He
was a common sight in our campus.
Not a person one
would notice, if you did not hear him muttering endlessly to himself. Short and
portly, with a full head of curly hair, he could be seen all over the campus
walking with a sense of purpose but going nowhere. Much later, I came to know
that people referred to him as Majumdar. No one seemed to know his first name
and not many seemed to be interested enough in finding out. It was also not
clear whether he was a student, a research scholar, or a professor. He could
have been twenty or fifty – it was impossible to guess.
I came to know him by
chance. I had missed breakfast in the mess one Sunday morning and therefore
trudged to Nikhil’s teashop. Nikhil served a wonderful toast with “malai” and
hot sweet tea. A friend who had also come for breakfast soon joined me and he
was carrying a notebook and a pen. This was strange as we were such dedicated
students only a week before examinations, and that was a few weeks away.
It appeared that they
had been given an assignment, which had to be submitted on Monday, and
completing this involved understanding some tricky mathematics. Having nothing
better to do, I joined him in trying to solve the problems but soon it became
obvious that we were not getting anywhere.
“Can I see that?” the
voice was soft and courteous. We looked around to see Majumdar stretching his
hand out for the notebook. We were taken aback, but did not want to say no to
his face. Also, we were making no headway, in any case. We moved to a table
with flat benches on both sides and handed over the problems to Majumdar.
He looked at the
problems as if we did not exist. After some time, he beckoned to us to pay
attention and started explaining. At the same time, he was writing out the
steps of the solution sequentially. We were struck by the clarity of his
thought and the way he explained things. It became so simple. It was soon
obvious that we were in the company of a person with extraordinary
understanding of the subject.
Once or twice, we
interrupted him because his explanation had not been clear to us. With great
patience, he explained again but what was different about him was that he did
not repeat what he had already said. He used a different route to make the
explanation easier to understand. This rare ability is found only in some of
the great teachers.
After about an hour
and a half, the problems done and at least four cups of tea consumed. We
thanked Majumdar and were on the verge of asking him more about himself. However,
he abruptly got up and walked away. This was strange but then we knew that he
was what most people referred to as a “Looney”.
I saw Majumdar
frequently but when I said Hello or smiled, he would just look through me as if
I was a complete stranger. The couple of hours spent together solving problems
had not been enough to make me a friend or even an acquaintance. Once I was
walking just behind him for quite a while in the corridors of our department
when I overheard his mutterings. He was repeatedly saying “sine theta, cos
theta, tan theta…..” repeatedly under his breath. This was crazy! No sane
person would keep uttering such rubbish. Then, Majumdar was a “looney” – a
title well deserved. Since I had no more classes that afternoon, I decided to
follow him to see where he went and try to know more about him.
This quest proved
futile. He walked and walked. I got so tired but kept after him gamely. He also
kept muttering to himself and neither acknowledged anyone who cared to wish him
nor was it clear where he was going. After about two hours, I had to give up
lest I start acting in the same manner by induction.
Then I decided to
make it my business to try to find out more about him. He was not just an
ordinary Looney – as had been made clear during the two hours that I had spent
as his disciple in Nikhil’s tea shop. Queries over a period of time revealed
that he spent his nights in various hostels’ common rooms. He also had his
meals irregularly – again in either hostels mess or in one of the various stall
that existed in the campus. He was not a student or a faculty member, did not
have any known friends, generally avoided professors like plague, was harmless
and had been in the campus for ages. The stall owners said that he had once
been a student but no one could pin a particular year when this was so.
During my stay in the
institute, I took his help in solving problems, which were beyond me a couple
of times more. The only way to do this was to catch him at one of the stalls
and thrust a notebook in front of him with the problem written on it.
He would transform
immediately into an ideal Guru and by the time he was done the matter would
stand clarified in a manner which made me understand the magic of mathematics.
It was also obvious that I was of no interest to him but the mathematical
problem was something, which attracted him like a magnet. These sessions would
always end in the same way. He would abruptly get up and walk away and the next
moment I was a complete stranger.
Soon my interest
about trying to find out more about him waned. I went on with my life in the
quest of a degree and of new things to learn. These were not necessarily
academic in nature. Bridge and acting became passions ad did debating about all
sorts of topics.
One morning on the
way to the mess I came across a new character walking along the corridor.
Dressed in a white cotton shirt and a white cotton pant (an attire only seen in
films at that time!) , he looked too old and too unkempt to look like a
student. Though we students were not prime examples of the best-groomed youths
of the day, this character beat us by miles. His “Good morning”, spoken in a
soft voice was civil enough but did not match the overall impression of
seediness that he conveyed.
I was surprised to
see him enter the mess and was even more surprised to see Kondaiya – my favorite
mess worker – serve him a generous breakfast. It was too late in the term for
even postgraduate students or research scholars to join. He certainly was no student.
The man had a leisurely breakfast, savoring every morsel after which he just
nodded at Kondaiya and left.
Kondaiya understood
that we were busting to ask him questions so he came to our table to explain
the situation. In his broken Hindi, with a generous sprinkling of Telegu, he
told us that this was Abbas Saheb. He had been a student like us many years ago
but then he had to leave. One night Abbas became violent. He brutally trashed a
fellow student and it took many people to restrain him. The matter was reported
and Abbas had to face a disciplinary committee. However, his good record prior
to this helped him get off lightly.
Abbas changed after
that. Always an amiable man he grew morose and withdrawn. He stopped attending
classes. Then one day a girl complained that Abbas had been stalking her and
had threatened her. Abbas was summoned by the Dean, but did not appear. The
Warden was informed ad requested to produce Abbas before the Dean. However,
Abbas refused to heed the Warden saying that it was a personal matter between
him and his “wife”. The warden was taken aback.
Abbas’ unnatural
nonchalance while making this statement was so unnerving that he did not pursue
the argument. Instead he reported to the Dean that probably Abbas needed
psychiatric help.
The institute
psychologist was assigned to counsel him but Abbas did not go. The students
were asked to help and some of his friends cajoled him to accompany them to the
psychologist assuring him that in case he felt uncomfortable, they would bring him
back immediately.
The session with the
psychologist was a failure. Abbas just kept repeating that the matter was
personal and that he did not want anyone to interfere in the issues between the
“couple”. When he wanted to leave, his friends pressurized him to stay. Abbas
was becoming more and more agitated now. Finally, he left.
That night Abbas went
crazy. He trashed one of his friends so violently that no one dared interfere.
He was like a demon and finally some people in the crowd gathered enough courage
to accost him and pin him down.
He was locked in a
room and the Warden informed. A telegram was sent to his parents who arrived a
few days later. He was taken away in a straight jacket. He never returned as a
student.
However, every few
years, he would escape from his home and make his way to the college. He came
here to look for his “wife” who had deserted him. Usually a quiet person, he
could revert to violence if something irked him.
A few days later his
family members would come and take him away again. Surprisingly, Abbas would
never treat any girl with anything less than respect. The boys were however, at
risk.
No one really knew
what would set him off and Kondaiya’s advise was to try and steer clear of him
as much as possible. If avoiding him was not possible, we were advised to
refrain from prying into his past.
We asked Kondaiya
whether he was ever violent with any of the mess workers. Kondaiya smiled. “How
can my child be violent with me, saheb?” That demonstrated the love with which
Kondaiya treated us.
We took Kondaiya's
advice seriously enough. We were not eager to be trashed. If we saw him
approaching us, we would discreetly leave trying our best not to make it
obvious that it was on his account. However, this was not always possible.
How does one leave
the canteen when a piping hot cup of tea had just been delivered. We tried our
best to feign nonchalance and would even have a limited conversation with him.
He appeared to be quite a pleasant person, soft spoken and knowledgeable. At
the back of our mind, however, we knew that this could change very quickly.
One day we were
sitting chatting in the canteen, when we saw Abbas approaching. By this time we
had developed enough acceptance of him so as to not become desperate to leave.
Instead of coming
towards us he approached the cobbler who came to our hostel daily and went
about his business from morning till dusk. It was an unwritten rule that he did
not work once the sun had set. Something about old beliefs, it seems!
Abbas went up to him
and in his most courteous manner, said “Mochi
Saab, mera joota fat gaya hai. Meri guzarish hai ki aap iski marammat kar dein.
“(Mr Cobbler, my shoe is torn. I request you to kindly repair it)
Since the sun had set
the cobbler requested him to return next morning for the work.
Without any change in
his tone, Abbas said ”Mochi Saab, agar
aap yeh kaam abhi kar dein to Allah aapko dua dega, aur aap nahin karenge toh
main aapko zinda yehin gaad doonga.” (Mr Cobbler, if you repair it now,
Allah will shower his blessings on you. If you don’t, I shall bury you alive
right here.)
Without any further
thought about his beliefs, the cobbler immediately set to work repairing his
torn shoe and achieved the feat in record time!
Gradually snippets of
conversations with him revealed that he was from a family of shopkeepers in
Aligarh. He, unlike his brothers and cousins was not satisfied with being a
shop owner for the rest of his life and always thirsted for education. So he
worked at it, without much support from his family, but made his way to one of
the premier engineering institutes of the country.
He would say that
being here gave him some of the happiest days of his life and he was sure that
those days would return soon. Then there would be pain in his eyes and he would
clam up. That would be a signal for us to let things be and leave. The fact
that he wanted and worked for a life of his choice against all odds was
admirable. However, it was sad that this remained an unfulfilled dream.
On the evening that
Abbas was to be taken back by his family, I came across a strange sight in the
afternoon. I saw Abbas and Majumdar sitting in Nikhil’s shop sipping tea and
having a conversation. It was strange because Majumdar never conversed with
anyone, except when he was engrossed in solving mathematical problems. But it
was clear that they were not discussing maths. They were in fact having a
conversation as friends!
Abbas saw me and
waved. I waved back, but Abbas requested me to join him for tea. I hesitated,
but remembering to keep him in good humour, I reluctantly went and pulled up a
bench to sit. Abbas started introductions, but stopped as Majumdar got up and
left. Perhaps, he did not like my intrusion, however unintended it was.
Abbas’ smile was
apologetic. Over tea he told me something about Majumdar that probably very few
people knew on the campus.
Majumdar was senior
to Abbas. Majumdar was a brilliant mathematician and was doing research work on
a new concept that could be path breaking. Abbas was in his second year of
graduation then. Apparently, Majumdar was staying in Abbas’ hostel (mine too,
incidentally!) and since he was what we called a “Buddha” (Old man/ research scholar), he did not have many friends.
However he had helped
Abbas with maths and gradually a friendship grew between them. Then one day,
Abbas found Majumdar sitting dejected in the canteen. Abbas joined him, fearing
that some tragedy had befallen the poor guy.
Maybe he had lost a
dear one, and therefore it was imperative that friends support him in this
hour. For a long time, Majumdar did not say anything and kept staring at
nothing in particular. He would come around – Abbas was sure. Then Majumdar
started crying and was inconsolable.
Abbas tried to
comfort him as only true friends can. Through his sobs, the entire sordid story
came out. Majumdar was working with his guide and as was customary, he would
often continue the work at his residence.
The guide knew that
Majumdar was an uncommonly brilliant person, maybe even a genius, and so,
devoted much more time to him than was customary. He was in the kitchen
preparing something for them to eat, when Majumdar, who was clearing the desk
so that they could start work, came across a letter from a foreign university
addressed to his guide.
He could not help
reading it – such was the relationship of trust between them. He saw that the
subject of the letter was the topic of his research. The letter was a gracious
one in which the writer, a well known authority in the subject, had
congratulated his guide on the pioneering work done in the field.
So, his guide had
already started referring Majumdar’s work to other well known experts. That was
the sort of thing Majumdar would expect him to do. Majumdar himself would not
even think that it was important enough to do all this- get some opinion on his
work till it was complete. But his guide would.
At least one of them
was practical enough to do hat needed to be done. But Majumdar was puzzled. The
work was not complete, as yet. The final touches were still to be given. Was it
not premature? Maybe the guide knew better!
The guide entered the
room with tea and some hot pakoras! As he laid the tray on the table, he saw
Majumdar holding the letter in his hand. His face grew ashen! Majumdar was
looking excited and asking him something.
He could not clearly
hear what was being asked. He could only stare at the nicely bound copy of the
thesis that was kept on the top most shelf of the cabinet. It had seemed simple
enough to do it.
But poor Majumdar
seemed so excited even now. Was he really so innocent as to think that he would
get credit for such brilliant work?
Majumdar stopped in
the middle of his question. There was something wrong! The guide was not paying
attention to his queries. He was, instead, looking at something behind him.
Majumdar turned. He
saw the neatly bound copy of a document. He reached for it and looked at the
cover. He saw the name of the author. It was not his, but his Guide’s! The
world crashed around him! His work was no more his own. It had been pilfered by
a lesser being.
As Abbas related
this, the pieces fell in place. Perhaps, Abbas’ loss made him more sensitive
than the rest of us to Majumdar’s pain. Both of them had vied for something
higher, something better. Their loss had shattered them.
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