My friend, Reethu, died last month. She had been a pre-primary teacher most of her working life and the outpouring of grief among her students was quite overwhelming. Most little children adore their teachers unconditionally, unlike their seniors who learn to judge as they grow older. But Reethu Sarawgi’s influence on her students lasted well into adulthood.
What was the secret of her magical hold on young people? She had a phenomenal memory for names and faces. This, I believe, was not just a gift, it was the result of her concern about each and every child in her care — she was exceptionally kind and generous. Moreover, she pursued each student’s individual fortunes through the school years and even after. Since I used to be responsible for the other end of the school, that is the school-leaving years, we often compared notes as to whether a particular child had blossomed the way Reethu had predicted or investigated whether the pushy nursery mother had changed her ways. Parents would have long and deep conversations with Reethu about the finer aspects of parenting, even though they had to hear disturbing statements such as, “There are no bad children — only bad parents.”
Reethu’s understanding of her young students was evident. Astonishingly, she would spot a Class VIII student and ask colleagues, “Is she still a loner?” Sometimes she would exclaim, “I knew that she would turn out to be a captain — what a little manager she was in the nursery!” Her remarks made me ponder Freud’s thoughts on the cruciality of the first five years of life.
Reethu’s learning and knowledge made me question the strange belief that many school administrators have that highly qualified people are unsuited for the primary level. “Highly knowledgeable people can’t come down to children’s level,” they proclaim. I strongly believe that you need to have a very fine mind and an abundance of knowledge to deal with small children. They bombard you with questions and often share their worldviews with you, and you had better have the wherewithal (and the patience) to address complex issues in a meaningful way. However, I do agree that teaching little children is not meant for scholarly teachers whose sole goal is to get students to master their coursework and achieve high scores in exams.
I admired Reethu’s many-faceted mind along with her skills and passions. I loved her sense of humour and ringing laughter. Her interests ranged from literature, films, handicrafts — she excelled at handwork herself — visual and performing arts to politics, environmental issues and gardening. She would quote effortlessly from yesteryear poems and have me scurrying to google the relevant context of something she had mentioned. She read not only books on pedagogy but also contemporary novels, poetry, travelogues and essays. She was an alive, vivacious person who laughed, listened, empathised, lamented, questioned, argued and gossiped and had a flair for languages. Even her rude comments about people, chiefly political leaders, who had said or done something ‘disgraceful’ were hugely entertaining. Reethu had a rich singing voice and on every Children’s Day she had the whole school clapping to the beats of a song which she had written as a tribute to the school where she and I were both students and then teachers.
The School Book by Neil Postman and Charles Weingartner is about school reforms. In one section, the two authors mention their own teacher, Esther Greenberg, who had not led any school movement but just “make children feel good about themselves.” She was included as a symbol of thousands of teachers who “somehow make a positive difference in the lives of children.” The authors added that if every child had a teacher like Greenberg, there would be no need for school reform movements. Reethu was one such teacher.
The outpouring of grief when Reethu died was not just for the loss of a charismatic and talented teacher with a sense of fun. It was chiefly because no one had loved and cared quite like her.
Devi Kar is director, Modern High School for Girls, Calcutta
