Tryst With A Teacher

Hey Buddy!

What's this equation you have written? What's that square looking object doing in an algebraic equation. Are you mixing up algebra and geometry? This at least was never your wont. Don't blame your eye's non-cooperation. And you, literally a giant in my eyes, call yourself a cute little sparrow and me an eagle. I went and looked at myself in the mirror. I certainly didn't look like an eagle. Just an overweight, over-old man. With an idiotic expression on his face. And no, I cannot fly, except in an aeroplane. Also, I am scared of flying in aeroplanes because one never knows if he will land safely.

Thanks though for the warm regards. Same to you.

oj

 

Thanks Lakshmi. Just imagine how please Utpal Dutt would be if he were around. Come to think of it, our classroom looked a bit like a stage.

oj

 

True enough Srama. There is no question that one should choose the favourite teacher over the favourite subject. By the way, much that I missed one, I never got a good history teacher in school. And I didn't study history in college. Stupid me.
oj-da

 

Dear Iravati,

I have to admit that I haven't read this work, but your summary clarifies what it is all about. It appears to dock neatly with the point of the snippet I wrote. Marvelous. I mean Voltaire, not me.

Embarrassingly enough, I cannot recall. I am just not well-read enough. But the story/idea is impressive without a doubt.

After telling me that you don't read many books, you have come up with a list that makes me hide my face in shame. In fact, I don't read two books a month. Instead, I read books once in a while. And most often I don't even understand what I am reading. Right now, I am reading James Gleick's Time Travel. I am half way through, but have no idea where it is headed. I am not sure if I have understood all that he has said so far either.

Sometime ago I read Amitav Ghosh's Hungry Tide and had to struggle hard to finish it. I admit that I am no great fan of Ghosh. I have read only three books by him. However, this particular book had an impact on my quest for historical knowledge. The incidents on which it is based aroused my interest and I even made a trip to the National Library to search newspaper reports from those days. Finally, I came across people who had researched on the events and I purchased copies of their works. I was reading these with interest last year, when all of a sudden I got an invitation from Ashoka University to teach for a semester. I got involved with the teaching and lost track of the books. They are gathering dust right in front of me.

Anyway, the book reading club was a wild idea. I am somewhat familiar with the classics, but when it comes to modern writers, I find that I live in the wilderness. I am not an avid reader.

Thanks for this long and informative comment.

Regards.

oj

 

Thank God for this explanation. I had no idea that Cheeniya expressed himself in different ways depending on the correspondent. It must have something to do with his estimation of the intellectual capability of the guy who's bothering him. I, being a bit of a village idiot in IL, assume that Cheeniya is one too and our normal exchanges have a totally different flavour. The following is an excerpt.

OJ: Hi Cheeniya, did you massage your pate with mustard oil today?
Cheeniya: Yes of course OJ, I do so everyday. Don't you note the shine? But why should you wish to know?
OJ: Well, you see, I am learning to play the tabla and wanted to try out a new beat on your head.
Cheeniya: No, it's too oily now. You may try later of course. As always, I never refuse anything you ask for. Letting you play the tabla on my head is nothing compared to some of the other things I did for you. Recall, that occasion when you wiped off your sambar stained fingers on my milk white shirt.
OJ: Ah yes, of course. But there is no sambar available here right now. So you cannot send that gift my way for a while. What else can you let me do? Can I hold on to your beard and swing merrily when you go out for your famous morning walks?
Cheeniya: Yes, the beard is another question. It's not oily. But I want a gift in exchange.
OJ: By all means Cheeniya dear! What can I do for you today?
Cheeniya: You must let me hang by your beard simultaneously.
OJ: But that's impossible Cheeniya. I know that you have lost your hair, but have you lost your head too?
Cheeniya: No I have not lost my head. But I use my head only when I confabulate with more intelligent beings than goats. And in my opinion, you are a bit of a goat, so our conversazione cannot possibly rise above caprine levels.
OJ: Hey Cheeniya, I thought we were both goats. And now you are throwing those c-words at me! I thought Cheeniya was the only word that began with a c. But you are confusing me. Next time you will tell me that confuse too is one such word. I thought that there were only two or three words that start with each alphabet. There are twenty six alphabets in the English language, someone very clever told me. So there shouldn't be more than 4 times twenty six words in the Oxford Dictionary. How many words would that make? I didn't learn to multiply. You have to find out for yourself, I am afraid, or ask your knowledgeable friends. I am just a goat, can't you see? Goat, right? You must reserve your lukdivorious bomposity for more intelligent beings. For the time being, just note that I am a goat without a goatee. And you want to hang by my goatee. Is that fair? Besides, you wish to accomplish this impossible act while I am hanging by your beard. A double impossible does not mean a possible. It's not a double negative you know. And in any case, the well-recognized buffoon that I am, I do have difficulty following those double negatives as well. There is no way you can do nothing about this.
Cheeniya: What? What was that last thing you said?
OJ: Did I say something? Goats have short memories, don't you know? Anyway, since you are not obliging me, I will go back home and let you engage your brain to palaver with intelligent beings.

And so on and so forth.

Book clubs are not meant for me I realize. But I had a colleague who might have had use for them. He had once come to my home and told me, "Do you have book? My wife is ill. She wants book." I loaned out Graham Greene's Our Man in Havana to help her in her distress. She read a page or two and asked her husband to feed it to a goat. Consequently, the book came back to me. It still adorns my bookshelf with goatish glee.

No idea.