WHEN THE MOUNTAIN COMES TO MOHAMMAD

Pic.: Chetna Shetty

Her name was Mrs. Liticia. She was my class teacher when I was in third standard. I must have been eight or nine year old, then. And, she must have been in her early thirties. What I remember about her the most is that she was very fair and pretty; very loving and caring. As a kid, I was very scared of most of my teachers... But, Mrs. Liticia’s warmth and care made me feel very secure and loved...

Nearly fifty years have rolled by... How a teacher has touched you when you were a little boy, yes, this beautiful feeling has lasted so long!

Some days ago, while I was in Mangalore, my hometown, I had this strong desire in my heart to see Synthia, one of my earliest students. I hadn't met her or talked to her for years and years. It was just a year ago that we got in touch with each other; even then, we hardly communicated...

Today, Synthia  is a mother of two young-children and well settled in Mangalore. When I spent about an hour with her family, I really felt the warmth of the good-old days... Nothing had changed, not even a bit... even though we hadn't communicated at all, except once or twice, in all these thirty-five-years-or-so time...

While leaving their place, Synthia handed me a copy of her dad’s (Late Mr. J.B. Lobo) famous book – ‘Home Encyclopedia’. Inside, she wrote, “True friendship can last... even though we don’t communicate...”

My heart smiled when I thought of it... “Why do we have to call, talk, write, enquire, chat – be desperate and frantic - in order to feel the warmth of another soul, a fine friend?” I was thinking aloud on my way home, that night...

The day earlier, my nine-year-old nephew, Jeswin, had received his first Holy-communion. In the evening, a grand celebration was held where I had raised a touching toast for the little-one. After the function, I saw an elderly woman, strikingly beautiful and graceful, walked very slowly towards me, with hands stretched to embrace me. I couldn't recognize her; but, in a moment I was within the woman’s embrace. “Boroh ushaar zalai putha,” – “You have become very smart, my son...” I, instantly, could feel it was Mrs. Liticia, my childhood teacher. The warmth had not diminished even after five-long decades... For that brief moment, I, once again, felt secure, loved and cared for!

“If Mohammad can not go to the mountain,” the old saying reminds us, “the mountain will come to Mohammad.”

For decades, even though the students couldn't go to their teachers, the teachers had come to their students...

It was, in deed, a special pilgrimage!

GERALD D’CUNHA