Somasegaram Sastry

Somasegaram strode down the kachcha road leading to his quarters with a spring in his gait. There was a song in his throat and it burbled through his lips in semi-audible gusts of vigor as he longstrode his way through the schoolchildren milling around. Calls of 'Good morning saar' were acknowledged with a smile and a nod and, without breaking his step, maastar gaaru moved on. A gaggle of girls gossiping by the side whispered animatedly among themselves, pointing surreptitiously at his kudmi bouncing wildly and giggled. Soma didn't even notice. His head was full of other things, better things; things more joyous and exciting. He tucked his schoolbooks firmly under his arm and marched on.

Slightly rotund, bouncy, and bespectacled, Mr. Somasegaram Sastry wasn't exactly what you might call handsome. He was also not the smartest card in the pack and was acutely conscious of this. He was also the senior-most Sanskrit teacher at the Krishnadevaraya Residential school. Somasegaram wore his seniority on his sleeve, so to speak, and wouldn't hesitate to flaunt it before his colleagues, outsourcing much of his tasks to them. Paper correction, marks tabulation, weekly notebook checks, etc. were tasks that were too menial in nature for his seniority and were best handled by the lessor qualified pseudo-teachers thronging around. Some of these took the extra load; some refused, and Sastry gaaru never liked anybody who refused his requests. Strangely, he didn't like those who accepted them either. Anybody he could bully was "a useless fellow," and anybody he couldn't was his enemy. Basically, Somasegaram had no friends of any description among his peers.

Among the clerical and junior administrative staff, however, Sastry gaaru was immensely popular. Every evening, while the children readied themselves for their evening classes, he could be found sitting on the lawns surrounded by his "friends". He loved them because they listened to him; they loved him because he had a lot to say. Juicy bits of gossip about his colleagues, running commentaries on where the new principal went wrong or how the existing system of education was basically flawed or how the school kitchen was a terrible mess .... He had views on everything, and they had the spice and vociferous approval he wanted for his views. And so it rode. He hated his world; his world hated him right back.

But one set that did love him were the schoolchildren. For one, he was very gullible, and could be manipulated as required. They knew that all they had to do was ask maastar gaaru how good the new Hindi madam was or how the food tasted last night or what he thought of the new books that were coming in, and the rest of the class could be spent listening to him berate the parties concerned.

Or he could be asked to sing. All the children had to do was ask him about the tune of a particular oldie, and maastar gaaru would be glad to supply the needed information. "Close the door," he'd command, and half the class would rush over desk and chairs to slam shut the doors and windows and would run right back to their places, their expectant faces shining at the thought of the good half-hour of fun ahead. And the singer would sing, and the little rabble would listen and giggle or play devious games that only schoolchildren know.

But there was one other reason he was loved. He really knew his stuff. As far as the students were concerned, there was nothing in the Sanskrit language that he did not know. He had all the questions and answers by heart and could bring alive the beauty of a poem, bringing the piece home to the enraptured listeners. There were giggles for his kudmi, ridicule for his manipulatability, and respect for his gyaan, for even children know a good thing when they see it.

But Somasegaram wasn't thinking of any of these things for now. His irritation with his colleagues, his onerous and boring tasks, his constant sneaking suspicion that someone is mocking him, these and other pains were far far removed from his mind at the moment. He coursed through the human jungle and quickened his pace even as the water tank at the top of the staff quarters came into view. Lakshmi would love to hear this.