NO FORMALITIES PLEASE!
A teacher is
any person who teaches you anything, and not just the subject expert. It could
be a lesson, a chapter, a poem, a trade or just a question to make you
introspect. The person could be of any gender, caste, religion or ethnicity. If
we look around like that, then we have so many teachers around us: Parents,
school teachers, friends, colleagues, professors and most importantly
ourselves.
But age? Definitely, he or she should have had enough
experience in life to teach you something or anything, isn’t it? At least that
is what I used to believe. I was pleasantly proven wrong.
#####
Few days
back my LIC agent visited our house, it was one of his ‘casual business’
visits. Every visit he spends at least half an hour discussing any topic of his
choice mixed with a few financial tips. My two and half year old son is also
fond of him. He is a very reluctant guest and generally we are not one of those
pushy hosts either.
As per the custom of any middle class house in India he was
offered a glass of water, which he drank and kept the glass on the center
table. My son immediately took the glass of water, and kept it in the kitchen. To
which we both said, ‘Good boy.’ My son clapped as he always does when anyone
calls him a good boy.
When asked for tea the agent refused politely. Again my mother asked for if he would like something cold, which he again refused. He had a knack of speaking, so polite that you would never feel offended.
‘I want cold drink!’ my son demanded to his grandmother. But
cold drink for small child in the evening was a big no for her. He was
disappointed, but she cajoled him in to have something else. Again we said,
‘Good smart boy.’ He clapped.
After sometime my mother without asking brought banana chips
and said, ‘You must have them, these are fried at home.’
‘Oh Amma, it was not necessary as I don’t eat fried food too
much.’
‘You can have some. You are too young to have these
restrictions.’
I didn’t understand what the reasoning for that statement
was; he is forty-five years old. My mother never insisted any one too much, but
that day it was different. Too much formality is not her style.
‘I too want,’ demanded my son again. Before anyone could
respond he cupped his tiny hands and filled them with chips. My embarrassed
wife immediately caught hold of him and said, ‘This is for Uncle. I will give
you in your special plate. Come, let us go inside.’
Few minutes later he came running with a small yellow plate half filled with chips. As he ate, he observed that Uncle’s plate was large and filled to the full capacity while his was not. He decided to nullify the injustice and moved towards the table. Understanding his intentions I told him that he will get more once he finished the chips in his plate. Hesitantly he went back to his chair.
‘No problem sir. I don’t like chips very much,’ the agent said
as he took a handful of chips from the plate.
We continued our conversation and didn’t realise that half
the plate was empty now. Also, we didn’t notice two tiny hands at work. Before
I could realise, the plate was gone. My son emptied it in to his plate. Baffled
we both looked at each other. I smiled, the apologetic formal smile.
‘Look what your dear grandson has done?’ I complained to my
mother.
‘Unni! Why did you take Uncle’s chips?’ my mother asked with
commanding love.
My son who was busy finishing his chips, without looking up,
replied in his toddler accent, ‘my plate had less chips than uncle’s, and he
said that he doesn’t like chips. So I took them, I like them very much.’
My mother started laughing and explained what he had said to
the agent. We could not argue with the honesty and truthfulness in his
statement. To mask our embarrassment all the adults in the room, we laughed
together. Our little teacher didn’t notice, he was busy eating chips.
When my mother offered chips again, the agent refused. She
didn’t compel this time.
‘Ok sir, I will leave for now. Good night,’ the agent said.
Before leaving he went to my son’s chair side and said, ‘Good smart boy.’
My son rubbed his tiny oily hands on to his T- shirt, and
clapped.
