An Apology to the Teacher I Never Thanked Enough

 By Rahul Mondal

"Dadu" — this word has meant so much to so many. I never saw my own Dadu and don't recall him, as he had passed away before I was truly aware of myself. I truly believe that sometimes a stranger can become closer to you than a relative ever could. I was introverted and too shy to feel comfortable in new environments. I was around 8 years old when we migrated from Uttar Dinajpur to Murshidabad, the first time I experienced a new place in my conscious mind, and the first time we were outside of the camp system where we had been living. Moving out of my comfort zone with my family, where my father was the decision-maker, was tough for my mother, elder sister, and me.

In this strange new world, where we were adjusting to the system for the first time, my mother constantly worried, fearing that something worse might happen since there was no anchor in the family (who was away from home due to work). We struggled every day. But then, the protagonist of our lives at that time appeared. I’m not making him some hypothetical god or larger-than-life figure; it will make sense by the end. This protagonist was 'Dadu.'

Dadu was the owner of the house in Murshidabad where we lived on rent. He and his family — his wife, son, daughter-in-law, and grandsons (I used to play with them all the time) — lived on the first floor, while we lived on the ground floor. 'Jit' and 'Nil' (his grandsons) called him Dadu, and that’s how my sister and I started calling him Dadu too. I can’t paint pictures at all — I’m terribly bad at it — but let me try to paint this one for you with words: a 60-year-old bald man, very calm in nature, sitting on a rocking chair in the living room in front of a large grilled window, sunlight streaming through it, and this old man is reading a thick, heavy book. It might sound exaggerated to make it soothing, but believe me, I’m not exaggerating a bit.

Dadu had an aura of calmness; I never saw him aggressive or arrogant. This image I’ve described is important. It created a personality for him, a set of qualities I came to expect from him. These qualities helped shape my own personality as I grew.

My interactions with Dadu began when I needed private tutoring, and we didn’t know where to go or whom to consult. My mother asked Dadu, and he said, "Don't worry, I’ll help them (me and my sister) with their studies; they don’t have to go anywhere." My mother seemed okay with it, but she was hesitant to ask about the fees. Overcoming her hesitation, she asked, and Dadu responded, “For this, I will take money?" And so, Dadu began coming down to our house to teach us without taking a penny. He taught me every subject until I reached the 6th grade, and even after that, he continued to help me with English. This routine brought us closer.

 Dadu had a special connection with everyone in my family, whether it was my father, who would visit on leave and cook chicken because Dadu loved his cooking, or my sister, or my mother. My mother still says, “Your father hasn’t done as much for you as Dadu has.” I think she means how much Dadu meant to her. But today, I want to talk about how I saw him.

If I am writing this article in English, much of the credit goes to him. He would correct my paragraphs, grammar, and sentences all the time. I don’t know if he will ever read this, but if he does, I hope he corrects all my mistakes. Please forgive me for the grammar errors, and not just that — for my detachment after moving to Kolkata, for not calling him even once, for my worst behaviours, and for not sharing my achievements with him. Out of everyone, he’s one of the few people I most wanted to share my accomplishments with. I believe he played a significant role in shaping who I am today, in my personality and values.

I love sharing the knowledge that I have and helping others without hesitation, and I’ve often been scolded by teachers, friends, and family for helping students for free, never expecting anything in return. But this isn’t something I do consciously; it’s rooted in me by someone who did the same for me.

I don’t know if this is a professional piece or not — it’s just what I feel. I’m very bad at expressing my emotions in person. After a call with Dadu today where he asked why I didn’t tell him about the gold medal I won at graduation, the disappointment in his voice left me in tears. Not because he was rude — he was the kindest, even though I made such a big mistake — but because I should have shared it with him. I credited everyone else for my success, but after my parents, I should have credited Dadu. He was my teacher, and even though I resisted learning from him at times (something I deeply regret), I wouldn’t be the person I am today without his guidance.

There are countless stories I could share about him, like the time I had jaundice and needed to be hospitalized. My mother was so worried, crying the whole way home from the clinic, but Dadu was there for us. So many incidents come to mind, but I focus on the good ones — like when he gave us raisins or cashews as he came down the stairs, or when he bought us mangoes from the market. Words don’t even come close to expressing how much he meant to me. It’s hard to capture it all in one piece, especially one constrained by words.

There’s so much more to share, but I want to end with this: Dadu never wanted credit, I know that. But whatever I would get from this life that’s feel like success or achievement, he has something to do with it.  Out of few people who made me who I am and my personality and my perception about knowledge, helping, kindness (if I had anyone). This might be an emotional piece, and I’ve never confronted Dadu emotionally, but I needed to write this to express my guilt. I haven’t seen God, and I’m not particularly religious, but when I say I see God in the people around us, I truly mean that Dadu is one of those people. These people deserve respect and love, something I might have failed to show him. The word ‘teacher’ is a big one, and not everyone is capable of being one. I define ‘teacher’ by Dadu, not the other way around. If I had written this on paper, it would have been a disaster, as my tears would have smudged the ink.