A Math Teacher's Philosophy and a Pongal Proof

We had a really funny Math teacher in tenth grade, Mr. Kandula Srinivasarao. He made us laugh with his funny songs and witty one liners in Telangana dialect. Whenever any of us caught him making a mistake on the board, he would spontaneously say "Testing ra. Testing", and that for some reason always made me laugh. I loved Math and didn't really need reasons beyond that to be fascinated by this fun and witty Math teacher. But he had the most beautiful Telugu handwriting I had ever seen, and I was always at my best behavior in his class. On one of the rare occasions I wasn't, he came to me, all serious and no sign of the fun teacher he usually was, and asked me what my father's name was and what he did for a living. I was confused by that line of questioning, I was expecting to get yelled at for my lack of focus or other admonishment along those lines. I managed to blurt out the information he had asked of me and tried to not get into any more trouble the rest of his class.

Later that day, during shareerak (P.E.), Srinivasarao sir pulled me to the side and handed me a sealed  envelope. It had "To Sri. Vemuri Hanumantharao Garu, From Kandula Srinivasarao", in Telugu, on the front. As soon as I realized that it was a letter addressed to my dad, my mind started racing. Could it be because I talked to the girl behind me and interrupted his class earlier in the day? Why was he taking it to this extreme for my one bad day? It was not like I was a serial class-interrupter or anything. He snapped me out of my barrage of thoughts when he specifically asked that the letter be only opened by my dad. The rest of the P.E. hour seemed the longest. The temptation to see what was in that envelope was just too great. I worried about its contents, I worried even more about my dad's reaction, for nothing like this had ever happened in my household. I walked home at the end of the day, half panicking, and waited patiently for my dad's return from his evening tutoring.

Finally, around 7pm that night, after my dad opened the seal and read it, I had the chance to read it myself. It was written in Telugu, his impeccable handwriting made letters all seem like fresh flowers arranged in a beautiful garland. Hoping that my memory serves me right, for here's the translation of his letter:

********
Dear Sri. Hanumantharao garu,

My name is Kandula Srinivasarao. I am Yagna Jyothy's Math teacher. Yagna Jyothy is really good in Math but she always makes silly mistakes in tests. For instance, she made a simple calculation mistake in the recently concluded unit test (monthly test) and lost one mark. Her scores from the past three tests are 23.5, 24.5 and 24 out of 25. If she focuses better in these tests, she can really score 100% in her finals. I understand you are a Math teacher too and I just wanted to give you these details so you can encourage her to focus better.

Regards,
Kandula Srinivasarao.

********

Phew. What a relief that was, after those nerve-wrecking few hours! For the record, there is not a Bollywood style happy ending to this story, I never got a perfect score in any remaining math tests that year, or for that matter, ever, until after college. My lack of focus is still prevalent, and lost out on many perfect score opportunities, not just in Math. I guess I am incorrigible when it comes to going that extra mile. However, I just absolutely loved that letter, I read it many times that night and even years later, I think about its contents. I was very sad to lose it during our move to the current house, six years ago. I know it is there somewhere and I am hoping that someday it will serendipitously find me on its own, just like it did the first time, back in 1992.

I was thinking about that missing letter recently. It inspired me to write letters to my Telugu students. I wanted them to have the experience that I had of reading a meaningful handwritten letter from their teacher.  I wrote all ten of them, my own daughter included, individual letters. I teach language, not Math, so I wrote to them about Bhogi (first day of spring harvest festival).  I gave them all tiny bags of Bhogi ingredients - flowers, berries, chick peas and pennies, and asked them to have their parents shower them with Bhogi on Thursday. I wrote about how I used to collect coins after elders in the family put them on my head for prosperity. I wrote that I wish for them to make life long memories of Bhogi.

My handwriting is no where close to my math teacher's but I wish that my students remember Bhogi just as much as this student remembers his letter. As they say, proof's in the pudding- or in Pongal, as is the case today. I just cannot wait to find out more on Sunday when I see them all in class.

I am confident that at least one student will never forget Bhogi now! 

Here is wishing sweet and fulfilling childhood memories to kids all over, one Pongal at a time.