kindergarten to 10th I had the privilege of studying in St. Joseph’s Boys’ High School, Khadki, Pune. The army of students in light blue shirt and dark blue shorts from 1st – 7th standard and white shirt and white pants for standard 8th – 10th, all standing in “Attention mode”(Saavdhaan), evokes nostalgia. The choir comprising of students always provoked envy as I never made it there, the pledge “India is my country, all Indians are my brothers and sisters (except one)….” were all said with rapid haste with “except one” said with more clarity than any other words. “Jana Gana Mana” sung with precision and vigour. The shouting reached a crescendo when we all declared “Jaya Hai Jaya Hai Jaya Jaya Jaya Jaya Hai” Vishram(Stand at ease). I thought the Vishram is also part of the national anthem and was always disappointed why it was omitted when it was played on Doordarshan. The most memorable part of school life was the short and long breaks. The loveliest music was the bell that announced that the break is here. I remember I used to finish my dabba in the short recess so that in the long one we could play with abandon. I hardly remember eating my own tiffin. I had a Goan friend Craig D’Souza who loved Mallu food and I loved every other food than what I got. So exchange of dabbas was in vogue and my hands were in almost all the dabbas possible. The cardboard cricket, the football, the races with friends, hide and seek, dog and the bone and what not was the flavor of the long breaks. Our school was known for hockey and I tried that for a year until I lost my hockey stick. Next I tried table tennis and found some solace in my otherwise very dim record in sports. I was like the ‘kacha limbu’ (I am sorry I can’t translate that). All these memories have been lingering from many days and the flood of it will make it impossible to ever do justice to pay my tribute to a very special man.

My School was truly gifted with eminent teachers who were dedicated, creative, committed and some; one must acknowledge were very average and highly forgettable. Every teacher I have come across is worth writing about but one always has to choose. Shitole sir as we popularly called him was a maverick teacher who loved to entertain his students while he taught. His razor sharp sense of humor is what made him a legend among the students. The 5 feet 4 inch man who was heavily built with pot belly, evoked laughter no matter what he said. Even his serious face gave us ruptures of chuckles. He officially taught us Hindi and Marathi, but he was remembered for whole lot of other things. He rode a Chetak Bajaj scooter that was brown in colour and his erect posture and serious composure on it betrayed the real him. Even before he started teaching, his teaching methods and style was folklore and part of school legend. First time he entered the class in 9th standard, he marched into the class like a soldier. We erupted with laughter only to be rudely shocked by his howl “Shut up. All stand up”. I was scared we had it today. “Sit down”. We complied with relief. “STAND UP” (with stern intonation), “sit down”. And he caught some of us doing his exercise of initiation into his class very clumsily. “What reKharbuda, you are mathara.” (It is tough to translate Kharbuda which means rough, are you old is the other word in italics). I still remember the graphic spectacle he created on our minds, coming like a storm, and retreating like a thunder, stamping his boots with all his might as he walked away. In the next class because of my loud laughter he noticed me. He asked me a question to frame a sentence. My sense of grammar in Hindi is and was pathetic. I mixed the gender in my statement to the utter shock of my teacher. He roared “ enna da mallya da, stri ling puling , confusion da”(he mocked as I was a malayallee and confused my genders and interchanged it.) He came to beat me holding my collar and said “I Love you but the circumstances…” but then refrained from hitting, leaving me with a warning. That was a narrow escape. He used to call students to write on the black board and with my terrible handwriting he captioned it “maggi noodles”. He used to get annoyed when students forgot to put the line on top of the hindi alphabets encompassing a word. When a student who was besieged for the honours at the board forgot to put the line on top, there came the roar “ Tera Baap takla hai kya re?” (is your father bald as he equated the line not on the alphabets to being bald”, to this the student replied “Ha sir aapko kaisa maalum” (yes sir, how do you know that) to the utter entertainment of the class that refused to stop laughing. He used to have jingles to entertain us. In his question answer sessions when a student rigged with grammar he used to start the jingle in Marathi “Yevda Mottha Ghodda Zaala” ( he has become such a huge horse) and we used to complete it “ Vyakaran Tyaala Yet naahi” ( grammar he does not know). This jingle was our favorite and we used it in out of context several times.

Sir used to make us read our text books loudly and expected us to be involved in the character of the lessons when we read it. most of us did a very dull job at it that evoked his response “Ye Kaadi petti,( you matchstick) hungry kya, Zor se pad (read loudly).” With all his humor, sir while he taught was the most serious man and got involved in the characters of the story. I remember distinctly when he taught a Marathi lesson “ Maaze Kasht Vaaya Zaanar Naahi” (my struggles will not go in vain). It was the story of the mother of a sanyaasi and the struggle she went through to give a good tomorrow to her children. The lesson evoked pain and hope. In middle of the lesson, our sir who read it seemed to have fallen silent. I looked up to see tears flowing from his eyes. We as a class were overwhelmed. We had never seen this part of him. He struggled and read but he broke down only to regain his composure. That memory never leaves me. That lesson of passion of teaching instructs and guides. Like his teaching his evaluation of our answer sheet was unique. It was full of graffiti and dialogues. We used blue ink but he overshadowed the answer sheet with his red ink. The coloumns were filled with “De Dheel” ( keep faffing), “Malaa Shikavto” (are you teaching me?) and he drew a bed where the student left unwarranted space between two words asking “so ja bed pe” (sleep on that bed). I was part of the luminaries who happened to fail in his subject. So he decided to honour us. “Take the Olympics and go to every class and say ‘I won the olympics’”. If you are wondering what is Olympics, well it is only the dustbin. The fun of his punishments was that we laughed more than any other. 11 of us went from class to class displaying with pride our newly achieved Olympic trophy. He gave all unique names that we cherished and never found it derogatory. Students with dark complexion were given the title “President of Ghana”. With my superior constitution and great build, he used to call me “refugee from Somalia.” He used to take our books for essay and try to distribute it with distorting our names. Rinoy Samuel became “Reena Shimla”, Merin Mathew became “Meera Maruti” and the laughter went on and on and on.

As a student, the personal life or history of Shitole sir was not my concern. Most of us do not even know his first name. But as a teacher he deflated our egos and taught us to laugh at ourselves and not to take ourselves too seriously. His placid face after cracking a stupendous joke, his horror at our stupidity, his ever rewarding smile if he was ever pleased with what we did remains today as a memory. His passion for Drama and script writing always took him to another realm. His jokes at times were crass, his mannerisms eccentric but his influence and aura transcended all these. As students we were shocked to read about his death in the newspaper. With some sadness, some of us again relived the man, his jokes, his passion, his love. We laughed even at such a sad moment. That I feel is the message of his life. A brand of humor that transcended and defeated the finality of death. The name of Shitole Sir does bring tears knowing that such a man is no more but it is simultaneous with smiles and roars of laughter. As Students, We will always laugh at ourselves, thanks to you. You will always be special to us and your presence will be missed.

P.S. Students of Sir, please add on to the anecdotes and memories you have about this man.

My Teacher

I  am Merin Mathew, doing my Masters in Social Work, 2nd year in the field of Medical and Psychiatry From Karve Institute of Social Service, Pune. My fieldwork is in Chaitanya Mental Health Centre, a rehabilitation center for the mentally ill patients. I was trying to learn and get acquainted with the work. I really did not know what is was doing and was thoroughly disillusioned. 

I used to attend the Psychiatrist's consultation, observe counselling and participate in the morning session of patients. Attending the morning session my attention was drawn towards a man who said the morning prayers with a lot of passion and involvement. He was a very pleasant looking man. His hair was jumbled, he had heavy stubble on his face, and it was accompanied by a wide smile.  A short man, who could be called fat and had a slight hunch back.  After the morning session he came to me and told me his name.  I could very evidently say he was the first person who made me feel welcome at the agency. 

After the first meeting we kept exchanging pleasantries.  Those were the days when I was growing an ugly looking beard. He came and asked "Sir, why don't you shave?'' I used to smile and pass.  His smile was something I got used to and I mechanically kept smiling at him.  One day when I had finished my tea, this middle-aged man stopped me and asked me'' Sir, do you know my name?'' I was caught unaware. I wish I could tell him I don't know.  I remember him telling me, but I was not sure.  I was feeling very sorry and with a lot of reluctance and a low voice that was hardly audible, I asked ''Are you Vivek?'' After saying I imagined him saying on now, you don't know me.  I thought you would remember I smiled everyday thinking you know my name.  But you don't.  All this I viewed in a split second of his reaction.  He said ''You are absolutely right''.  His smile became more radiant.  And was that smile rewarding for me? Oh! Of the highest order.  There are times when we surprise ourselves and this time I surprised myself.  I gifted a smile to a person.  Let me ask nothing more.  

After this day I made a special effort to say hi to him.  Asking his well-being.

On another field workday I went and attended the morning meeting.  The prayer today lacked the passion and had a certain detachment.  The person saying the prayer was same, the prayer was same, but the state of mind was different.  The radiant smile was replaced by an unpleasant frown.  The man who was most participatory in the session was most pre-occupied with his own thoughts.  The Counsellor conducting the session also noticed the evident change.  The Counsellor asked him what was bothering him, Vivek did not respond.  Then he abruptly said 'I do not believe in God'.  The Counselor's effort to motivate him was a failure.  This deeply disturbed me and I decided to intervene. I called Mr. Vivek for counselling.  The session started with a lot of reluctance and silence.  Then I broke the silence asking ''Vivekji, how are you feeling?"  He answered with a frown ''What is wrong with me, I am fine''.  His defenses were in place and his message was clear, don't intrude into my life. After a little silence he told me 'I have lost my appetite for life'.  After sometime he said 'I want  

to die'. 

 

The man who was so positive, so pleasant, was such a man of smiles, is suicidal.  What went wrong?  ''My life is meaningless.  Nobody cares for me'' .  He had flight of ideas.  He told me ''Sir you have double standards'' .  I was shocked when he said that, my natural reaction was 'why?' pleasant.  ''Sir, you only say we should be clean, should be But look at yourself.  You don't shave, you look so unpleasant , if this is not double standards then what is it ?"  I couldn't help laughing but at the same time I was humbled.  He taught me the importance of congruence in speech and action.  Did I learn?  I am doubtful.  On this light note, we continued.  He said that '' All my education has gone waste''.  He had some traumatic memories of E.C.T.  He spoke of his hatred for food.  He had a lot of negativity in him that he could not channelise.  So he kept silent looking at the ceiling as if looking for answer from the ceiling.  Then I said 'Vivekji, I understand''.  He very skeptically answered 'What you understand?''.  This taught me how lightly we use words. Did I understand his emotions, his helplessness, his feelings, his fear?  Hardly.  Then I told him ''May be I don't understand Vivekji, but you understand.  I think you like to write, why, don't you write your feelings?"  He said ''You cant make it compulsory?  ''I wont do anything that is compulsory''. I assured him that it is not compulsory.  He said ''I will try, but I can't promise''.  The counseling ended. The outcome was uncertain.  Did what I say make an effect?  Did I make a difference?  Time will tell.  I tried. My intentions were earnest. 

After this I spoke to his counsellor who briefed me about his illness.  Vivek is a schizophrenic for last 20 years and his chance of recovery was very poor.  The counsellor told me that he was very close to his mother and his mother is dead and Vivek does not know.  This disturbed me even more.  Knowing this, I went and spoke to him. but i could not tell him about his mother. Seeing me he said "I am very sad, n i dont want to live.  Sir, but whatever you said, I will try''. I will try.  Am I ready to try?  I just spoke to him about his interests and he spoke in length about literature.  He really looked different and spoke as an authority.  I was so happy seeing his revived spirits.  Sometimes we don't need to try too much.  Just listen. Thats all we got to do. 

Next  field work when I met him He smiled at me but it was not the same smile that I was used to.  He came to me and said ''Good morning Sir, I am trying''.  That's all he said and went.  

After sometime he spoke to me about Marathi literature, its high points, the importance of mother tongue and how its losing its importance.  I was ignorant about it and listened to him like a child.  I was impressed about his conviction.  I wished I had atleast quarter of conviction that he had.  What a pleasant site.  After all this, he said ''Sir, my mother is dead''.  I was shocked that he knew all this and spoke this way.  I was speechless. " I was told by the Doctor.  I am sad but I dint cry. I loved her a lot. She understood me. I will come out of my feelings of worthlessness. I will try.  I am going to write.  I want to write.  My mother wanted me to write.  Sir, you want me to write.  But I will write because I want to." What a lesson to learn.  "I will do it because I want to do it."  What a resiliency.  In a matter of 3 days this man changed so much, He still had little negativity.  But he was trying to come out.  How important it is for us to keep trying.  

Vivek was upset the next time when I visited him.  He said" Sir, what bad words these patients speak.  Language is so beautiful, why do they destroy it, with so much of filth?"  He was disturbed. 

After sometime he came and told me" Sir, I am not going to let these things affect me.  I am going to write an article on 'Film and Industry' from a commerce perspective.  I want to write".  After this he told something that moved me the most.  He said ''There is a creation in all of us that compels us to rise above the destruction of our negativity''.  I was dumb struck.  How true from a man who was battling with his emotions.  I was fortunate to learn this from him.  I started getting a new perspective for my field work and my life. 

We kept meeting and I kept learning.  He wrote his article and showed it to me. It does not matter how it was.  He conceived an idea and he did it.  He was determined to do it.  He kept saying 'I will try'.  He tried.  That is the most important thing. 

He kept telling me how he made himself happy. He spoke of his experiments with diet and how happy he was. He said he wanted to write short stories for children. He said" Telling the right story to the child prepares the child for the story called 'Life.' He said at times ''I feel bad but I have a lot of things to feel good about. I choose to be happy''.  I felt ashamed of myself.  I have so many things to be happy about but I choose to complain.  Everything is about choices. 

'In this life we have more pain than pleasure.  Pain is pleasurable'.  This is what he said.  It made so much of sense. Then he smilingly asked 'Sir, hope I am not boring you?'  We both laughed together.  'I am very happy talking to you.  Because of you I started writing and made, myself happy.  Thank you'.  This is what he told me.  He could tell me this so easily.  He taught me so much but I could not tell him. Why?  I still need to learn from him.  My teacher.

Next day he again spoke to me about his experiments with diets.  He told me ''Sir, it is a great feeling to be married.  What a feeling when my child would call me 'Papa'.  Why dint I marry?  But it's OK. I am happy.  I still can marry with a widow or someone.  But chances are remote.  I was in love with a girl in my eighth standard.  She was very intelligent. She looked very cute in her frock.  I respected her but she never knew about my feelings.  Wish I could tell her. If I would tell her, I would be happy and may be I would not have had schizophrenia.  But it's OK.  If I had a physical illness I would take treatment, so I took treatment during my productive years of my life.  Its OK.  It was for my good. Still nothing is lost.  I can still do a lot of things.  I am just 51.  I have more to do".  What an attitude ?  He told me 'Sir, my eyes can be taken, my hands can be taken, but nobody can take away my attitude'.  I was awestruck.  Was I counselling or was I learning ? 

I told him to write and he made himself worth writing about. I am still learning from a man who does not know he is teaching me? Sometimes God helps you to give without you realising how much you are about to get.    

P.S. A note out of My Daily Reports of Field Work when i was doing M.S.W.