The Dead End

Mohan Kothekar

Writer and Blogger

          At the end of second year tutorial session, I asked, ‘who is Swati?’  The bashful and ordinary visible damsel from the solitude seat slow, crummy, and dejectedly raised her hand, as if she is going to be punished or she is suffering from contagious and deadly disease.  I congratulated her for the highest marks she received in my course in the mid-semester examination.  She nodded her head and sat down.  I invited her in my chamber.

         In the next session, I asked Swati, why not she came to my chamber, she did not reply.  It was my habit of asking questions during the class so that students will remain attentive.  That day, I intentionally asked a byzantine question; after a minute of pin drop silence, Swati stands patiently and in minimum words she replied.  I appreciated her endeavor.

         In practical class, the numbers of student are arduously twenty and hence the teacher receives an opportunity to interact with the pupil in a better way.  The instructor gets delivered to have leisure parlance with the students so as to maintain a personal rapport.  The first thing I did is I paid heed to her handwriting.  The Swati’s handwriting was better than a typed script – like a pearl.  She was not reticent but tight lipped in her reply.  After the class, I enquired from other girl students regarding Swati’s behavior.  The only riposte I concede, she was uncommunicative and taciturn, however, extraordinarily brilliant.  My colleague faces the same problem of liaison with the prodigy.

         The mode of communication between me and Swati was only one and that too hard questions.  Never had she let down her head in shame.  One fine morning, she caressingly knocks the cabin door; she came in and politely asked me the reply of previous day difficulty.  She told me that she tried to find the answer from the text and reference books but could not find the answer.  I told her that I started asking the questions more and more difficult so that a day will come when she will be compelled to come to my cabin.  For the first time, I find a smile on her face.

          I asked her the intent for negation of my invitation, the day she awarded the highest marks; she remained mum.  In a casual aspirate, I inquired her about family background.  I came to know that her father and my father were serving in the same office.  I appreciate her clean-cut handwriting.  She said that her handwriting from birth was like that of the typewriting machine script and for which she has received many small time awards.  There was a huge gap between the teacher and the scholar.

         When I narrated the story, my daddy told me that Swati papa’s attitude was pragmatic, stickler and headstrong; once he decides he never budge and has autocratic behavior.  Father added to my knowledge that he has not received further promotions due to his conflicting tendency with the higher ups.

         Due to submissive, chicken-hearted and funky nature, the top ranking girl has faced lots with difficulties in the course seminar.  How to train a girl for the seminar course was an open challenge.  Her preparation was up to the mark; the problem lies with the presentation.  I told her to come one hour early so that I will take additional efforts.  My first duty was to create a confidence in her.  I called all the assistant of my department to attend the rehearsal.  The first day, when I asked her to stand on the podium and have a glance at the audience; she started shuddering, trembling.  I did not allow her to come down till she stops sobbing.  The next day drama continues with a little success that she told her name to the audience ten times.  On the third day, each one of us asked her the personal question so as to bring confidence in her.  It took one month of additional efforts to remove from her mind the fear psyche.  On the day of the seminar, Swati touched my feet for blessings.  Her presentation was par excellence.  As usual, she received the highest marks.  She gets regaled because of her presentation; since then, the new chapter in her life began.

          I was her educator for the second and third year.  At the end of third year, I told her to frame for All India post-graduate entrance test examination.  I emphatically told her that if she stood in order of merit, then she will get Junior Research Fellowship along with admission to the top University.  She used to seek my support in the fourth and fifth year of her graduation as well as entrance examination preparation.  I have provided her text and reference books.

         In the concluding year her kinship with me was like a father and a daughter.  In tenth semester, Swati came into my chamber impetuously and in jubilant and hilarious mood and told me that she stood first in order of merit in the All India Entrance Examination.  I congratulate and pat her; she took my blessing and started whimpering.  It was difficult for me to leash her feelings.  She narrated her tribulation; her daddy was a stony-hearted man and in no case he will allow her to pursue her cherished desire.  The father wants to get rid by marrying her as quickly as possible.

         Our institute has a tradition to arrange a reception for those students who stood in the merit list at All India Entrance Examination.  In that year, Miss Swati was the guest of honor.  Personally, I requested the authority to invite her parents for the function; the Dean was well acquainted with the personal problem of Miss Swati.  Her father attended the function.  The Dean took the lead and requested her father to continue her education.  It is an honor not to the institute, but to the beholder of the fellowship.  Somehow, the father reluctantly gave her permission to pursue her desire.

         Before the departure, she met me and took the blessings; I have handed over the personal letter to the head of the department of the national level institute to look after her lodging and boarding arrangements.  On and often Swati used to write me the letter.  During Dipawali and year-end holidays it was her routine to visit our college and to meet me.  Once, she came to my cabin and requested me to give fatherly advice.  She received a proposal from her classmate who happened to be my student.  I asked her two questions.  One is she dating with the boy and second did her parents ready to solemnize her marriage.  She at once negated the facts.  My simple answer was ‘no,’ as blessing of parents is more important than marriage.  Later on, she rejected the proposal out rightly.

         She stood first in order of merit at national level.  She received a Senior Research Fellowship to continue her doctoral level degree work.  By the time she completed a master’s degree program, Swati was quite bold to argue and defend.  On one fine morning, her father came to meet me.  I told my intention, Swati was an extraordinary intelligent girl and if she joined the doctoral courses, she will become national and international level scientist and contribute in the field of biological science.  The father radically and altogether denounced me for the delay in her marriage.  He started arguing and fighting loudly as if I have committed a crime.  I tender my apology and said it is she and her parents to take the final decision.  Swati, later on, told me that she fought with her father who reprimands and slapped her for the arrogance she exhibited.

            

         In the meantime, she received the degree as well as award for excellent post graduate research work.  After a month or so, she invited me to marriage.  After matrimony, she joined the groom; I lost the contact and I remained busy in my work.

         Two decades have passed; a middle aged lady along with her two sons gently knocked the cabin door.  In the first instance I could not recognize her; I offer Swati Tea and Snacks.  When I asked about her whereabouts she said ‘I am a housewife and doing nothing since marriage.’  ‘Why did not continue the doctoral research work?’  ‘That time, the Indian girls were not as bold as they are today,’ was her reply.  When I asked about her sons, the elder son with a gloomy and cheerless face said, ‘we both are mediocre.  We are unfortunate; we have not received the same set of genes as mummy possessed.’  She said, ‘After marriage, I am coming for the first time.’  ‘Why.’  ‘My father expires; my conflict was with his soul and not with the physical body.  Since then, I never saw my father’s face.’  I solaced and consoled, ‘as a teacher, when we try to encourage millions of students, the nation rarely finds one Mashelkar, Abdul Kalam, C. N. R. Rao, M. G. K. Menon and M. S. Swaminathan like personalities.’  She said at once, ‘I am a progenitor, but could not become a creator.  The marriage was the dead end of the career.’

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