Why do I remember Iyer Sar?

Immediately after my previous post “Iyer Sar”, Sam Varghese confronted me with the statement that  I have started the write up with a blatant lie. He says that my statement that I have thought of Iyer Sar every day all these years is unbelievable. In a way Sam cannot be blamed. Remembering a teacher every day even after forty-five years surely sounds incredible or crazy or honestly said, as Sam did, a lie. I didn’t  feel hurt as I knew that what I said was not only true but  an understatement even.  One solace was that the ever doubting Shyla did not question. Anyway, I feel, I owe an explanation.

As I mentioned in the previous post, most often remembering Iyer Sar occurs while reading “The Hindu” (or for that matter, any English news paper). Even two days back there  was a news  item in connection with  demonetisation. The reserve bank came out with a statement that almost all the demonetised money have come back to the banks and the title of the article in the news paper was “Much DeMo about nothing”. Shakespeare’s “Much Ado about nothing” flashed through my mind and the glowing eyes of Iyer Sar behind those thick glasses too.

 Forty-five years ago who else would have told me about Keats ....” a thing of beauty”? Who else would have given me that “Joy for ever”?
   
 I cannot claim that I am a man of immense confidence. I am usually broken even by the slightest signs of distress. Yet there had been occasions  when I could show some composure and wait for good days, thanks to Iyer Sar who told us of Shelley .... “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”

E John Jacob alias Pradeep was an English teacher in CMS college. He was one or two years younger to me and we were very good friends. Anyone would love to be his friend. He was a great human being, a brilliant teacher and one of those rare English teachers who would think in English. As he thought in English his language was fluent and very elegant too. During our early years in the CMS College, one day we were sitting in the common staff room and while chatting, in some context, I said “Achilles heel” and in his typical style he exclaimed “Oh Raj, you have heard of Achilles?”  Then I had not thought that knowing Achilles was such a big thing to elicit such an exclamation from someone like Pradeep. I told him about Iyer Sar and his special ways of his teaching, transforming students.

 I have any number of instances to narrate. It was from Iyer Sar I first heard of “deceptive appearance”, “cup of tea”, “both ends meet” and many more. And of spellings. Dictations were an integral part of his classes and he used to pick those words students are likely to misspell. Lieutenant, Colonel Bourgeois, Rendezvous  etc. And “ etc” to me would have been exetra ant not etcetera but for Iyer Sar. One day during the “spelling bee” he said "Diesel". All of us wrote it right and the only one to misspell was George Koshy. Incidentally Mr Koshy George father of, George Koshy, then owned one of the two petrol pumps in Mavelikara.

 I don’t know whether others remember their teachers the way I do. I certainly remember all those teachers who have impacted my intellect and my heart. My gratitude towards them is beyond description and it will remain undiminished for ever. Having written this much as an explanation, I think it is my duty to write about some other  teachers too whom I remember with reverence and gratitude, the way I remember Iyer Sar.

Iyer Sar

Prof A Anantha Siva Iyer might sound exotic. But the Guru in my heart is Iyer Sar. So should be it with the tens of thousands of his students. Iyer Sar is no more with us, but he will live in the hearts of his disciples the world over. This may sound a cliche but I feel that any lesser expression will not just suffice to portray the real picture. It was during 1971-73 that I had the good fortune of attending his classes in Bishop Moore College, Mavelikara. Honestly I can say that since then there wasn't a day I had not thought of him. Almost every day there cropped up some incident to remember him. Let me start with the following one some twenty five years ago. Then in my late thirties, I was traveling by the Parasuram express to Thiruvanandapuram. During such travels I seldom talk or mingle with the fellow travelers as I enjoyed the fleeting sights through the window. My fellow traveler was in his  sixties and had all the looks of a high ranking government official. That was another reason for my keeping aloof. But he took the liberty to intrude and started talking to me. I remember the disdain on his face learning that I am a college teacher. Bluntly he told me on my face that ninety per cent of the college teachers in Kerala are good for nothing. He went on to say that there are gems outside but they are never selected. They remain in the dark unfathomed depths. They remain unseen and have to waste their talents etc etc. Usually I don't contest such audacious statements but suddenly I felt a flash in my mind and said, "Sir, I see Thomas Gray in your words." Saying this I recited Gray,
                 "Full many a gem of purest ray serene
                  The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
                  Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
                 And waste its sweetness on the desert air".
The disdain turned  into disbelief and he asked me, " You said you teach Physics and you know this?"
I proudly, yet with feigned humility, waxed eloquent about Iyer Sar.
I am addicted to "The Hindu". I find that most of the headings have a background which I would have missed but for Iyer Sar. Recently a girl called Priya Warrior was catapulted to stardom with just one wink and The Hindu had this caption " The wink that launched a million likes?" Reading this I remembered Iyer Sar narrating the Dr Faustus exclamation,
               "Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,
                 And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?"
I remember Iyer Sar as a teacher who often went far beyond the text book and at times took the students to the horizons of fantasy. That was an experience beyond description. He used to quote profusely from the classics suiting well with the context. But for his classes I would never have  understood the wisdom or otherwise of lending and borrowing. He quoted from Hamlet,
               "Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
                 For loan oft loses itself and friend."
These days when elected members of the people are herded from resorts to resorts, I remember Iyer Sar telling us about Bernard Shaw's "Last Resort"
He used to enter the class like a gentle breeze but would induce a "Tempest" in the thought process of the discerning student. Never made any "Ado" in the class. The classes were like the freely flowing bansuri of Chaurasia.
I disagree with Shakespeare (these also I heard from Iyer Sar) when he says in King Lear and Macbeth,
               "Life is a tale told by an idiot,
                Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing"
No. No idiot could have ever told the tale of of the life of Iyer Sar. A life where there weren't any  sound and fury.And of course, a life that signified a lot.
               "As flies to wanton boys, are we to gods,
                 They kill us for their sport"
No, no, no I disagree. Iyer Sar lived a glorious life of eighty six years.
A life that his family can be proud of. A life that arouses awe in anyone who had the good fortune of interacting with him. A life that students look upon with huge admiration and gratitude .A life as a peerless teacher who taught with a purpose. A life no ordinary mortal can emulate.            
Now an anecdote from a Virginea Woolf short story.
The soul of a very nice man who lived a very good life on earth was proceeding towards heaven after his death. On reaching the gates the person in charge could not find his name in the list of entrants. But the person in charge was very sure of the man's eligibility and he contacted God and  God answered. "The person qualifies to be here in heaven. But the guy has regularly attended the classes of great teachers and thus on earth itself he has enjoyed all that we have here in heaven and much more. So for the time being we send him hell"
Do the students of Iyer Sar face this danger??
Respected Sar,
I bow my head in reverence. I thank you for all I could learn from you.You will be remembered for ever ......and of course......in particular.....every time I hear the notes of Sreeragam. Endaro Mahanubhavulu .........

Elixir in primary colours

 I had never thought of this story. But when I wrote of an incident  ( real, but unfortunately people refuse to believe --- even the protagonist denies) at  the PM hospital in Mavelikara, suddenly I had some fleeting memories of the Malaya Dispensary near the Pookkada junction and quite a few incidents cropped up in my mind. This hospital was also known as the Prasad’s hospital.

A word about Dr Prasad. When I had his “darshan” for the first time I might have been six or seven and he was in his late sixties. His thick grey hair on his head and the thick grey handlebar moustache gave him an exotic look and he was certainly much more handsome than someone a third his age. He comes to the hospital in the morning and the first thing he does was to remove his shirt and hang it on the back of his chair. While on duty he wore pants and a banyan with sleeves. Every time I was taken there with fever, head ache or stomach ache I had noticed all that I have described above. It should be mentioned that those days there weren’t any disease beyond fever and head ache. It was easy for parents to write the clichéd leave letters “as my son/daughter was suffering from fever and head ache ....”. The first change occurred when a student wrote one for himself as he was suffering from his sister’s marriage.

On every occasion  I was there with some problem or other I had noticed one thing. The treatment had a simple pattern.  The doc will first examine the patient and scribble something on a piece of paper which the patient has to take to the “Kamponder”.  Kamponder is the ancient form of the Chemist. The name might have its genesis in the work he did. After a glance at the prescription he would mix some three or four liquids measured out of big bottles  using an ounce glass and forms a compound.  Thus the one who prepares a compound is a “Compounder” and the “Kamponder” is by natural evolution, the way Superintendent evolved into Suprant or Hurricane lamp evolved into Arrakkan lamp or  Jaffna Pukayila evolved into Chappanam Pola. Kamponder, Compounder or whatever, the patient always got the medicine in the liquid form in one of the primary colours – Red, Blue or Green.  The medicine always had a magical effect with the patient getting cured in a day or two.  Some five years ago Pradeep  (Pradeep Luke Sam) told me of a Thomachan doctor in his village. Whatever be the problem of the patient, this doc too gave the same medicine, again in one of the primary colours and of course, with quick relief.

Pala Thulli Peruvellom

The scene is again the Malaya Dispensary. This time I was there with fever or head ache of course, and was a 10^th standard student. Nothing has changed. The same doc in the same" uniform", the same “Kamponder” and of course the medicines in the same colours. I don’t remember who was accompanying me. But I very well remember the following incidents. I found Kumarettan (name changed) lying on a stretcher very very weak. His father was an aristocratic feudal Nair of our village. Kumarettan was the unchallenged boozer of the village. I saw Dr Prasad running towards the stretcher and feeling Kumarettan’s pulse. As per his instructions Kumarettan was taken to a special room. Those days none had heard of ICU’s or other units. After some twenty minutes or so Dr Prasad came out with sweat all over his face and his banyan soaked in sweat. From the doc’s talk with Kumarettan’s relatives (by this time some of my uncles too had arrived), I gathered that the patient’s heart had stopped and it was revived with great effort. I still remember what the doc said next. “Last week I saw his X-ray. He has only two or three centimeters of liver left. If he consumes another drop of alcohol he will die”. The crowd slowly dispersed. I have no first hand information of the next part of the story. But the person who narrated that was a highly respected senior of my family. The story goes like this. Kumarettan was admitted there and along with the medicines, complete rest was advised. By about 8 O’clock in the evening a nurse came to give an injection but alas, she was shocked  to see none in the bed. She waited for quite some time and was shell shocked to see Kumarettan and the bystander walking unsteadily towards the room. Even before she could open her mouth Kumarettan said ,”Prasad doctor said that one more drop and I will die. I have big faith in him. Therefore I took one full glass in one go! My dear child, I feel much better. Good bye to drops”.

When this incident occurred I was 16 and Kumarettan 26.  It is 45 years now. He still maintains that ten year lead over me.  The only adverse thing that had happened to him was that his teeth deserted him even as he was entering his forties. So good bye to drops was not such a bad decision???

Shyla, I and The Schrondinger's Cat

1983 or 1984 I don’t remember exactly. My right ankle had sprained. Those days there weren’t specialty or super specialty hospitals unlike as in these days when we have such hospitals separately for the right ankle and left ankle. In Mavelikara, the PM hospital, popularly known as “Pilippintasootri” (Philip's Hospital) was the panacea. After the registration formalities I was told to follow the nurse to the doctor’s room. Limping, I found it impossible to catch up with the fleeting nurse, a young little girl. After moving in “first gear’ for some time I could spot the angel waiting impatiently for this hapless patient. Seeing me limping towards my destination the angel flew into the doctor’s room, came out in no time and waved to me indicating that I can go in. In a little while after the angel flew past me I reached the room still in the “first gear”. I gently pushed the half-door and tried to sneak in. I found the doctor, again a small little girl, examining a patient who was lying on the patient’s table. The table was the typical narrow one that can just keep the patient from falling down like the Newton’s apple. Also, these tables are often very high so that the doctors examining the patient will not have to bend.  Though the table is designed so for the comfort of the doctor this girl-doctor (read lady-doctor) was standing on her toes to have at least  a glimpse of the patient. The patient was a fat man in his sixties and that added to the effective height ( and  also to the misery of the young doctor)of the point of examination.  Seeing the doctor struggling to examine the patient I withdrew from the room and waited like a decent citizen never eager to jump the queue. I was then in my twenties and had this mischievous thought. Instead of standing on her toes and trying in vain to plant the resonator of the stethoscope on the patient’s chest she could carefully throw it and achieve her aim !!! There was a chair near the patient’s table and standing on that and examining was the easiest thing to do but a doctor cannot do that.  Standing there, now in neutral gear, I explored various possibilities but none was worthy of being conveyed to a doctor (one was to ask the patient to climb down and lie on the floor !!!).  Some fifteen minutes might have elapsed. The angel appeared again and with a contemptuous stare asked me “didn’t go inside, yet?” Before I could open my mouth she ordered “just go in”. I felt like telling the angel that you are only a little girl still in your teens and I am twenty seven and am teaching in the first college in India, the CMS college, Kottayam. Those days I thought that teaching in CMS was a great thing.  It was only much later I realised that what matters is what you teach and how. Anyway wisdom prevailed and I went inside. This time I was not as much gentle with the half-door as I was earlier. The doctor still standing near the patient turned back and seeing me she shrieked “Edo, Iyyallo”. She abandoned the patient and seeing me limping, came to me and helped me sit on the stool near the patient’s  table. “That was like an angel” I told myself. I too was pleasantly surprised. She was Shyla. Shyla P Sankunni. Now  Dr Shyla P Sankunny. The brilliant head of the 1973 II II B (read 2 2 B) batch of the Bishop Moore College Mavelikkara. I had not seen her since then but had learnt of her 2^nd rank in BSc Botany in the Kerala University and joining the Kottayam medical college for her MBBS.

Time was ticking away and this doctor had no intention of asking me what brought me there. She kept narrating old stories and inquired about what all happened to me after I left Bishop Moore College etc. I too felt very happy seeing her after some ten years. It was some ten minutes and the doctor was in no mood to examine the sprain on my right ankle. The pain was disturbing but we kept talking all bla bla bla. The room was very small and I could not even stretch my legs to make myself a little more comfortable.  Sitting on the stool made me more uncomfortable and I banked on the table behind me with my elbow resting on the table knowing well that this can be considered indecent by the patient lying there. But I wanted to relax a little. It was another ten minutes and I thought I should remind the doctor of her duties towards her patients  as I started feeling a sort of conscience prick thinking of the abandoned patient on the table just behind me. I told myself,” The guy must be too weak. Otherwise he would have got down from the table and walked off in protest against this neglect or insult”.  In a low voice I conveyed my concern to the “unethical” doctor.

Shyla rose from her seat, laughed aloud and told me “Edo athoru dead body aanu” ( Bro, that’s a dead body).

My good heavens !!! For so long I was sitting with a dead body ?!? Oh oh my elbow was even touching him !! oooh!!  Instantly  I sprang on my feet and jumped on to the veranda crashing the half door and in the melee I forgot to protect my right ankle and as it happens on such occasions I landed on my right foot ! I heard a small sound and I told myself that something has broken inside my leg. But alas, the pain has disappeared  !!!  Is this the healing touch of doctors ??

Kaippuniam. Kaippuniam indeed, I told myself.

The next day I went again to the PM hospital. By the night  I realised that my landing after the “three-and a half somersault” was not “perfect”. The problem with the right ankle has shifted to the left one. So the sound I heard was not the right one getting cured but the left one getting injured.

Note: Those who have not learnt Quantum Mechanics kindly Google for The Schrodinger's Cat.

Alappuzhakkaran Kesavan Aangala

This one is a sequel to the previous post. Therefore please read “Celebration In A Ghost House”  so as to get a continuity of the story. In that, I have narrated how Mohan Kurien Sir with his uncanny knack of spinning yarns could fool us so easily. Now the next day morning after Mohan Kurien Sir “complemented” us for our cowardice I was sitting in the lawn with a sense of defeat when I heard some low pitched yet mellifluous unorganised humming notes. “Top of the World”, I said. Christeena or Liby, I don’t  remember  was humming this “Carpenter’s” number. My sense of defeat melted and I was mesmerised by the beauty of the song. Perhaps it appealed to me so much since I was in the unique ambience of Kodai. It resurrected my spirits and my mind again became musical. Christeena promised to sing the song in the company of Liby in the evening, but I could not wait. Before the tour party started off for the day’s sightseeing they sang in perfect harmony and back in Kottayam, I made them sing the song many times for me.

We were in Kodai for two or three days. All the fun apart, leaving Kodai after being in unison with the enchanting beauty of nature in its majestic glory and breathing the cool air filled with the fragrance of Eucalyptus , was always very painful to me.

The swirl down the hair-pin curves of the Kodai hills was a nightmare for me. I used to have all kinds of problems like giddiness, pain in the ear and nausea. Therefore until our bus “landed” on the plains I would remain rooted to my seat with closed eyes. During all the tours to Kodai this part remained dreaded.  It takes a little over two hours to reach the plains. This time a nice thing happened.  A certain song I had heard during my school days came to my mind. It is a sedate folk song which goes like ....”Alappuzhakkaran Kesavan aangala enikkoru kuthu thoda venam ....”. I don’t know how it surfaced in my mind because it is so sedate, unsuitable for a tour party raring to rock. In half slumber an idea crept into my mind. I did a little bit of what we call “re-mixing”. A “Dhintha Dhithai” was inserted after “Alappuzhakkaran” and a “Dhakridha Dhithai” after pronouncing Alappuzhakkaran for a second time. And the Alappuzhakkarans (twice) were given an inebriated punch replacing the sedate, decent original Alappuzhakkaran. The effect was magical. The dragging monotonous stuff  sprang into the lightning stuff so suited for a tour party.

On reaching the plains, I conveyed the idea to Durga. We had a small rehearsal and the musically talented boys and girls picked up the high spirits of Alappuzhakkaran.  They wanted me to lead. Though I liked it I am always very shy.  Still I agreed. All the senior teachers were pleasantly surprised by the new number. It reached a crescendo and remained there non stop. The song had all the makings of a Pandimelam. Singing with closed eyes I was in high spirits and the boys and girls were dancing in joy and their chorus resonated well with the tempo of the music. On situations  like these one loses one’s sense of time. It went on and on and on when I felt some one tapping gently on my shoulders. Naturally I neglected it. After a few seconds I felt the tap again but this time it was not as gentle as it was earlier. But I was in no mood to relent.  The third time it was not a tap but a mighty hit on my shoulder. I stopped and opened my eyes, only to see Easow Mohan Sir ferociously staring at me. Seeing the fire in his eyes I politely asked “What Sir”. Without saying anything he pointed to outside. My good heavens!! I could not believe. I realised that the bus was not moving. It was parked in some unknown place in Tamil Nadu and I could see about a hundred Tamilians dancing all around the bus in frenzy. They demanded continuing the music. But seeing the fire still in EMG’s eyes all music had deserted me. We were facing a dangerous situation. Some in the crowd started asking us to stay in their village overnight with dance and music of this variety. I fell into my seat and remained there as if I knew nothing. Somehow  Easo Mohan Sir with his Tamil and Mohan Kurien Sir with his diplomacy of all seasons, convinced the crowd that we have to reach Kottayam  by mid night and extracted their permission to leave. And there was no music thereafter. The next day I learnt from Mohan Kurien Sir of what had happened. He narrated the incident like this. The bus was running non stop for some two hours and the music too. When the bus reached a small little place with a tea shop someone suggested to have tea and the bus stopped there. That was the time when the  labourers from the nearby paddy field came to the tea shop after a gruelling day in the scorching sun. And our music gave them the much needed entertainment. And naturally they started dancing. I have often felt that thalam (beats) and dance are encrypted in the Dravidian Chromosomes.

Though there were a few criticisms,  in my mind I felt a little flattered. The Tamilians danced only since there was the right Talam and Melam to invoke those powerful Dravidian expressions.