REMEMBERING A FRIEND

Sribatsa Nanda was a classmate of mine in Ravenshaw College while we were studing Science in the Intermediate stage(1958-60). His command over Mathematics was awesome. He was never the type of students who would slog for hours over books. He was basically jovial by nature; liked to joke with friends and would wear a look of being nonserious in studies. Results would show otherwise. He would excel in all subjects. Occasionally I would see him in the Common Room of the East Hotel-- where we stayed--- alone, reading a newspaper or, in company, enjoying a cricket commentary in the radio. He was one of the few who loved to wear a Dhoti and was quite comfortable and proud of what he wore. He could have joined any discipline of knowledge and even could have made to other vocations. Like me he could have joined the civil service as well. But he had his vision set. And , he took to teaching as his profession and was a respected teacher in the Regional Engineering College at Rourkela. On superannuation, he joined a private College and continued to teach. Teaching was his passion.

We met accidentally one day in the morning on the road, near our house. We were meeting after years. We talked for a while and he remembered my father. His fondness and admiration for him moved me a bit and I told him about an incident relating to my father. On retirement from civil service, my father kept himself busy on many activities, mostly in the areas of social and economic mobilisation of the deprived segments of the society. He also spent some time in developing a good school in the area we lived. He  used to teach a few blind students of the BJB College residing in the Hostel nearby. I never knew about it while he was alive. After his demise, a close associate of his had told us of his pastime of teching the physically challenged students. 

One evening. this teaching schedule had got upset as my father overstayed in another programme. He suddenly remembered his promise to  teach the blind students for sometime that evening. It was examination time. He hurried to reach them while regretting the delay. His friend and he finally reached the Hostel. It was late but he kept the promise. By then the students had switched off the light and were on the beds in the protection of mosquito nets. My father entered the room with his usual endearingly loud voice asking them to get up. The children immediately came out of the beds; switched on the light. Father taught them for over an hour and left them only after getting an assurance that they would have no problem answering questions in the examination the next day.

 Sribatsa was listening to me with rapt attention like a child. I saw tears welling up and rolling down. I saw  a sensitive Teacher in him weeping. We spent some more time and then I returned home and he went to the place where he was staying.

That was the last that I saw him. One day I heard about his sudden passing away. It was my turn to shed tears.


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3rd November, 2012