You Too Can Prove Shakespeare Wrong

    

 

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The Evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones 

So let it be with Caesar.”

 

These lines came to me just out of the blue and with it, the name of Mr JS Iyer, one of my teachers. 

Act 3, Scene 2 of the Shakespearean play, Julius Caesar reverberates on stages the world over as the play itself or as part of elocution competitions in many schools and colleges. These lines did not mean anything to me beyond the next examination, those days. Strange, these lines had to come up while I was sitting in my study taking stock of life. I had just published my second book, "Dare Dream Different." With that, I checked off the 8^th of the 10 “things to do before I die,” a second time. I had drawn up that list in 1988. The paper on which the list was written could not stand its age and one day when I opened it to read, it just disintegrated. I know well the two I am still left to do.  

Thoughts have a strange way of making their presence felt. They come and go at their free will. I do not know why Antony’s speech came to the fore. It set me thinking. Is that the truth?  What about those who do good? Are they of relevance only till their graves? Are good deeds destined only for oblivion? 

Eulogies mean nothing to the dead. More of a social grace, it just adds to the frills of the spectacle called, funeral. Once the flow of eulogies from both eloquent and emotional speakers at the funeral ceases, the dead is nothing more than a memory.  Memories of people are fleeting but those of injuries, remain unobliterated. It always comes back with the same set of emotions. In an era where everybody is blaming someone dead long ago for the ills perceived today, Shakespeare, the visionary, was right. 

 

I am happily retired. I had a very successful run in my career. I did not reach the topmost position but I was considered. I blame no one for it. My bucket list is all done barring my desire to play the keyboard and obtain a pilot license. I have second thoughts on both but I have not given up. My book just got its first overseas sale. I was as happy as I could ever be. “The Evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones.”  Why did this occur to me now?  How was it linked to Mr JS Iyer? Mr. Iyer taught Mathematics and not English. Suddenly, things fell into place and I solved the puzzle.

 

I vividly recalled the incident. It happened in Feb1975.

 

I was in the hostel of a residential school. It was a weekend. My father had come to visit me. I was in the 10^th class and did not show any signs of doing well in life. I do not know why; I could never sit through the full duration of an examination. I left when I thought I had written enough to pass. I scored just the pass marks in all the subjects right from the fifth standard till the tenth. There was nothing great about it but it allowed me to continue in the elite school, receiving the scholarship and free education. The board examinations were just one year away. Just passing meant nothing. Worse, it would be a loss of face especially when my cousin had passed out from the same school with honours. My father was naturally very worried.

 

We were standing at the highest point in the school from where two roads radiated down. I was at the lowest in my life and the road ahead for me was nowhere in sight. I could clearly see the dormitories in the distance and the parade ground below. There was neither any clarity about what destiny had in store for me nor did I have anything worth parading. My father was disturbed. He was counselling me and I had shut myself in. It was then I saw Mr Iyer cycling up the gradient. Those days most teachers could only afford cycles. I am sure, he must have seen worry written large on my father's face and mine too. He stopped. 

 

“Good evening, sir,” I said, as he came close enough. It was customary for students to wish their teachers whenever they met a teacher. It also helped me break the barrage from my distraught after. “Good evening, Jacob Tharakan,” he replied. “How are you Mr. Tharakan?” he asked my father.  My father opened his bag of woes about me in front of Mr Iyer. “I am worried about him,” said my father. After the little conversation, Mr. Iyer told my father, “Don't worry Mr. Tharakan, I can assure you that one day your son will make you proud. He has a great future. Take my word for it.” Mr. Iyer then mounted his cycle and went his way.

 

“He can say all that. He was only trying to console me. I find it difficult to believe it,” my father said. I liked what he said. I also knew that Mr. Iyer was being kind. “Maybe one day I will do well,” I said to myself. Later that evening, after my father had left, sitting with my friend Jayakumar, in the corner of the farthest football court, discussing our future, I started believing in what Mr Iyer said. Our discussions about what we would be became more meaningful. It changed the way I looked at myself. Mr. Iyer helped me change the way I looked at myself. It changed my life. Jayakumar later became a banker and I joined the Army.

 

I became an Army officer in 1981. I did very well in all the Army Courses. I became a Brigadier in 2010. One evening, sitting with my wife and enjoying our tea, I felt like calling up Mr Iyer. I managed to get hold of Mr. Iyer's number and dialled. I knew my call would be a surprise.  He had retired long back and must have been quite old. I had never tried to contact him before that. I was not sure if he would recall my name. “Good evening, sir,” I said when he picked up the phone. “Good evening, wait,” he said. I could immediately make out that he was trying to jog his memory. “Jacob Tharakan, Ashoka House, My son, Suresh’s classmate,” he said. He even called out my roll number. It was my turn to be surprised. 

 

“Sir, you still remember me?” I asked. “How better can a retired teacher spend his sunset years?” he said. He asked me everything about what I had done all these years. “I am very happy you remember your teachers. I am grateful you called. It made my day,” he said. He was emotional and so was I. “Sir, how can I forget you? I can forget anybody or anything in this world but not you. You trusted me when even I had lost faith in myself. I know my call is many years overdue. I called to thank you for what you have done for me,” I said. I must have spoken to him once or twice after that.  

 

Corporal punishment was the norm those days.  Some teachers let their anger loose on hapless children. Nobody questioned them. I have received some myself. Mr Iyer never hit or admonished any child. I never saw him getting angry. He was a gentle soul. He was not at the center of any alumni activities and never got the attention or recognition he deserved; not that I know of. He was a Guru, who did his job and faded away. I retired on the 31^st of July 2017 as a two-star general. Mr. Iyer passed away on the 19^th of Jul 2019.

 

I am not young anymore but I am surer about myself than ever before. I spend time telling stories to my grandchildren when they come to visit; just like my grandfather did when I visited him. This is one story I will tell them when I meet them next. The story of my teacher, Mr Iyer who proved Shakespeare was wrong.

 

Maybe with kindness and empathy, we too like Mr Iyer can prove Shakespeare wrong. Maybe our grandchildren can tell others how their grandparents proved Shakespeare wrong. Maybe, proving Shakespeare wrong can be the next item on our bucket list.