O Captain, My Captain!

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.