When was the first time I experienced “attraction?” – Don’t know…maybe when I was cradled by two warm hands and a bunch of familial faces peering at me coochi-cooing incorrigible noises and my brain comprehended some symmetry (or asymmetry) to those faces and when I smiled at the first sign of symmetry.
After that, I guess anything that stoked any one of my five senses felt exciting and I got curious enough to hold that memory for a few seconds. These “excitements” play through all our lives, I guess, sparking and stoking a bit of that once-upon-a-time memory that started somewhere in one’s childhood. For one, I always felt rejuvenated watching breezy winds, swaying branches, stoic mountains or the fierce waves at the Marina, Chennai. Nature was my Pehla Nasha (first love or first intoxicant)
And then came school. Growing up with 30 odd boys at primary school means you become a tomboy and those traits remain with you for life. Nobody expects a tomboy to feel those warm, loving and fuzzy feelings. Especially to a teacher.
Almost all the teachers in that school were “motherly types” – round, warm and sounding strict. My mother though wasn’t anything like that. She was thin, distant and a disciplinarian without sounding intimidating. She wasn’t overly affectionate, but was communicative enough to show how much she loved me. So the teachers at school weren’t “motherly” by my standards….until she came – ‘Razia Miss.’
She breezed into that school like a whiff of fresh air. She was really the first stranger I felt attracted to – She was probably my first crush – Someone you suddenly feel an instant connection with. Part of that first love feeling could’ve stemmed from the fact that in a school that was filled with Dravidian-ish – meaning short, stocky, dark-skinned and quite literally loud – teachers, Razia Miss was the epitome of my mother’s traits with lot more grace added to her demeanor.
That she was the first person I was “attracted” to sounds funny now, but I had all those butterflies and happy lumps juggling in my throat the moment I saw her heading to our class room, everyday. ‘English’ became my favourite subject, because she liked all those who spoke “good English” – whatever that means in today’s parlance.
A couple of years in that school and she was beginning to become less of a teacher and more of a friend, where we could laugh over a joke or share a crunchy dosa in the staff room (only a privileged few students were allowed there). Her sudden announcement that she was quitting school came as a jolt though I never knew where she headed to. She just said she was leaving for better opportunities.
I remember, on her last day in our school, she called me close and handed a lovely red rose from the bouquet given to her in a small informal ceremony by the school’s management. “You should work hard, keep smiling always and speak and write good English always. Okay?” she said and I nodded, hardly able to contain my eyes welling up. I was in Grade 5 and by then my parents taught me never to cry in public and so the eyes welling up was actually not a good thing. I thought I saw a faint streak of sadness in her eyes too and probably a thin film.
I kept my word to her, all my life. My love for the language never waned and I only wish she was around to provide direction. And then I grew up. There were many crushes and infatuations later in life and none of them happened to be a teacher or another female.
As I write this, I close my eyes and I see a brilliant bright sun blinded by her smile and she is walking towards me with an energetic stride wrapped in a blue georgette saree with tiny white crystals matching the twinkle in her eyes. She is still pure elegance, just as I saw her the first time.
My Pehla Nasha, Razia Miss remains afresh, watching me from some place she is happy…..in my memories that appreciate a fine symmetry.
Gomathi Karri Reddy 