9th Grade
As a highschool student, on the verge of beginning their career, I was, like every friend of mine sure to choose the mainstream. Science was the only option in the environment I grew up in. Becoming a Doctor or an Engineer was the prime focus of every mind at the age of mere fifteen. In the herd I followed and was set to become an engineer. Architecture did appeal to me but ut wasn’t something I was particularly passionate about. As kids who had groqn up in a science-supremacy domina schooling, most pf teachers too were focused on physics, chemistry, biology and mathematics. History and Geography were mere score holders and English or Hindi not even counted as subjects.
This was all until a new Literature teacher showed upto the school. He was fovused upon English as if it was the most important thing in the world. Others found him to be obsessive and comical in this seriousness towards a humanitarian subject. I was, however, struck with this passion he had. I sometimes caught myself wanting to have such a passion for engineering in my life.
As a result, I started reading stuff about engineering and tried to learn more and more about it. Inevitably, it was an interesting field to explore, but I still couldn’t find it in myself to be passionate enough for engineering.
With passing time, Sir taught us different stories, different poems and different essays. Literature was simple and yet complex. I found it easy to grasp and complicated enough to provoke my thoughts.
When our mid year examinations came, I scored highest in my class, and marginally so. Sir, who I had never seen be so impressed, came upto me and congratulated me on my performance. He went as far as to say “you have a knack for the literary.” I was proud of myself, but only in the capacity that I had topped a subject and a teacher, who barely ever acknowledged a student’s existence, gave me a compliment.
I came home and told ny parents. My brother’s response was very simple and yet I believe for it to have changed something within me about the perspective to this decision, “Are you happy about this or are you happy for what it might lead to?”
I reflected upon this simple inquiry. He was right, was this just a one time thing for me? A compliment that will sit om my mind’s shelf for ling collecting dust, that i may someday recall before someone?
A week or two later, Sir entered the class with no books in his hand. He declared that he was not going to teach today. And for the first time in my 11 years of schooling was I upset over a cancelled lesson. He sat down tensing to some administrative work, when a boy in my class asked (and boy am I thankful for that) “Sir where did you teach before here?”
At this all heads turned to Sir and he closed the work owing to the curious gazes. “ I taught literature in Assam” Gasps filled the room.
“Before that I was in Delhi and prior to that in Arunachal”
“Sir, how long have you been teaching literature?”
“This is my 35th year of teaching”
“Sir, are you happy with what you do?”
“I could be in a pool of gold and not be happier than I am with my career in literature”
Immediately, I asked myself if i would be as happy with being an engineer in 35 years.
The answer obviously was, no.