In our lives we come across hundreds of people every day. Most of them dissolve into the hazy realms of obscurity while a handful of people have lasting effect on our lives. Even fewer have a deeper impact on us and thus are raised to the pedestal of admiration. Two such people in my life are my grandfather and my school principal.
My grandfather’s handsome face and grey blue eyes mesmerized me even as a child. A Masters in History, his face would glow and his eyes light up when he narrated events of history instead of fairy-tales. For me history was more fascinating than Cinderella and his detailed narration made history exams a cakewalk in later life. But what amazed me was the warrior-like spirit of this old man who had seen two exoduses in life. During the partition in 1947, he had to leave his sprawling bungalow along with its exquisite contents, including a horse-shoe shaped white piano, and his flourishing multiple businesses in East Bengal for the safety of India. He moved with his wife and four daughters to Assam, a place which closely resembled his hilly former hometown of Sylhet. After rebuilding his life mirroring almost the same level of opulence, he once again had to leave his home and hearth when the Bengali-Assamese strife threatened the lives of his family and that of himself. Moving to a small two bedroom flat in the outer fringes of Kolkata did take a toll on his health and his fighting spirit. He did try to begin another business but was heavily cheated which left him quite full of despair. My grandfather would not get his glory days back but he provided for his family as best as he could. All his daughters were well educated. Two went on to become much-loved professors, one a well known social worker and the fourth a home-maker. No one would visit my grandparents without being fed wholeheartedly with the most amazing delicacies that my grandmother would cook up in a jiffy. Even when my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer, he made sure that his routine remained unaffected. The ailing old man would wake up sharp at four, brisk walk for at least four kilometers, come home and practice yoga and freehand exercises before starting the rest of the day with a cold shower. Even in his deathbed he remained a proud man: author of a Bengali novel, businessman, founder of the best club in Dibrugarh, father of four, a devout Brahmin and most of all, a seeker of knowledge. He taught me to never give up on my hopes and dreams and that strife only made a person better…it is the grinding that every stone needs to shine as a diamond.
The other person who left an undeniable mark on my life is my high school principal, Mrs. Dutta. Here was a woman nicknamed “the iron lady” by her staff and students alike. Ms. Iron lady here was actually like a coconut, hard-to-crack on the outside but a really warm and soft-hearted woman on the inside. She had more than her share of personal strife and was a single mom juggling home and career. Ma’am, as we called her, was a righteous woman and always stood by what was right. She supported me in the various contests in which I took part and won medals and soon the school corridors were abuzz with the rumor that I was part of the elite group of students who were her favorite. She never showed any favoritism except when I was caught in a cross-fire between two sets of teachers and was being used as the scapegoat. Her unbiased support gave me the strength to cope with a most difficult period of my life where I was being unnecessarily harassed and agonized by a particular teacher. It was her faith in me that made me do well in my exams despite a lot of antagonism from a set of teachers and their student pets. IN my boards, I secured the title of topper in two subjects, one statewide and the other being that of a school topper.
Whenever I feel I’m being boxed-in by a situation or I feel myself in distress, I remember my granddad and my high-school days and Mrs. Dutta’s support and a renewed flow of energy gushes through my veins.
