I was in eighth standard when Vasan sir became the Senior Resource Person of SPSSEMS (Smt. Parvatamma Shamanuru Shivashankarappa English Medium School). Senior Resource Person was the school's way of saying Bro, you're too old for us to employ you as a teacher, but we can give you this fancy title and pay you half the salary if you really want it. And the poor guy needed the money. Something to do with his son abandoning him or something like that. An Indian TV serial kind of story. He was to stay only for a short time, till they found a proper English teacher, someone who wasn't as old. But they would never find someone as good. Shankar Bidri was awful and Ajrekar ma'am, from what I remember, went about recommending Ayn Rand to impressionable sixteen-year-olds.
Nobody could do the Mark Antony speech like Vasan. NOBODY. I remember how his hands shook when he said "Ambition should be made of sterner stuff". I remember his eyes. I felt his anger and his frustration. For that moment, Vasan was Mark Antony. I was so blown away that day, I had started crying. And Spoorthi Akka, who was four years my senior, who was sitting in our class for some reason, had gone "Aww..." looking at me and everybody who heard saw me and started laughing. On any other day, Vasan would have been angry at his class being disrupted this way. But not that day. On that day, Vasan was happy that he had moved a student to tears. And that was enough for him.
Nobody could do the Mark Antony speech like Vasan. NOBODY. I remember how his hands shook when he said "Ambition should be made of sterner stuff". I remember his eyes. I felt his anger and his frustration. For that moment, Vasan was Mark Antony. I was so blown away that day, I had started crying. And Spoorthi Akka, who was four years my senior, who was sitting in our class for some reason, had gone "Aww..." looking at me and everybody who heard saw me and started laughing. On any other day, Vasan would have been angry at his class being disrupted this way. But not that day. On that day, Vasan was happy that he had moved a student to tears. And that was enough for him.
The student was happy too, because the most beautiful girl in the school had gone "Aww.." looking at him. I found out much later that Spoorthi Akka was Vasan sir's granddaughter. Which probably explained how she was allowed to sit in his class, how he did not get angry when she interrupted his magnificent speech with a loud "Awww..".
Spoorthi Akka had become my first crush ever and she was amazing. She had hair like those women in shampoo commercials, she was ridiculously good-looking by SPSSEMS standards and she was crazy smart. In 11th standard, when everybody about her was just discovering this new show FRIENDS (it was a small town), when the most borrowed book from the library was Chetan Bhagat's Five Point Someone, Spoorthi Akka was talking about Chomsky and universal grammar. When head girl Megha, who was kind of a bully, told her she did not like Pride and Prejudice, she asked her to "go f*ck yourself". I WAS THERE. It was AWESOME.
Spoorthi Akka had become my first crush ever and she was amazing. She had hair like those women in shampoo commercials, she was ridiculously good-looking by SPSSEMS standards and she was crazy smart. In 11th standard, when everybody about her was just discovering this new show FRIENDS (it was a small town), when the most borrowed book from the library was Chetan Bhagat's Five Point Someone, Spoorthi Akka was talking about Chomsky and universal grammar. When head girl Megha, who was kind of a bully, told her she did not like Pride and Prejudice, she asked her to "go f*ck yourself". I WAS THERE. It was AWESOME.
For some reason, Sphoorti Akka had took me under her wing. People who would see her coming and not see me walking behind her would go "Where's your assistant?" and I'd feel so proud. Most of my responsibilities as assistant involved being around her and reading the books she asked me to. That was how I first got to know Carl Sagan, Jane Austen, Sylvia Plath and so many other people.
And Vasan sir adored me. He once gave me 49.5 out of 50 on an exam. I believe that is a school record which has not been broken yet. He was so blown away with the fact that I used apathy correctly in a sentence. I think it was like in a letter of complaint about pollution around Taj Mahal or something. Vasan was really close to tears that day. "My boy," he had said to me, putting his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes, "I'm so happy my boy." Things were going great. It was like a reverse Rushmore, with the old guy and the girl together competing for a 14 year old's attention. I'm sorry if that got creepy but sometimes, that was exactly what it felt like and I loved it. And then she graduated, moved to Bangalore and I never saw her or Vasan for that matter again.
And Vasan sir adored me. He once gave me 49.5 out of 50 on an exam. I believe that is a school record which has not been broken yet. He was so blown away with the fact that I used apathy correctly in a sentence. I think it was like in a letter of complaint about pollution around Taj Mahal or something. Vasan was really close to tears that day. "My boy," he had said to me, putting his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes, "I'm so happy my boy." Things were going great. It was like a reverse Rushmore, with the old guy and the girl together competing for a 14 year old's attention. I'm sorry if that got creepy but sometimes, that was exactly what it felt like and I loved it. And then she graduated, moved to Bangalore and I never saw her or Vasan for that matter again.
I sometimes feel that maybe, maybe, if I had grown up a little sooner, if I had read some coming-of-age novels a little earlier, maybe I could have been more than a little kid who liked her. Maybe I could have been her friend. I'd hang out by her house while I'd wait for my bus and I'd slump down beside her on the couch and watch TV. If you put all that time together, I have spent DAYS with her, DAYS, watching MTV Roadies and Ben 10. How much I'd give to get back two minutes of that time now.
The year after they left, I chose my time wisely and called Vasan sir up on teacher's day. I could tell he was really touched. We talked for a while and then he asked me if I wanted to talk to Sphoorthi. I said no, partly because I had nothing to talk about, partly because I was angry at her because all I got for a goodbye was "Hey kid, I guess I won't be seeing you anytime soon again" and "What do you mean why? I have to go to college -- Ma, I'm right here! I'm coming."
I'd call Vasan every year after that. But this time, I forgot. I figured it was his birthday in December so I'll wish him then. When I called him on the day, she picked up. I knew it was her. It had to be her. She struggled really hard to place me but finally remembered when I told her she had lent me her Inheritance of Loss. I had never returned it.
"Oh my GOD, of course. I hate you for that. I looked everywhere for that book. I almost had a fight with a friend over that."
I apologized.
"Did you at least read it?" she asked. I said I had not.
She sighed. "Wait, you thought it was about economics or something, didn't you? Is that why I gave you that book?."
That was true. "You laughed a lot, thrust the book into my hands and asked me to 'Go Read'."
There was nothing else I could think of to say. So I said nothing for the next five seconds and then asked her if Vasan sir was around.
"Oh, no, uh, tatha eega illa kano. He died last month."
"Oh" was all I could say.
When you like someone who's old and you get used to them, you forget the fact that after a point of time in your life, they won't be around but you will be. That shit is scary.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"It's okay, man" she said. "He died in his sleep. Peaceful and happy and all that. He was also 80 years old, you know. So, it had to happen."
"Yeah," I said.
"We couldn't stop crying, for days. But I think we're better now."
I ran my hand through her copy of Inheritance of Loss, with love, MKV scribbled on the front page. The V stood for Vasan. Vasan was his surname. He did tell us once what M and K stood for. But it didn't matter, anyway,
"So, I'm sorry again. He was a really good man," I said.
"Yeah," she said, "And I think he liked you too."
"I hope so. It was really nice talking to you too."
"Yep, same here. Keep calling when you get bored. Always nice to hear from the ghosts of the Christmas past"
"Maybe I will call, Thank you," I said and hung up.
I am not going to call again. That'll be weird. Maybe I'll send a card. Maybe I won't. This is so cruel - people whom you have spent years of your life with, people who are even responsible for parts of who you are will one day be gone. And there's nothing you can do. But you know what, maybe I'll write about them - it'll be my way of keeping Vasan sir (and my version of Sphoorti Akka) alive.
I'd call Vasan every year after that. But this time, I forgot. I figured it was his birthday in December so I'll wish him then. When I called him on the day, she picked up. I knew it was her. It had to be her. She struggled really hard to place me but finally remembered when I told her she had lent me her Inheritance of Loss. I had never returned it.
"Oh my GOD, of course. I hate you for that. I looked everywhere for that book. I almost had a fight with a friend over that."
I apologized.
"Did you at least read it?" she asked. I said I had not.
She sighed. "Wait, you thought it was about economics or something, didn't you? Is that why I gave you that book?."
That was true. "You laughed a lot, thrust the book into my hands and asked me to 'Go Read'."
There was nothing else I could think of to say. So I said nothing for the next five seconds and then asked her if Vasan sir was around.
"Oh, no, uh, tatha eega illa kano. He died last month."
"Oh" was all I could say.
When you like someone who's old and you get used to them, you forget the fact that after a point of time in your life, they won't be around but you will be. That shit is scary.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"It's okay, man" she said. "He died in his sleep. Peaceful and happy and all that. He was also 80 years old, you know. So, it had to happen."
"Yeah," I said.
"We couldn't stop crying, for days. But I think we're better now."
I ran my hand through her copy of Inheritance of Loss, with love, MKV scribbled on the front page. The V stood for Vasan. Vasan was his surname. He did tell us once what M and K stood for. But it didn't matter, anyway,
"So, I'm sorry again. He was a really good man," I said.
"Yeah," she said, "And I think he liked you too."
"I hope so. It was really nice talking to you too."
"Yep, same here. Keep calling when you get bored. Always nice to hear from the ghosts of the Christmas past"
"Maybe I will call, Thank you," I said and hung up.
I am not going to call again. That'll be weird. Maybe I'll send a card. Maybe I won't. This is so cruel - people whom you have spent years of your life with, people who are even responsible for parts of who you are will one day be gone. And there's nothing you can do. But you know what, maybe I'll write about them - it'll be my way of keeping Vasan sir (and my version of Sphoorti Akka) alive.
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