Sunday, July 31, 2005

Eccentric Teachers I have met

It was just the other day that I lay in bed, thinking deep thoughts on the life of sin that I had led thus far. These deep thoughts led me to other not-so-deep thoughts – mainly about the eccentric teachers I had met. And teachers being as they are, I realized that I had seen quite a huge haul of them over the years.

Year: 1999

Lunatic under the microscope: Mr. Joludhu, English teacher

My English teachers and I were, as a rule, rather like Damon and Pythias. I got along with most of them so well that I could probably have gained entry into their caves and met the rest of their wolf pack if I so desired.

But, my equation with Joludhu was unfortunately not as favourable. I did not particularly care for Joludhu; he had an annoying habit of bathing us first benchers in a sea of his freshly minted saliva. Joludhu despised me almost as much as my Maths teachers usually did; so much so that he directed an additional jet of spitstream towards me.

Joludhu, like most other eccentrics, had a weakness – and no, I’m not referring to how he went about murdering the English language with impunity, while speaking all the while of the Received Pronunciation (RP) they used at Aaxford.

It was a weakness he shared with several great (and not-so-great) men like JFK and Bill Clinton. A terrible weakness for young women…

The blighter loved bending towards where the girls sat, his chest hair liberally on display (he never believed in buttoning himself up) as he scratched it furiously, giving his belly a cute little jiggle, and saying loudly,

‘So, girls, did you catch my point?’

(jet of spit followed by a (what seemed to most of us guys) lecherous grin)

Unfortunately for him, none of the girls ever did. ;-)

Year: 1999

Lunatic under the microscope:
Ms. Karpagam Mannan

To state that Ms. Mannan taught us Social Studies would be stretching the truth, considering she spent her classes reading out from her notebook, and we spent it chanting ‘Karpaga Mannan, bhooton ki rani…’ under our breath. Not to mention praying for some exorcist to exorcise her and deliver us from the never-ending lectures on the hanging gardens of the Amazons (F*** the hanging gardens, whatever happened to Xena?!!!)

If this is not enough to convince you of her (and my) lunacy, this should do. Any Lunacy Comissioner going through the following paragraphs would not hesitate a second before locking her up in a padded cell (preferably the same one as the Backstreet Boys’)!

But I was proved right on that fateful day when torrential rains flooded all of our campus, making the sewers completely indistinguishable from the rest of the grounds.

Ms. Mannan alighted regally from an autorickshaw, eyeing haughtily the bedraggled students who watched her in silence.

She took her first step, sari daintily held up and faithful little first bencher in tow (holding that huge bag where she stored her make up, pistol and other assorted torture implements, including that notebook from which she dictated her notes). There was to be no second step, as Ms. Mannan had completely disappeared into the murky water.

She had stepped right into the sewer!

In unision, every one of us burst out into peals of laughter; the faithful little first-bencher included.

Quite a few seconds passed before we noticed a hand struggle to come repeatedly out of the surface of the sewer. A couple of us ran towards the hand and managed to extract Ms. Mannan out of it. We could hardly hold our laughter back any longer when we saw Ms. Mannan’s make-up run down all over her face. It was rather like a Fair and Lovely ad run in rewind mode.

And instead of thanking us for us fortitude and courage, and promising to pass us in our examinations, the lunatic walked away from us, water dripping from every pore, screaming that her vengeance would be terrible indeed, and that she knew very well that we’d placed the drain there to have her fall in.

I mean to say, the gall of the ingrate, after my selfless service!! :*(

Year: 1994-2001

Lunatic under the microscope: Kamasutran, (tries to teach) Socially Useful Productive Work

Mr. Kamasutran is the kind of chap who would do the Marquis de Sade proud.

A typical class with Mr. Kamasutran went something like this:

(Kamasutran jumps about playing the fool, looking more like a bald chimpanzee fed on a diet of boot polish than anything else.)

Parthasarathy: (giggles) Good afternoon, Sir

Kamasutran: Dai, notebook engae da?

Parthasarathy: (running away)Illa, Sir

(Kamasutran, being the maniac he is, runs behind him, a length of coiled wire in tow. Parthasarathy, being the insane idiot he is, decides to plant his posterior next to me. Kamasutran runs comically towards him – a walrus on steroids. I, being the idiot I am, laugh out loud, awaiting the sharp crack when the wire would strike Parthasarathy’s naked flesh.)

(I hear the crack, and notice that it is accompanied by a sharp burning pain in the thigh. I, being the idiot I am, do not notice the second blow descending upon my thighs. I, being an idiot, but a perceptive one at that, notice the glowing red welts on my thighs.)

Puzzled moi: Why me, Sir?

Kamasutran: (accompanied by insane, Amrish Puriesque laughter) Simply.
(Descends the makeshift whip on the shoulder blades of the bloke next to me)

This series continues soon with a few more eccentrics expected to join in this list. Unless I’m certified myself in the meanwhile, of course…

N.B: All names changed, in case you were wondering. :)

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