A priceless lesson from a student

Sumit Paul

A FEW memories remain etched in the heart and mind forever. I came to India in 2003 in search of Persian and Turkish documents in central and western parts of the country. I got a few of them at Ahmednagar near Poona. Poona being a much bigger city, I soon shifted my base from Ahmednagar. I started teaching Sanskrit and Urdu diction and enunciation at institutes. Being fluent in Urdu, I easily got an ad-hoc lecturership at a Muslim institute where I used to teach Urdu to undergraduate students.

I was superciliously proud of my command of Urdu and was subtly scornful of students whose Urdu was weak. I’d often criticise their knowledge of Urdu. One day, I got so exasperated that I blurted out, ‘Aap logon ko kaunsi zabaan theek se aati hai? Hum toh Musalman bhi nahin hain aur Urdu humari zabaan bhi nahin hai. Phir bhi dekhiye hum kitni saaf-suthri Urdu bolte hain. Aap sabko sharm aani chahiye...’ (Which language can you speak properly? I’m not even a Muslim and Urdu is not my mother tongue. Yet, look at my Urdu. You should be ashamed of yourselves). I said it with disdain. The students were stunned.

Suddenly a girl stood up and said, ‘Janaab, mujhe aapse kuchh kahna hai.’  ‘Khahiye.’ What she said politely, transformed my life. ‘Aap hi toh kahte hain ke zabaan kisi qaum ki nahin hoti. Phir aap ye kaise kah sakte hain ke Urdu aapki zabaan nahin hai?’ (You say a language doesn’t belong to a particular community, how then can you say Urdu is not your language?)

I had no answer. She further asked me: ‘Was Munshi Premchand a Muslim? Why did he always write first in Urdu and then in Devnagari? Does Sampooran Singh Kalra ‘Gulzar’ ever say condescendingly that he knows Urdu despite being a Sikh? Does he separate Urdu from his religious and cultural identity? Does Gulzar blow his own trumpet? Why do you make it a point to impress upon others that despite being a non-Muslim, you know Urdu so well?’ 

She opened my eyes. I remained silent for a while because I was defenceless. She rendered me speechless and taught an invaluable lesson of my life. All my so-called knowledge and ‘enlightenment’ dissipated. I realised my mistake. I needed a severe jolt and a reality check. And that girl shook me like a soda water bottle. I said sorry and thanked her for teaching me a lesson in humility and hubris. 

 I also realised the limitations of my vision and the ingrained community consciousness (if not outright hatred). I still get to meet that girl who’s now a young woman and is reasonably outspoken. She taught me what I was supposed to teach her. That was my last day in the college. Not because I felt humiliated and slighted before a bunch of students, who I criticised. I resigned because I understood that I was not good enough to become a teacher students could look up to. I was not a model teacher students could idolise and learn from.