February 08, 2008

To Sir, With Love

Dear Sir,

I know this comes a little late now. I wish it could have been like in Mitch Albom's tuesdays with Morrie. May be such gestures do not amuse you. I do not know. I never knew you well enough. That had been an excuse for not having met you again after my first year.

Probably the unknown person behind that enchanting persona, the mysterious brain behind that broad forehead remains a part of your appeal. It was never your dialogues, your diction or your style that won me over. It wasn't entirely what you taught either. I confess to have not understood some of these and forgotten most of these; I already have difficulty visualizing any part of the classroom vividly.

There was something else... like the evidences for the non-compartmental nature of various branches of science, the beauty in brevity and elegance, the virtue of responsible laziness, and most importantly the flashbacks behind the origins of problems. It is because of you that I could begin to see these, and continue to in different walks of life.

I had continuously tried to imitate you, not in actions but in thoughts. It was a failure because I find it difficult to understand even my own thoughts.

My career takes an eternal refuge in mathematics, and I am able to do that with great pride because you taught me how to appreciate it. I can't list what all I owe you, but there is an awful lot of it.

I failed to pay you the gurudakShiNa you had asked for. Because I derive great pleasure every time I state that I sat at an arm's distance from you for over an year. If it helps, I only share it during the good times, when my skills in mathematics are being lauded.

A part of me feels compelled to introduce myself to you, to remind you who I am. But the rest assures me that it is pointless. I see the point of my insignificance.

You live in the memories of those days that we cherish. It is a pleasure.

Yours obediently,


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