Tribute to Teacher ~ T. Kaithang

1. I do not profess to be a writer, much less a story-teller. But it’s been quite a while since I contemplated making an attempt to put in writing some words about a person who influenced the course of my life and enabled me to attain, if I may use the phrase, a measure of success which has come my way so far. Now that I have got down to actually pen my piece, it may not provide an interesting reading fare, Nevertheless. . . . .

2. My family had settled in my present day locality of the town. Like any father who feels deep concern for his children’s education, father suggested that I should enroll myself at the local Government-run Secondary School. Necessary enquiries having been made, father somehow managed to buy a textbook for beginners in the Manipuri script. As classes for the primary section were held in the morning, father took me to the school in the morning and entrusted me to the care of "Awja" Hmingthanga, who promptly escorted me to my class and handed me over to one very stern-looking Awja (teacher). I was seated next to a boy senior in age to me, and therefore, logically wiser in the ways of survival which I, soon after, came to find out rather painfully. I saw that my classmates had slates and chalk pencils in addition to the textbook which I also held in my hand. The stern-looking Awja with a cane in hand sat in a chair and occasionally barked something in Manipuri which was Greek to me. For some reason I could not comprehend, the boy next to me pushed his slate and chalk pencil right in front of me. After some time, the awja got up from his chair, menacingly pointed his cane at the students one after another, all the time ordering them. The pupils obediently stood up, showed something. Some were ordered to sit down while others were made to stand up on the bench. The latter were then ordered to stretch out one hand, palm up which soon recoiled with agonizing pain as the cane came crashing down. It was a frightful sight. As my turn came, I also dutifully stood up, and without any idea of what I was ordered to do, I, proudly and innocently, produced my brand new Manipuri book and showed it to him. Instead of appreciating the fact that a new boy had come for the first time with a new book on the very first day, he gestured wildly with the cane. I saw that he was telling me to stand up on the bench like the unfortunate dozen or so. I got up on the bench, stretched forth my hand and "Whack! Whack" came the cane on the palm as my entire body shook with pain. Although I did not understand why I was caned then, I learned later that the Awja had told the entire class to write down some lesson. So you see why the boy next to me very cleverly slid his slate and chalk in front of me? For your information, he escaped the cane because he didn’t have any slate! As for me I could never muster sufficient courage to reach the school after the caning. I would often go as far as Sarkar’s Store, in front of late Pu Thangzam Gangte’s residence, and spent the morning playing marbles in the dusty verandah. Somehow, father came to know about my playing truant. But to my immense relief, he told me we would start afresh once Don Bosco School came to my neighborhoods.

3. Don Bosco L.P. School was set up next door to our house soon after. Initially, it was housed in a very humble thatched building in a small compound. Altogether, there were classes from Class A to Class III. Classes from Class IV to Class VIII were held in another building at Phailian. Father enrolled me naturally in Class A. Mrs. E. Nolly was the headmistress for the L.P. Section of the school. Other teachers I can still remember are U Remi, U Zachhungi and Pu Thata. Unlike the present crop of beginners, our course was based on the syllabus copied from Mizoram. Thus, we carried books written in Lushai, with English and Manipuri thrown in from Class I or II onward. U Zachhungi was a thin, fair-complexioned lady. She did not remain in the school for long. But the others were with the school for 20 or 30 years. U Remi was, and still is, a fat lady, possessing a well-endowed body. Despite her weight, she was remarkably fast in her movements. Almost everyone remembers her for the excruciating pain she liberally gave out by pinching us. Pu Thata taught us Manipuri, Hindi, Arithmetic, drill and parade. He was a strict disciplinarian who did not believe in sparing the rod. In fact, all teachers of the period taught us with cane in hand not merely for intimidation. I vaguely remember that there were more teaching staff members whose names I cannot quite recall.

4. Our classes would start with an assembly of students for an announcement followed by prayer. This was usually held outdoor. We, the students who numbered approximately a hundred were a rag-tag lot as many of us could not afford uniform or a pair of shoes. The entire school compound was just an extension of the environment in that it was muddy and slushy in the rainy season and would turn dusty during the dry season. Very often, classrooms were equally bad and there were times when unwary students slipped and fell in the wet floor. On several occasions, a portion of the roof of the building would get blown away in the night. The roof would also leak profusely in heavy downpour. In such situations, teachers had no choice, but to let us go home much to our delight and relief. I remember an incident when, because of rain, we were compelled to hold the assembly and prayer inside one of the larger classrooms. All of us, including teachers, were supposed to close our eyes during prayer. While the prayer was in progress, I suddenly felt the urge to spit and I did spit on the earthen floor. After prayer, Mrs. Nolly scolded me for spitting during prayer. How did she know that I spat if she also closed her eyes?

5. Possessing a fountain pen was something like a status symbol for us. There were two popular brands, the Doric and the Champion, each of which cost around 50 paise. If a pen was lost, it would take a very hard labour for my father to procure another. Once, while I was in Class II, the main body of the pen slid out of the lid when I had to go to bazaar during the lunch break. I discovered the loss when I returned to school. I pulled out my pen and out came the lid minus the body. I felt so bad I rushed home, fell on the bed and cried. My poor mother went and spoke to the teachers across the fence. Fortunately for us, one of the students had picked up the pen and brought it to the teachers who passed on the information to my mother. Then I was reunited with my missing pen. Staying close to the school had its advantage as I could run home and cry.

6. There was a disadvantage also. Among the many who would come to our house were the teachers for a cup of water. One day, Mrs. Nolly was taking lessons on Cleanliness in Hygiene subject. Naturally, the topic veered around to keeping the utensils clean. At this point I (being prone to talk without thinking) proudly told everyone that all our utensils were clean. But our teacher said, "No. No. I have seen your utensils". Again I said, "The pots and pans might be dirty outside, they are quite clean inside". Mrs. Nolly then shot back, "I have seen your pots and pans everyday and say that neither the outside nor the insides are clean". My face reddened with embarrassment when all the class had a nice laugh at my expense.

7. Our school compound was quite small. Even then, the rather modest building left enough space for school garden. Once a week, we were required to come to school with tools like hoe, spade or big knives. I remember one year we managed to cultivate the garden and grew some vegetables and fruit which came out beautifully. Pumpkin leaves and the pumpkin, cucumber, peas, maize, etc., were almost ready for harvest. We all looked forward to harvesting and enjoying the fruit of our labour. One day, a rumour spread around the school whispering to everyone that all the fruits were meant for the headmistress and her family and that we were being deprived of our hard-earned harvest. This so infuriated all the students that all of us rushed into the garden in a mini-riot to destroy all that we had worked for. The garden looked as if a herd of cattle had just been through it. After the damage was done, the teachers came. We were nicely reprimanded during the assembly. The headmistress also clarified that her family had never intended to deprive anybody. We could only look on sheepishly.

8. I often recall that even in Class III our standard of knowledge of the English vocabulary was limited to words like go, eat, play, stand, sit, days of the week or some prominent colours like red, blue, white, black and so on. Despite this extreme limitation, we managed to derive hilarious pleasure one day while learning questions and answers in the English class. One question and answer went something like this:

Q. What is the colour of your hair?
Ans. My hair is black.

It may sound incredible to a Class III pupil of today if I say that we were given about 15 minutes to learn this. When our headmistress was about to test us, she unfortunately picked on a dark-looking boy, for whom black seems to be the natural colour.
Headmistress: What is the colour of your hair?
Boy (after an embarrassing pause): My black.
We all burst out laughing. We could make out that the teacher, too, was amused from the grin on her face.

9. By the time I was in Class III, I had become more sensitive to taunts and jokes my classmates directed at me. At that time, my mother had undergone prolonged hospitalization. When she was discharged, she came home without any hair on her head as her hair had fallen off, caused by her excessive medication. Her bald head was visible from time to time and it became the subject of many jokes as my classmates would deliberately make fun of her to hurt me. I used to be deeply hurt, and often squirmed. I would report to my mother and she would comfort me with words like "Don’t listen to them. Just concentrate in your studies." As I was one of the smallest boys, I stood no chance against the other boys. In fact, there were some girls who were taller and a lot tougher, who would pull my hair and shake me like a doll. I could tolerate boys beating me: I simply cried. But girls were different. Although tears would well up in my eyes, I refused to cry publicly. How I wished I had a big brother to protect me!

10. Another reason why my classmates took liberty with me was my family’s abject poverty-known and seen by everyone. I was using shirts and short trousers which were held together by patches here and there. Sitting at the front row was very embarrassing: those behind me saw that the back of my trousers were patched or sewn together. If it was not so sometimes, well, the clothes were simply "see through". If my classmates could not appreciate my condition, I am grateful that my teachers, especially Mrs. Nolly, understood. She would exempt me from paying the regular monthly tuition fees. I was also often exempted from paying the Exam fee, about a rupee, and would sit for exams free of charge. At times, my parents just could not purchase even a pair of canvas shoes for me, and I would often go barefoot to school. Inspite of all these, my parents never gave up. Time and again, they approached the Headmistress to allow me to sit in the class and would beg her to enroll me at the beginning of the academic year on credit – fees would be paid later. She understood. With patience and kindness, she advised my parents not to stop sending me to school for lack of money. My parents and I, we were only too happy to continue in the school. Finally, as the academic season of 1963 drew to a close, I also passed Class III and stood qualified to go to Jr. High School at Phailian village.

11. Today, after 40 years have gone by, I often look back on this part of my life. I can say without any hesitation that I am what I am today because of the extra grace, kindness and understanding showed to me and my family by a few teachers, and chiefly by Mrs. Nolly. She is the one person who had influenced the course of my life by giving me that unmerited kindness. I owe her a lot more than what I can give her through this little piece of writing.

(Mrs. Nolly has gone to her final resting place on 18.9.2003. May her soul rest in peace.)

(taken from zogam.com nalh leh hoih kasakluat ziak a kei mimal adia kana lak ahihkha)