Robin Williams as John Keating in Dead Poet's Society
I did not think that the death of a man would affect me this
much. An actor, no less! And yet, I can't bring myself to work, even when I
really should be. So here's my ode to my favourite actor, Robin Williams and my
favourite movie, Dead Poets Society. People who know me, know that I do not
have a favourite anything. so why a favourite actor and movie? It is because of
a character called John Keating that Robin Williams played in the movie. That
character and the movie comforted me and gave me strength when I was very vulnerable and it literally changed my life. It is not an overstatement. Let me
explain.
When I was a kid, I was acutely asthmatic. I could not run
or hop even a few steps. If I did, I would have an attack which spanned 3 days in the worst cases. In those days, there were no inhalers, and I can't tell
you what kind of hardships my parents went through because of me. Since I could not
play till I was 12 years old, I used to spend my time observing and thinking
about the wonders of nature. Why was a droplet rising from the water surface
round, while a rain drop was not? How does an aeroplane stay in the air when it was not apparently pushing down on
anything? How does a top stay upright when spinning?
In contrast, the books were so bland. I never read them. I
used to write exams out of memory of what I had heard in class. I was okay in
my exam scores, probably in the top 10% in the class, but not the topper, which
my teachers repeatedly told my mother I could easily be. I must commend my
mother for her never ending motivation in trying to make me "study". It was a futile one, I had no aspirations for it.
Thankfully, my father did not care. He bought me two volumes of encyclopedias,
and I loved pouring through them: Just learning about beautiful people and
places, art and literature, instruments and machines. I built all kinds of
small machines. My father would probably know only through this post that I had
replaced the fuse of our house with a thicker wire because I was fed up of
changing the thin ones that kept burning out.
My entire school life passed this way, and I did not care.
But when it came to getting into a college, I always wanted to be an engineer
and I wanted to go to the IITs. At that time, I thought I could easily get in
based on my scores in preparatory mock exams. However, when I did not get
through in the actual exam, it stung. I realized getting into top schools requires rigour and
conformance to the education system, and I, foolishly did not want to
compromise on my way of learning. More importantly, it broke my father's expectations. He
never said it or ever let me feel his disappointment. But in a moment of
weakness, my mother told me that my father had a secret wish. He wanted to serve tea to his friends while letting them know that his son had got into an
IIT, the school he went to. This hurt. I
had failed the one man who had always stood by me.
What had I achieved through my non-conformance? What good is
potential, when not utilized? Was I doomed to mediocrity just because
I did not want to bend? What good does it serve? And would I ever get another
chance to prove to the world that I was not mediocre? And all this was made worse by a
girl, whom I dearly loved. She was
beautiful, talented and one of the toppers of our class. In two years of college, we had come close and drifted away.
And now there were rumours that she liked a boy who was also one of the
toppers. It was in this moment of self-doubt and misery, that I had found Dead
Poets Society!
John Keating had taught me that it was fine not to conform, to
find our own ways to learn, and draw our own conclusions. That it is in some
way more honourable, more brave, more rewarding to find our own way. Most importantly, I learnt to make peace with the fact that not everybody will see a value in that. In him, I saw my favourite teachers who passionately taught about the meaning and beauty of the subject, not the subject itself. In the students, I saw various aspects of me and my struggles of coasting
aimlessly through textbooks. I cried at the end of
the movie, with agony, with pride, with rebellion, and with respect! It had instilled
self-belief back into me.
Carpe Diem!
P.S. This post would be incomplete without paying respects
to the best teachers in my life. First and foremost, to my father who instilled
natural curiosity in me at a very tender age. For teaching a 4 year old kid
that a wall pushes back as hard as one pushes against it. And, that a man's
behaviour is his true ornament. To Maurice ma'am, my primary school teacher
that I could trust and love a lady other than my mother. To Biren-da, my
rickshaw puller, to show me that kindness is an attribute of human beings and
not the wealth they possess. To Shalini ma'am, my high school history teacher,
for showing that a subject can be as boring or as beautiful based on how it is
taught. To Dr. THS, my HOD in college, who on noticing everybody stand up when
he entered his first class asked, "Why are you standing? What have I done
to earn your respect?" He continued, "This class will have no marked
attendance. Come if it is worth your time. If you stay out of my class all
semester and write the same answer as the guy in class, you will get more
marks". I did not miss a single class in 3 semesters. And finally to my
friend Anand Vivek, that in true friendship, it is about giving and truly
expecting nothing back in return.
