The Teacher’s Legacy: Not Left Behind, But Carried Forward

I recently restarted my Bharatnatyam classes after a gap of almost a decade. It’s difficult to describe how much I missed it all: the ache in my legs, the clink-clank of ghungroos, the swish of dupattas, and the smell of sweat and jasmines in the air. Above all, I missed my guru. I missed the praises showered when a move was learned quickly, the sharp scolding when my posture slouched, and the proud smiles. These little moments shape me as a person and my life every day. 

Teachers have always been a big part of my life, may that be my mother, my first teacher or my school teachers; my college professors, or my dance gurus. Their teachings and they, themselves, define who I am today. I remember my teachers more in snippets of memories, than in true images. One such momentous memory is of when I was in third grade. I had only recently been possessed by the ghost of an unnamed poet from the Victorian era and had begun a journey on the path of poetry that I still walk on to this day. I had shown the very first poem I had written, a silly little thing titled, “Three Little Sparrows”, which now, without innocent rose-tinted glasses of the excitement of doing something for the first time, I find quite embarrassing, to my then English teacher. I remember the proud look in her eyes as she read it, the soft smile on her face, and in the lilt of her voice as she said, “This is very good, Eshwari. I might just put it on the notice board for everyone to see.” 

And true to her promise, it was there the next day, on the notice board, a poem by a third grader, somewhere only seventh graders and above posted their writings. She was also the one who had said to me once, when my pen was broken, my diary pages were torn, and my inner poet lost, “Eshwari, no matter what happens, never stop writing. Talent like the one you possess is rare, so never give up on it. Your writing defines who you are. If things get too difficult, then you know where to find me.” These words of hers still echo in my heart, through all these years. 

To some extent, I believe our teachers define all of us. They define our culture, our past, just as they shape our future and our lives. In India, we return this contribution they make to our identities and culture, with the utmost respect on days like Guru Purnima and Teacher’s Day where we give back to our teachers what they gave to us, love and respect. It is an age-old tradition, since the time of the Gurukul System, the giving of Guru Dakshina, or a tribute to our teachers, as a sign, a promise to follow their teachings and respect the value those teachings contain, holds an important place in our lives and is a tradition passed down from generations to generations. Now be that in the form of marigold flowers and bowing down to touch their feet in pranam, or giving them fancy pens and chocolates with handmade, glitter-covered cards, it is the thought we put behind these actions that really touches our teachers’ hearts.

At the end of the day, when you go to school, college, or your classes, and see your teachers, remember, that they are the ones who have stood by your side through all the highs and lows, all of your strongest and proudest moments and your shameful, weak seconds. They are the ones who have given you the knowledge that will eventually help you grow in the best version of yourself, and we must pay them back by keeping what they gave us, that legacy, with us and carrying it forward for the ones that will follow us. I know my teachers most certainly did and I intend on carrying forward their legacies. For those efforts and that gift of legacy, I say to all of my teachers, thank you. 

 

- Eshwari Kamble

Volunteer, Editorial Committee