Memory
©Manas Gupta
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In Memory Of My Nanaji
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"Let me tell you about the woman who transformed my
life." This was how Harry would
always start his favourite story
Harman Singh Sidhu was seven years old when he first saw "Stella
ma'm". He was now 77. A retired professor, he could never stop speaking about
Stella, the gorgeous English teacher who "changed his life". He told
everyone about her. He told his college buddies, his cousins, his paanwala, his
doctor, his students, his children and now his grandchildren. And then he told
them again.
His eyes would glaze over as he narrated the story, a tiny
smile showing the spark of happiness that the memory brought and it would
always start with "Let me tell you about the woman who transformed my
life."
Harman, Harry to his friends, believed attack was the best
way of defence and was
often on the lookout for naive targets to capture and regale with stories of
his youth. This time, as he finished listening to his customary news on TV, he decided
to make a surprise assault on his granddaughter Harneet. His grandson Harpreet
had no time for him and was usually busy with his videogames and Internet. But
Harneet had a soft corner for him. "That's why I always say one should
have girls," he used to tell anyone who would listen.
He looked at Harneet and asked: "What are you doing bitiya?" The word 'bitiya' was his
favourite weapon for Harneet. "Won't you come and sit with your nanu for a
while?"
Harneet sighed. She knew what was coming. A second-year
college student, Harneet was already a graduate from the school of Harman
affairs, having heard his stories more times then he heard the news.
"Achca theek hai
nanu."
"Good, said Harry. "Let me tell you about..... "
"the woman who transformed your life," Harneet
finished the sentence. "Yes, yes. Let's hear it nanu. I wonder why you
didn't tell me this story 45 times before."
Harry ignored the sarcasm and began. "It was 1989. My
father, he was an Air Force officer you know, had just brought us to Delhi from our hometown Bijnor, near Meerut."
"I know where it is nanu," Harneet interjected, a
tad irritated. "We go every year, don't we?"
"Yes, yes, the same place," Harry said, eager to
continue his story before she lost interest and left.
"I was an intelligent boy who abhorred taking risks,
hated sports and was in love with comics and storybooks. The problem with me
was my language. I was fluent in Hindi, but very poor in English. My Hindi was
quite good... you know I got a distinction in my Xth Boards. I..."
"I think you're digressing nanu," Harneet said,
well aware that he was wandering off the plot.
"Oh! Where was I?"
"Poor in English," said Harneet.
"Yes, yes, I was very poor in English. What happened
was that I flunked the entrance test of the Air Force Golden Jubilee School.
Can you believe it? I actually flunked. My father was so embarrassed, he
threatened to send me to boarding school."
"After my parents had explained to the authorities that
I had been in a Hindi-medium school all this while, they decided to give me
another chance. This time, I managed to scrape through by the skin of my
butt..."
"Teeth," said Harneet.
"Huh? No, no, I have eaten breakfast. I don't need my
teeth."
"No nanu, I am not talking about your false teeth. The
skin of your....Oh never mind. So you
scraped through, haan?"
"Yes, I was admitted in that lovely school where I met
Stella. I saw her on the very first day of school. She was the most beautiful
woman I had ever seen. At that age, I didn't even have the right hormones you
know, but the sight of her made my cheeks turn red. Red enough for her to
notice and even pinch them."
"'So, you're the new boy Mister Red Cheeks,' she had asked."
She was tall, had shoulder-length curly hair, large and full
lips and a bright smile that lit up the room she entered. What really
captivated me was her voice. A low melodious voice combined with a clear
diction as she elucidated every word. She dressed smartly, especially for 1989,
wearing skirts and trousers and large dangly earrings and was generous with
make-up. For a boy from Bijnor, she was a captivating angel."
"I replied to her cheek-pinching query with a "Ji madamji. Main new hoon",
pleased as punch for having understood her English and her accent."
"Her frown told me I had said something wrong.
Personally, I thought I had done pretty well for Bijnor standards."
"'What's your name son,' she asked, choosing to ignore
what was obviously a language barrier."
"Harman," I said, happy that my English was
improving by the minute since I could decipher the madamji's language.
"'Well, Harman, welcome to the school. You're in my
class (III-A) and one of the rules we follow is that we always speak in
English. Now quickly go to your class."
"Ji madamji"
"'You can call me ma'm. I am Stella ma'm.'"
"Ji ma'mji"
"'No son, just ma'm, not ma'mji'," she said with a
sweet smile.
"I nodded, afraid of saying anything else lest I upset
her."
"Despite the faint rebuke, I was happy. Back in Bijnor,
such a long conversation with a teacher would have undoubtedly included a few
slaps and even a Hindi expletive."
"Anyway, that was how I met Stella. A teacher who
communicated to me the fact that my English needed more work than the
Parliament, but she did so without insult, without shattering the tiny little
morsel of confidence that I had carried with me to the big city."
Harry's story was interrupted by a loud bout of coughing. As
a concerned Harneet gave him water and rubbed his back, he gestured to her to
sit down and allow him to continue the story.
"Thanks Harnu bitiya.
Let me tell you about the woman who...."
"Nanu, we're already halfway through the story. You
just finished describing your first meeting with Stella. Let's finish this
story quickly, I have to go for my tuitions class soon."
"Oh, okay," said Harry, a faint light of gratitude
in his eyes.
"What I wanted to say was that this woman, this
charming, elegant woman with such beautiful command over English, passed on
some of her love and dare I say expertise of the language to me. Let me tell
you how she did that."
"She never rebuked me in public. No sir. She always
quietly took me aside. Her masterstroke was telling all my friends to speak to
me only in English. They would not reply to me when I spoke in Hindi, the
buggers."
"What that did was, it not only boosted my confidence,
it transformed me from a gawaar boy
to a civilized brat capable of looking after myself in the big bad world."
"The truth is I didn't just change because of Stella. I
changed for Stella. She was more than just a teacher for me. Everything I did
in school was to please her, to impress her. Everywhere she moved, my eyes
would follow. I think if she wasn't a teacher, she could have been a
model," he said, his eyes glazing again.
"I think you should rest now nanu. I too have to
go," Harneet said, interrupting his train of thought.
"No, no. Wait. I am finishing. I soon lost touch with
Stella ma'm, you know. Your granddad was transferred to Jammu and we had to shift base. I hated
moving. Hated losing my friends. And most of all, I hated losing Stella."
"I wish I could have gone and met her once, just to
thank her for looking after this chubby little sardar. And maybe look at her
once more... show you how beautiful she is. Would have loved to introduce her
to your nani if she was alive."
He had closed his eyes while talking and Harneet felt he had
drifted off to sleep. She quietly got up, covered him with a blanket, kissed
his forehead and was about to leave when he held her hand.
"Thanks bitiya,
for listening to me. I know I bore you sometimes but no one else likes to talk
to a boring old man, you know."
"I know nanu. Now go to sleep. I'll come back and talk
to you more if you like," she said.
As she left, she saw he had already dozed off, a content
expression on his face.
Harry died that day. In his sleep.
Chapter -2
Harneet was ushered into the large bungalow in Delhi's Greater Kailash
area by the maid. "Stella aunty is in her room," she told Harneet.
"You'll have to speak up, she's hard of hearing."
As Harneet entered the room, she saw a short, frail and
heavily wrinkled woman sitting on a rocking chair, dressed in a stained drab nighty.
She was watching some saas-bahu serial on TV.
"Namastey aunty," Harnu said loudly.
Stella looked at her, a blank look on face, and said:
"Yes beta."
Relieved that Stella seemed in her senses, Harneet started
speaking. She told him about Harry's memories, his transformation, and how he
told everyone about Stella. She held nothing back, even telling her about
Harry's infatuation. When she finished, she was exhausted, and a tear rolled
down her eye.
"I am really sorry for your loss beta," Stella said. Her voice was firm for a woman in her late
90s but dry and without warmth.
"But I won't lie to you child. I don't remember Harry.
I taught hundreds of students at that school and I did it for years. But I
don't remember any sardar kid called Harman. I am really sorry." Saying
this she returned to her serial, as if dismissing Harneet from her presence.
Shocked and a little affronted, Harnu got up to leave when her
glance fell upon a framed photo on the wall. It was Stella at the school,
giving away a prize to a student.
She was short and plump and was dressed in an ordinary grey salwar-suit.
Her face was devoid of make-up and her features looked stern. There was nothing
kind about that face.
Harneet got up and walked out of the house.
©Manas Gupta
