Outstanding teachers of Ananda

Memoirs IV - Ananda College years

Premil Ratnayake

Principal Mettananda got down to work assisted by a team of outstanding teachers, that included hard-working men and women and even Buddhist monks devoted to their calling; indeed it was a calling rather than a profession those days when being a teacher was considered as noble as being a priest.

Unlike now, teachers were well groomed, coat and tie if they preferred the European attire; others wore immaculately white national dress. Women teachers in neat, unpretentious sari.

We may have been naive but we could not visualize a teacher or a doctor if he were not clad in full suit. That naivets is no more - good or bad. Dress played an important role in our unfreed nation. Individual respect stemmed from the manner in which a man or a woman was clothed. Looking back I wonder how teachers were able at afford full-suits as they were so poorly paid. I knew teachers who barely managed to survive living in boarding houses.

Those at Ananda at the time were unique; they had a religious passion for teaching. They did not confine their tutoring to the class room only; most of them took their work home. They studied the students’ work and their textbooks before they arrived in school to teach them.

To me, the most memorable among them was V. Thanabalasingham, our English teacher. Thane, as he was referred to fondly (of course not by the students) was a rare one of his breed. He was ruggedly handsome with a slight stoop that added to his Humphrey Bogart frame. He had a debonair gait and when he spoke his face lit up in a smile that also suggested an inward cynicism. Our cinema idols then were Hollywood toughest like Gary Cooper and John Wayne and naturally we were drawn to Thane.

We watched in admiration when he strode in to school always carrying two or three books cradled in his arm. He was a bookworm and also an inveterate smoker. When he had no class work you saw him in the teacher’s rest room puffing with a book on his lap. He was a bachelor and lived in a boarding house not far away. Constantly he had to change his living quarters when boarding house mistresses (they were an unscrupulous lot) demanded higher rent or fee.

Thanabalasingham taught us from that magnificent textbook” This Modern World” which was also readable as a novel or short story. In that sense, it was hardly a “textbook.” Thanabalasingham picked from it essays that he thought were interesting to us, indeed they were, and went over them with us meticulously explaining and his teaching method was so exhilarating that we regretted the end of the period. It was exciting and amusing to watch him teaching.

He ambled along leisurely between desks the book in his hand and would now and then rest his back on a desk. It was as if he were acting in some serious drama; the classroom was the stage and he was the principal sector, we were the audience. If we had read This Modern World ourselves it would have seemed drab. Thanabalasingham infused life into each essay and we did not feel we were “studying” the book; it was a rare pleasure: Thane read it like a bedtime story.

It was not his intention to hurry and finish and entire text. Studiously he selected the most absorbing and relevant chapters and had us spellbound reading them with us analyzing each content that was a delightful literary exercise. Indeed Thanabalasingham was a literary giant, a pragmatic and realistic tutor.

And when we sat for the year-end English exams we were not surprised that the questions were very much based on the articles he had chosen to read to the class. Thane loved his students like a fond father. When they had problems even outside the classroom activities he helped them graciously. One singular incident concerned a wayward student, Amaradasa.

When free education came into force they did away with school, fees and instead levied a game fees of Rs. 5 a month. We had to honour it without fail. Monthly a list of those who had failed to pay was sent to the teacher. And the teacher read out the names of the defaulting students and they were asked to leave class. As defaulters when we were asked to go, we usually strolled into the library to spend the free time browsing. Thanabalasingham detested this authoritative measure but he was helpless. It was repugnant to his Aristotelian thinking. Reluctantly though he had to order defaulting students out of class.

Amaradasa, somewhat a silent and brooding though who fancied himself as a teenage Alan Ladd, his favourite Hollywood cowboy movie star, apparently had been paying his game fees regularly but on one occasion was quoted in the defaulter list. When his name was called he refused to budge. Thane repeatedly called his name but Amare remained seated nonchalantly saying he had had paid his fees. Thanabalasingham told him he should go to the school office and have the matter resolved. Amaradasa stood his ground and retorted that if he left the class he would miss the lesson. Thane was exasperated. It was a matter of class discipline.

There was no way of bundling out the obdurate student physically he was as big as Thane and any physical scuffle would not have gone in favour of the teacher. All this was great fun for us. Students who were asked to leave giggled standing outside class. We were full of sympathy with Thane though Amare was our dear friend, almost a hero. Amare remained in class and at the end of the period Thane called him aside and reprimanded him for his behaviour in front of the entire class. Amare was silent perhaps with remorse. No student in our class was disobedient to our English teacher - they liked him and respected him.

Thanabalasingham counselling him very kindly told him that if he had problems about money he could always tell him. We knew that Amare had no such problems, his father owned a lucrative hotel in the Pettah. But Amare had a weakness for Western movies - he may have frittered away the money on Bioscope, Amare had apparently taken our generous teacher’s advice too literally. For, next day he approached Thanabalasinghem with a tale of indigence.

The teacher gave him some cash. Triumphantly he met his friends and took them out for a Thosa feed at the Nithyananda Bhavan in Maradana and later to a Roy Rogers Western at the Crown Theatre. We were feeling sorry for Thane and did not participate. Perhaps Thane, not so naive, knew what would follow after his chat with Amaradasa. But he shrugged it off philosophically.

Thanabalasingham took our essays home and read them diligently. Then he made his comment and remarks on the space column. On some creative essay he would write “Very good if original.” It was to discourage students from cribbing.

Towards the end of every year Thanabalasingham suffered bouts of mental depression. It was the pathetic outcome of a great tragedy he had gone through after he lost his brother in a motorcar accident. He was aware of his ailment and therefore never married. Even though he was mentally disturbed he came to school. Mettananda was profoundly sympathetic. He never barred him: Thane was an indispensable teacher. Despite the illness he was not violent or unruly.

He only laughed cynically and somewhat frivolously. As usual he strode into school with a carefree swing - but on such day he also donned a raincoat even when it was a clear and sunny day. Students never mocked him for his mixed-up attire; they took it as a matter of course. Thane was above ridicule. Sometimes even inside class he kept the raincoat on - it was not deliberate, perhaps it slipped his mind. He told the class to forget about books, cast them away and talk - “let’s talk. You ask me questions, I’ll try to answer them”

“Sir, why do you smoke?” That was the first question from impish Gunasekera seated in the back row wearing a wide grin. Thane paused in his desultory amble, smiled thoughtfully and replied: “I have been pondering over it myself million times. Why do I smoke? The question has plagued me. Then I found that the cigarettes is the only friend I have.”

“Can we smoke?”

“Yes, when you grow up and start to earn for yourself. You can’t smoke on your parent’s money.”

“Is reading good?” A reference to the books he always carried with him.

“Always, indeed. Reading is the best thing in life. To me it is as important as breathing. Without books man will be a dead animal.”

The question-and-answer session continued until the period ended.

When Thane got trifle restless Mettananda summoned two of Thane’s best friends, Sextus Alwis and Manickavasagam, gave them money asked them to take Thane to a Chinese restaurant in the Fort for a repast. There Thane ordered a sumptuous meal but refused to eat it.

Years later I met him as a reporter while covering an event at Ananda. He looked gaunt and poorly dressed. I offered him a cigarette. Smiling profusely he fished out a beedi pack,” no thank you. I now smoke these, I cannot afford cigarettes in my pecuniary circumstances.” After retirement Thane took refuge in the Fort YMCA reading in the library. I used to chat with him and talk about my writing. “It is what is called self-effacing writing. Write about what you know. Don’t write about what you don’t know.”

I told him I owed to him the little I knew about the English langauge and about writing. He was not flattered by the compliment. There was a faint glimmer of a wry smile. I remembered the time I was dead broke and at the YMCA restaurant he thrust Rs. 50 note in my hand saying with a grin,” I will share the last rupee with you.”

After that I never saw him. He must be resting in that mysterious realm no doubt puffing and reading with a chuckle.

To be continued.......