By; Naseer Ahmad Khan
They were strolling parallel to the green lawn. It was a calm night. The moon was alone, bigger and brighter above the calm coniferous woods. The sky was clear blue. The stars were sparse. All the noises were dissolved by one massive noise: the gushing brook, furiously flowing through the bends, slapping boulders on her way, and slipping through the stone walls on the embankment. It is Atwathoo—a place that offers plentitude to wandering souls in search of peace and bewilderment. Such was the purpose when we would plan a hangout and a night out. My first preference would go to this place, especially if it was a scheduled night stay out there.
On one of those occasions, in the company of my friends—all of us happen to be teachers in the Department of Higher Education—I got a glimpse into what a teacher means to a student. It was a group of elderly men past post-retirement—the type of company that had a grand success behind them: a businessman, a contractor, a retired police officer.
They were schmoozing over a cup of tea, munching nuts and biscuits. One of them was doing the mimicry of a teacher from his college days as if picking up the golden threads from the innumerable knots of his life. Yes, he was performing this despite his age. Bemused at his memory of how his teacher would enter the class, he amazed his friends, who enjoyed this “Looking Back in Love.” They enjoyed the memory and mere mention of their teachers who, by this time, had been sleeping in their graves but were as fresh in their memory as the dew in morning cowslips.
The conclusion and the conclusive evidence I got from this little wonderful chit-chat and frolics was that the teacher definitely lives longer in the mind of his/her student. He leaves behind a greater impression and formidable influence. He perhaps continues a dominance in the heart of his learners and haunts them like a fond memory. That was the reason why a septuagenarian trio stole away some hours from their families just to sit back, relax, and commemorate the men who taught them when they were young undergraduates.
Definitely, I felt inexpressible jubilation over the prospect of being a teacher. Being a teacher meant being remembered longer, even in times when memory fades and recognition blurs. Being a teacher meant carrying an influence that brings vitality when the spirit falls. Being a teacher means being an inspiration that opens avenues when darkness consumes. Being a teacher means being a torchbearer when there is no Messiah for salvation. Being a teacher means occupying a permanent seat in the hearts and minds; a presence and a feeling for delight. Being a teacher means being a compass to a rudderless boat navigating in hot waters.
Being a teacher means being secretly admired and perpetually loved. A teacher stands for hope and optimism. A teacher is the name that commands respect simply because he is there in everything that makes a society. He is behind the success of all major walks of life. Inversely speaking, he is behind the collapse of a healthy society too. So, where he takes pride in the rise, he should feel shame for letting it down. While he takes credit for being a mentor and builder of a nation, he must take onus for the plunge and fall of a society. Behind a dead society is the epidemic of unhealthy teachers—the ones the men in their seventies were celebrating. The ones who taught me in my school days. They continue to be my heroes because they gave me the strength to rise when I was falling flat. Maybe they were not perfectionists; men not without a share of peccadilloes, but they had no serious faults. They banked on the pedagogy of love and hope. They saw to it that they would see us safe and secure. They were such a group of teachers that they wept for us when we were not with them. It is time to commemorate one of them who taught me when I was in my primary classes. His grandson, now a police inspector, narrated the events of his grandfather when you couch against the bed and ask him to read out the names of selected candidates. Finding my name not on the list, he would ask him to wrap it up and throw the newspaper in the dustbin. Then, with his head down, eyes moist, he would speak out over his spectacles, “It is all fake. Nassu” (He shortened my name to make it sound easier and more familiar) “is not there. I can’t trust it. No, it is not transparent. My Nassu is not there, and no one deserves to be there if he is not there.”
This is called conviction—the trust behind someone whom you taught. The faith behind your pupil. This comes when you know your student and know him closely. Add to it the concern and love of a teacher like the late Ghulam Mohideen Shah, popularly known as Gul Sahib, who was my teacher at Radiant Public School, Nadihal. (May Allah absolve him.) As a family, we owe him a gratitude we cannot pay back. He taught my father and most of my siblings. I wish he had seen his dream and conviction come true. Among others, I should have broken this news to him. I can only imagine the contentment and joy that my selection as a teacher would have brought to him! Alas, he was no more when it happened.
Likewise, my all-time favorite teacher, Mr. Showkat-u-Din Shah, whose influence I have been feeling all these years, wrote to me a letter when I was an undergraduate: “I want to see you in administration. I want you to qualify either IAS or KAS so that you will be productive from an effective platform.” With a mentor like him, it was difficult to dream of something else. I’m happy I became his shadow. I wish I could get that peace that was the hallmark of his personality. His holding of a chalk, the glint of his teeth, the accuracy of lines and circles, and the delight in his eyes while he would teach us mathematics and the principles of life have never been out of my mind but have actually settled in my heart.
There is a takeaway for all teachers who are sincere and happy with the choice or chance they got as teachers: care and connection. Can you be a teacher without caring, and can you be a teacher without connecting? Great teachers are remembered for these two chief reasons. They care for their students and connect them to the treasure of knowledge and enlightenment as prophets did for humanity. I fear that we are falling behind. The failure of teaching is purely because of these two reasons. We don’t care beyond our services. We have delivered the goods, and we have no strong connection. Probably, we don’t know our students, and they too don’t know us.
To add insult to injury and complete the ultimate loss of the teacher and his irrelevance to the scheme of structures lies the mission of a successful liberal corporate society. Definitely, it is going to revisit the role of the teacher in a society of type characters—the ones who are masters of a single skill and who can fit the effective machinery of the state. They are unlike individuals like the late Radhakrishnan or APJ Kalam, who would build a strong nation. They definitely are not strong individuals because they don’t have great teachers at their backs who would have made them into strong characters of head and heart. They are broken individuals—the type of characters who will be in stiff competition with robots and artificial intelligence. They must update their skills to keep going.
The word “celebration” to me in the context of Teacher’s Day is paradoxical. I personally feel no reason for celebration. Around me is a sick society, and the sickness of the society is accelerated by the death of the teacher. Among us, the teacher is dying or breathing on a ventilator. He has forgotten himself and his role. For generations, he had been that unsung hero—the unclaimed social reformer, a fighter against injustice. The grand invisible presence to administer between good and bad. The narrative is shifting. His space and sphere of influence are shrinking. His position is immiserated.
His teachings are put to a scale. His teaching is quantified. The abstractions like character building, critical thinking, and moral strengthening are missing from the scale where his performance is measured and monitored. Teaching doesn’t influence his boss. It is not surprising that when he puts his teaching forward, he gets reprimanded. “What else other than teaching?” His boss is not happy with him because he has nothing to show other than teaching. He is left with egg on his face until he learns to be a psychopath. He has learned selected panegyrics from his heart. He has become obsequious. He has learned report writing because he has to write a report for anything other than teaching. That is where his contribution comes. He is getting connected to his boss, who recommended him for a best teacher award. By this time, he helps the institution by visiting the offices and making liaison with the administration. He helps in working out expenditures and managing tours. He has forgotten his class. He doesn’t introspect. He doesn’t care, and he doesn’t connect with his students! He is a strange teacher, a teacher who doesn’t teach or teaches occasionally, that too with a heavy heart. He is a teacher who has abandoned teaching, yet he is contributing greatly to building the institution. Walls, lawns, halls, buildings, pools, cafeterias, plants, herbs, examinations, scholarships, and books?
Seven years ago, I wrote an essay titled “The Search for My Classroom.” Seven years later, I still hunt for that classroom. The classroom has gotten smart with a smart screen. But about three months ago, I met my students there. Since then, they were in examination and admission for the next semester. I don’t know how many of them have really passed.
(Naseer Ahmad Khan is a teacher in the Higher Education Department of Jammu and Kashmir and can be reached at khannaseer7928@gmail.com.)
(NOTE: The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of Kashmir Dot Com, its editorial staff, or its affiliates. KDC does not endorse or guarantee the accuracy of any claims made in this opinion piece.)
