1/ In early 2012, I used to go to a house in G-Block Johar Town, Lahore (few alleys behind Doctors Hospital) for 5-6 months to give tuitions from 4:30 to 8pm every week day.
2/ I taught French, Geography, Pakistan Studies, Mathematics, General Science and English to students of Class 2 till O-Levels, mostly Aitchisonians. Most of them were from privileged families.
3/ I'd take a bus from Moon Market, Allama Iqbal Town till Campus Stop (Punjab University), from where I would take another bus till Doctors Hospital stop.
4/ I'd stand for most of the 40-minute journey, drenched in smelly sweat because these buses were always over-stuffed.
5/ One day, as I was standing in the bus and trying to plan the lessons in my mind, I noticed a familiar face. It was Sir 'M', my Chemistry teacher from Matriculation days in The Educators.
6/ He was sitting in his usual style, eyes rarely blinking and an emotion-less face. His shirt was so damp with sweat, for a minute I thought he had come from a rainy place.
7/ I had a sudden flashback from school days when my class fellows and I used to ridicule him a lot. We used to prank on him and mock his oft-occurring neck jerks now and then.
8/ He'd neither scold nor hit us. I returned to the present, the burping and laughter and cigarette smoke from around me gradually came to my senses and I felt overwhelmed by a wave of guilt.
9/ I went and sat on the floor of the bus beside him, placing my hand on his leg. “Assalamu alaikum sir!” I exclaimed. He jolted in surprise and looked at me. “Oye, tum yahan kidhr? Kya haal hay tumhara?” he asked.
10/ “Sir, mein theek hun. Aap sunaen!” He told me that he had resigned from my school a long time ago. Then he diverted the conversation toward me. “Tum sunao barkhurdar, kya kar rahe ho aaj kal?” I replied with a story of how I began giving tuitions after months of joblessness.
11/ “Kitni salary hay?” he asked. “Sir bas yahi koi 18,000 ke lag bhag”. He gave a very limited grin, his signature trademark, and revealed, “Meri bhi taqreeban itni hi hay. Shabash, jamm ke mehnat karo. Parhana bara challenging hay par maza isi mein hay”.
12/ My lips were sealed tight. Here was the man who was married and had four children. He was earning as much as I was, then.
13/ He noticed I was silent and continued to speak; “Mein din mein alag alag wagnein (wagons) aur busein (buses) badal kar parhaane jata hu".
14/ The guilt within me kept intensifying. I was still on the floor of the bus, beside him, being unintentionally kicked by passengers getting on and off. I kept gazing at Sir M's silver hair above his ear. He had sharp black hair when I was in his class 6 years prior...
15/ The kicks I received (thudday) were like drugs, they were soothing me, I received them as much-needed recompense for the innumerable instances in which we used to tease Sir.
16/ “Yes yes, I don’t mind this at all”, I thought to myself. A while later, the whole encounter came to an abrupt halt when my destination arrived.
17/ “Sir, ijazat”, I said, as I got up and stood with a slight bow like a Mughal courtier. “Han bhai, khyal rakhna apna. Allah Hafiz”. That was the last I saw of Sir M.
18/ As I stepped out on the Doctors Hospital stop, I walked till a tube-well nearby and sat on my favourite bench there, which was always dotted with bird droppings on a side.
19/ I cried for a while before I wiped my face and continued onward to the academy where my students were waiting for me.
20/ From then on, I taught them with renewed vigour and an undeterred sense of responsibility.
Long live Sir M!
[End]
Long live Sir M!
[End]
