English . .
.
. . . is
an egoistic language.
That is why
. . .
I
makes
you
small! . .
. . . intoned
the sonorous voice, with dramatic pauses, rising to a crescendo with the words ‘I’
and ‘you’, the last accompanied by an accusing finger moving as if to jab a
meek front-bencher in the face.
The
flustered front-bencher stands up thinking that the larger than life teacher
was accusing him of a misdemeanor.
Durrani
waves a dismissive hand bidding the student sit and continues his exposition.
This scene
plays itself in front of my mind’s eye whenever I think of Durrani, my English
teacher, who passed away recently in Mysore.
He taught
us English in PUC in Yuvaraja’s College, Mysore.
His classes
were something to look forward to. The intricacies of the language, the nuances
in the story from the text book, good usage were all laid before you most
entertainingly, but never frivolously.
Years
later, when my sister enrolled in the same college, became an unabashed fan of
his, would come home and narrate one of the day’s highlights - from his class,
I felt a strange pride. An emotion for which there seems to be no explanation
except that he was “our” Durrani.
You know a teacher
lived a successful life, when his students remember him with awe, admiration,
and fondness.
Professor
Durrani was one such teacher.
Thank you for this short story, Very pleased to know he left good memories for most of his students.
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