Our Sir PPC, Our Guru (My Favourite English Teacher)

a poem by NILANJANA HALDAR, India


Before class eight I was very poor,
So poor you’d feel I could only lisp,
It’s my Language I’m speaking of, Sir,
Never managed a sentence so crisp.

I’d muddle up my English so much once
You’d actually start tearing off your hair
No wonder Mrs. Annie scolded me sometimes
Despite knowing I didn’t quite care.

I remember that first day at Sir’s class,
Was very excited, after bro told me,
It resembled a story-teller’s great day,
Kids listening and eagerly climbing up his knee

The heat wasn’t so bad when and while,
We sat attending Sir’s awaited class,
He made sure we learnt something daily,
Admixed with the laughter we’d all pass

The joy of learning I learnt over there
One of the first places ever, you see
Neither too serious nor too casual
That’s exactly how learning should be.

Sir, I’ll tell you an earnest secret today,
Nothing quite so important as such
I winked out a tear when you’d read the part
Where Cassius dies remorsing too much.

I was teary another time in your class,
“Out of Business”, do you remember, sir?
It said, 'He found himself out on the streets'
I recall so clearly without any trace of blur.

You were frightening once with your face
When you copied Jenny’s dead neighbour
The lines were,”A raindrop leaked and
Fell over the cheek and ran down like a tear’’

And, well, the most taking part was
Your lies sir, what we called “gool”
I remember one where you were fooling saying,
“No bath for 3 days, I’m sick every molecule.”

Whatever jokes you cracked every class
We crazy loved them every bit
All of your students love you, you know that
I wish college classes were so fit.

Well, and what’s more and am happy to say
You never ever let my confidence swell and soar
You knew I did extremely great in class,
That I could excel at this too, I never felt unsure

But well, you always made sure
That I had my confidence just about right
And when my friends weren’t about
You’d praise my language beyond sight.

You’d say it like I have done it all myself
And hoist me a great girl for my junior
You seem to forget sometimes the truth
That you’re behind it all being the real trooper.

You probably don’t know how many times
I attempted writing a book with heart all true
Though they have all been left unfinished
I always have and’ll keep dedicating them to you.

This poem is a complete product of you,
And your hard work and toil for 5 years,
So more than thanking me, praise yourself sir,
While you read it as the overwhelm disappears.

Okay so the poem's over and it seems
That’s too much nostalgia for a day
For humour, I’m tired of my ‘a-b-c-b’ rhyme-
So I’ll stop this poem with other memories at bay.

-------By Miss Nilanjana Haldar

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