Still Me By Rashmi

This story has nothing to do with cancer. Cancer cannot take centre stage every day. This story is for Teachers Day for every teacher who saw the child before they saw the syllabus.

My son has a rather interesting history with teachers.

He never collected them.

He… disposed of them.

When he was in Grade 4, my husband and I had just started our restaurant. We were working long hours, and I didn’t want his studies to suffer, so I found him a tutor.

She was lovely.

Excellent at English and Geography.

Unfortunately, Rehaan wasn’t particularly interested in either of the subjects… or the tutor.

Within a week she was gently hinting,

“I don’t think Rehaan really needs me.”

I suspect what she actually meant was,

“I don’t think Rehaan really wants me.”

Two months later, she was practically begging for parole.

So, we parted on excellent terms.

Fast forward a few years.

Grade 8.

Three sciences.

Another highly recommended teacher.

This time the arrangement lasted…

You guessed it.

About two months.

One afternoon, while I was at work, she rang me.

“Mrs Mehta, I just wanted to let you know that Rehaan has informed me he won’t be coming anymore.”

I nearly dropped the phone.

When I got home, I asked him what on earth had possessed him.

His answer was beautifully logical.

“I don’t like her. She isn’t teaching me anything I don’t already know from school. You weren’t going to tell her coz you’re too busy, so I did your job.”

I wasn’t sure whether to yell at him, laugh, or apologise to the teacher.

I would have thought my son had a very short shelf life when it came to teachers.

But then there was Mrs. Lata Tyagi.

She was different.

He met her in Grade 4 for mathematics and Hindi —Math he genuinely loved. Hindi, he tolerated.

He also knew he needed practice in math.

What started as tuition quietly turned into one of the most extraordinary teacher-student relationships I’ve ever seen.

One day I arrived early to pick him up.

The maid let me in.

There was my son, sitting on a swivel chair.

Every time he solved a problem correctly, Mrs. Tyagi gave him a triumphant spin.

I stood there completely bewildered.

She just smiled and said,

“This is how he learns.”

Then she added,

“And I love teaching him. He’s bright.”

That was that.

She had officially understood my son.

Years passed.

She had always said she didn’t teach beyond Grade 10.

When Rehaan moved on to the IB programme, everyone suggested teachers with impressive qualifications and equally impressive reputations.

He had one answer.

“I only want Mrs. Tyagi.”

She could easily have said no.

Instead, she smiled and said,

“It’s okay.

We’ll learn together.”

And they did.

Sometimes she even rang him later to ask if he could help solve a maths problem she’d come across.

Imagine that. The teacher asking the student.

They were actually learning together

People often ask what makes a great teacher.

Qualifications matter.

Knowledge matters.

Experience matters.

But every now and then, someone comes along who sees not just the subject…

…but the child sitting in front of them.

Mrs. Tyagi didn’t just teach my son mathematics.

She taught him that learning could be joyful.

And perhaps that’s why she was the only teacher he never tried to dispose of.

He went on to consistently maintain an IB score of around 42.

I’d like to think that was about 95% Mrs. Lata Tyagi…

…and perhaps 5% the Mehta math gene.

If we’re being completely honest, even that 5% may be open to negotiation.

And knowing my son, he’d probably argue it should be 98% Mrs. Tyagi and 2% the Mehta gene, just to keep the math accurate. 

Happy Teachers’ Day to every teacher who changes a child’s life in ways that marksheets can never measure.

Mrs Tyagi certainly changed his