Glass eyes

"We all need teachers in our lives."
- someone famous said it, don't remember who.

Its amusing that teachers are people who, apart from our parents, provide us with vital pieces which actually help us begin to put together the puzzle called life. From experience I know( and most would agree) that all teachers do not exactly give the right kind of pieces! Some have accents hard to understand for eg you keep wondering what an 'Overwhelming festion' is only to realize the teacher meant 'overwhelming question'! Some might teach everything they aren't supposed to teach whereas some might just take every class as you would conduct a free lecture. However, in the midst of this madness called education, you meet teachers who change your life altogether and it can never be the same. For me( avenged sevenfold would agree as well), She was one such teacher.

My first day in college and her second period with my class. She walked in dressed like someone who doesn't have a mirror. Drainpipes when bootleg was the height of fashion, silver hair that were in dire need of a dye and a scarf that added nothing to the already ill-coordinated attire. I remember thinking to myself about how she would get her act right with teaching. I needn't have wondered. The moment she spoke, sarcasm and wit took a different turn altogether. Her voice floated over the pages and you couldn't help but hear her. Once you went past her intimidating presence and edgy remarks, you could notice her obvious mysterious aura. She helped you as easily as she threw you out of class pointing her famous 'middle finger'( especially to the "young ladies at the back" like us). You couldn't hate her because you never could put your hate down to something explicable and the result was a curiosity you couldn't avoid.

Her classes progressed and we did just fair. No one seemed to shine in the class and no one did rather poorly as well. While my classmates tried to figure out the subject, I was fascinated by her. Those glassy eyes looked to me as if the tears were lingering somewhere behind them...so visible and yet invisible. Her philosophical diversions in class were a treat. It was during one of those classes where she made that memorable statement very casually - "You should be detached enough to let go of things." There, at that moment, I respected her as I hadn't ever before. I knew she had battled cancer years ago and rumors existed about her husband having left her as a consequence of her illness. Such detachment in the face of such cruelty. I marveled at her spirit and ability to let go. Letting go is much expected by everyone but much less understood by anyone.

Time flew and I got busy. Teachers changed and she was replaced for the year. The minimal verbal contact I ad with her reduced gradually. A year later the most boring and downright irking novels were taught by her. Her teaching was just fine and the text left no particular chance for any other kind of discussion. Then one day, while reading out aloud a prose by Matthew Arnold about tribal women who chopped off their own breasts to be better at archery and warfare, those invisible tears I had seen much earlier glistened in her eyes for once. It didn't make sense to me. Her incessant detachment was contradictory to her body language. I let it pass since I did not know her too well personally and surely I was no one to monitor her emotions.

More time passed by and college came to an end. The staff farewell was dazzling in all its glory. The finale included her in an avatar I had never imagined! The snow-white hair was jet black, falling in dark cascade till mid-waist; she was in some kind of a silvery dress that did wonders for her and turned her from frump to fab! Dancing to a Zeenat Amaan track, she amazed me yet again and I imagined why her husband left such a riveting woman. The last time I saw her was on one of those nostalgic trips to college where you end up missing even what you hated the most. That day, me and my friends went up to another favorite teacher( ironically Her best and largely more stylish colleague) for a chat. At some point during the conversation, a woman sitting next to this other teacher, sporting a bob-cut looked up and glared at us. My hand almost flew to my mouth. It was her. Such short hair! We had been right there, ignoring her and she probably felt bad. What she felt I would never know but the hair seemed to have taken away something from her personality as well. She didn't say much and we left soon after, flushed with embarrassment.

That was ages ago. After that I met up with her best friend on a visit to college. We were on more friendly terms with her. I learned that she was down south on her leave. Leaving college that day, I had an uncanny feeling that she wasn't alright. The way her friend had talked about her was unsettling. However, I have a habit of reading too much into things that are of no consequence and so I left it at that.

on 12th February she passed away. Her enemy, the cancer had returned and this time she succumbed. I went for the service. She had breast cancer. In my head I saw Matthew Arnold's tribal women with chopped off breasts and her glassy, teared eyes. Her ill-fitting clothes and detachment all came flooding back. Her silver locks dyed black; delicately long and then brutally chopped off. I was transfixed. No tears came but imagine they were there...lurking behind. I went home.

As I write this today, I feel a detachment. The kind she talked about. Its like circling above oneself only to see yourself. Its not hard to achieve yet its harder once you detach yourself...overwhelming in a sense. I never knew her very well, never confirmed the rumors about her nor did I find her the best teacher in terms of literary education. That said, I think she taught me something so invaluable and intricate about life without even knowing it. She enlightened me about my life too and will continue, in a big way, to influence the choices I make- to be attached or detached enough.