Piloting A Flying Pen

 

 

I am often ridiculed by my friends for talking silly matters while they discuss serious things like melting polar ice cap, rising sea level or holes in the ozone layer. I could never convince them that what they brand silly are not so for me.

The latest in the series occurred on August 7, 2021 when Neeraj Chopra became the first Indian to win a Gold medal for India in athletics. When his spear flew in space a distance of 87.58 meters to land on gold I too was among those exhilarated Indians who jumped from their seats and danced. But as is my wont, my memories flew back in time, fifty years to be precise, and landed in our 10^th standard class room.

We all were a happy lot with whatever little we had. We never had branded pens or branded notebooks. My pen was a local product by the name Chandrika. I had no count of the number of pores through which it leaked. The only solace was that it leaked only while writing. Notebooks were not available in the market then. A month or so before the reopening of schools in June, an old man known as Binder Kutty Chettan would visit all houses in our village and collect the list of notebooks needed. He used to make notebooks for all of us. We never had complaints regarding the quality of a product as we had never seen anything better. If the eraser seldom erased anything, we still were happy.

One morning when I stepped into the classroom I found all the boys of the class crowded around an otherwise unassuming Radhakrishnan Nair whom we affectionately called Radha. I crept through the crowd and was amused to see Radha writing with something I couldn’t believe was a pen. “Japan Pilot”, someone whispered into my ear. The next sight was overwhelming. An Oxford Geometry box! Radha’s father had come home from England the previous day and gifted all these to him. We all felt like ordinary mortals before this wonder boy. But Radha sat there with unusual humility as if telling us, “don’t worry boys, I am still your old Radha and will remain so”.

Radha remained true to his words - polite, humble and loving. But within a week, without losing these virtues, Radha started showing magic with his Japan Pilot pen. This part of the story, none including my children has believed. My children kept saying that this is another of my fabricated stories. I will not blame these non-believers.

When teachers dictated notes, all of us except Radha struggled to keep pace with the dictation. Alongside taking down the notes, we had to manage our leaking pens which was an arduous task. But for Radha with his super smooth, non-leaking, robust Japan Pilot, it was just fun. When the teacher stopped dictating after a paragraph or two for explanations we all would be engaged in cleaning our profusely leaking pens. What Radha did was the most unbelievable feat of all. He would throw the pen without its cap like a javelin. While athletes threw it to the skies, Radha threw it on to the wooden desk. The pen with its strong sharp nib would make a perfect landing piercing the wood and remain there. When the teacher again started dictating, Radha would pull out the pen in style and write as if nothing had happened. This incident never left me and after all these years I can excuse myself for feeling jealous of Radha. And I can forgive all those non-believers too. After all, can any sensible person believe this?

 

Prof P T John

1991. If I remember correctly, March 31^st. 3.45 pm. I am very sure about the time. I and my senior colleague Easow Mohan Sir were walking from the CMS college office to the Physics department. Nearing room number 65-B (the BSc final year class), pointing to the room Easow Mohan Sir “that man is retiring in fifteen minutes”. P T John Sir taught till the last moment of his career. This he did when he could have availed one year leave due to him before retirement. 

In fifteen minutes he came to the department were we were waiting with mixed feelings. But he was there as if nothing special had happened. For him a teacher teaching, be it in his first class or in the last class after guiding generations of students, was not anything special. This is a regal attitude indeed. I was reminded of a statement by Manzoor Ali Khan Pataudi as the captain of the Indian cricket team. Once during a press conference someone asked him why he did not appreciate his team mate after he took a difficult diving catch during a crucial test match. With his characteristic serious look of the Nawab, he replied, “that was what for which I had deputed him at that position and I made no mistake”. “Epitome of arrogance”, we may say. But the message should not be missed. As the head of the department of Physics, P T John Sir never appreciated anyone for doing one’s duty, but I am witness to his being very harsh with people for dereliction of duty. His unreserved and unrestrained words and his rage on such occasions were unbelievable. Many of us had thought that he could have  been a little softer. But then, pretensions and diplomacy were too alien to his persona.

I have heard that during his younger days he used to come to the college in white and white attire. I have often thought what a fantastic look it would have been for such a handsome young man to be in white and white. No wonder he was the heartthrob of the campus. Beyond the uncompromising teacher with a terrific look, he was many other things too in the campus. He was a fantastic basket ball player.  I have heard the after 4 o’clock he was in the basket ball court training students for the college team. Later he was the NCC chief in the college. By the time I met him first, he has stopped these activities and was a devoted teacher in the fullest academic and philosophic meanings of that position. Towards the fag end of his career, he was the vice principal of the college also. His discipline he might have acquired during his NCC days, his love for all and honesty he might have imbibed from the sports field, if not innate. To quote Pochen Sir (Prof C O Philip), P T John Sir was a gentleman to his fingertips.

I am his neighbour for over quarter of a century. Yet I have visited him only three or four times. In the presence of such a man with so much of unique qualities, I always had an “unsettled’ feeling. Even as a great admirer of P T John Sir I was reluctant to go anywhere near him.

On the day of the funeral I met some of his students. They were taught thirty or forty years ago. But the enthusiasm, reverence and love with which they all talked was as if P T John Sir taught then even the other day. Sir’s memories were so strongly etched in their minds.

I have never seen him without that characteristic smile I was among the huge crowd that had assembled to pay there to pay our last respects. I remained there for a while. Yet, I think I did not look at his face.... in case that mesmerising smile is not there..? There are certain precious images in one’s life which one refuses to alter.

 

 

A drop of tear for my Damodaran Potti

 

I did not want to go there as I did not want to see Potti’s motionless body. I did not want to see his face without that eternal smile on his lips. The smile that spoke a thousand words. The smile that won many a heart and demolished many an adversary without uttering a word. Yet I went there as I knew for sure that Potti would love to see me before leaving. He was just peacefully sleeping. But with that missing smile, was that my Potti? I don’t know. My mind was still shuttling between reality and a refusal to believe it. Standing beside him, did I hear someone saying that Potti  departed after a heart attack? Very much possible. How could his slim body house such a big heart. Yes, he was incredibly large hearted. It is an irony of fate that there were people (very few of course) who could not understand the depth or vastness of his love. It is equally incredible that he could overcome hate with love. After all, love was the only language he knew.That sparkle in his eyes, those soft words he uttered, that smile that radiated love: Oh God, all these not any more?

Only those close to Potti knew him as a humourist. Of all the dimensions of humour he perhaps lacked just that clownish one. Most often his humour carried an element of the intellect. Self ridicule may sound clownish but it is possible only for those who are very confident of themselves. I remember the following incident. Potti was a PG student of physics in CMS college during 1986-88. The students of that class were on a tour to Kodaikanal along with some teachers. The students were engaged in some games in the Kodai garden and we all went back to the Kodai guest house where we were staying. Next morning Potti came to my room and said, “Sir yesterday Mini (P T John Sir’s daughter) lost her mutthumaala while playing in the garden. She realised of the loss only after reaching the guest house. She asked me to accompany her to the garden. But since it was too dark by then and after all it’s only a mutthumaala I discouraged. I thought she could buy a new one during the next Thirunakkara Utsavam. But Sir, she now tells that it coasts a few thousand rupees. Sir, will a mutthumaala cost ten or twenty thousand rupees?” This mutthumaala was a pearl maala! I sat wonderstruck by the Potti innocence. But in the years to come I had many occasions to realise that he was an incredibly strong personality who chose to remain behind the veil of innocence. He knew a lot on a variety of topics. He had a lot to speak. He never tried to impress anyone. But whoever came across him was won over by his purity of thoughts and the romantic beauty of the words he chose while speaking even casual things. His dreamy eyes spoke all that he wanted to speak. But did everyone hear those unspoken words? I doubt. He never complained and was a very contended man. While talking he was never in a hurry to stop. “But dear, didn’t you leave a little too early, in a hurry”.

Long back, once I met him near the Thirunakkara temple. Then he was working with the AHUJA company. He was their engineer responsible for the acoustics of big auditoriums in different parts of the country. I asked whether he was happy with the job. The answer to my question was so characteristic of him. He said. “ Sir, sabdathinte ardtha thalangal manasilaakki cheyyan aanenkil, dharalam cheyyanuntu” ( Sir, there is a lot to be done if one works understanding the nuances of sound). His employers might not have wanted him to go this far. But Potti with his sincerity and his eternal quest for perfection would go farther. These are virtues not often or never appreciated or applauded. But Potti never  worked to impress a boss. He was his own boss. Any work he took up, was done with the same devotion with which he performed poojas at the temple.

Let me come back to the tour to Kodaikanal. We all were having some exciting times at Kodai. During one of those ecstatic moments Mohan Kurien Sir’s then small little daughter Mini addressed Potti as Pottichayan. After that moment, Potti was Pottichayan to his class mates and we teachers. It is over three decades now. His name is saved as Pottichayan on my mobile phone. Some four or five years back we had this conversation.

“ Potti, I have saved your name as Pottichayan on my phone. I am going to change it as Potti”

“Why Sir?” He asked

“Potti, when we gave you that title you were a boy. Now you are a man, in fact a senior man. I should not take your name lightly.”

With his characteristic smile he replied,

“ You are not taking it lightly. That title carries the weight of love. Don’t change it Sir ”.

I did not change it.

I might not call up that number again.

But that name will never be deleted. That cannot be.

'Kabhi Alvida Na Kahena'.

"No Byes For You Potti'; Oh no .Pottichaya .........