Masters and Apprentices ...

I met Jibbu when I was seventeen. I was a first year student at the IIT, fresh and arrogant as ever about my academic prowess. We were supposed to teach high and middle school students as part of our first year curriculum. Many of the children were from the nearby Tharamani village, a slum on the outskirts of Chennai, just behind the IIT. We had volunteered to conduct tuition classes for the children in a run-down building in the middle of Tharamani, surrounded by small houses that were almost falling apart. It was raining that day, and it was slushy as hell. There were five of us that day. We sat and waited, expecting noone to turn up anyway. Three people turned up, Rani, Tamizharasan (never knew what meant!), and a short happy-go-lucky kid -- Jibbu Thomas. He was in sixth grade in the nearby government run school.

Jibbu looked around and sat down on the chair next to mine. to this day, I dont know why. I smiled at him awkwardly and asked him (in my ridiculous Tamizh) his name. He laughed at me and corrected my Tamizh. I was slightly annoyed at him for it, but his smile was so disarming, I couldnt open my mouth. I told him that I couldnt speak in Tamizh. We decided on a common language somewhere between English and the vernacular. He was a smart kid, but he didnt really care about studies. His father was a candle maker, and he wanted Jibbu to carry on the family business after school.We sat and talked about all the other things he did in school, from chasing cats to stealing chalk and drawing patterns on the walls of the houses. He reminded me of my childhood, which seemed so far away from me. Suddenly it was 6 o clock and time to leave. I hadnt taught him anything. But in retrospect, there are some days when you just let go, and this was one of those.

The next class, a few days later, I was waiting for Jibbu. He came in late, and I was almost disappointed and annoyed when he sat down to someone else. I literally dagged him out of my friend's section and made him sit in mine. I offered to drop him home and we talked on the way back. He showed me where he had hidden all his 'valuables' : a broken water pistol, a marble set, and his prize possession, a toy helicopter in perfect working order. I was jealous of his child-like happiness.

As the months went by, we became good friends -- master and pupil. He was good at math, and extremely bad at almost everything else. Secretly, I empathised with him because all my life it had been a similar story, stellar performance in math punctured by abysmal performances in every other conceivable subject. I promised myself I would make a mathematician out of him. There were other people in the class too, but Jibbu would always get special attention. I knew I was being partial, but I couldnt help myself.

I taught at the village office for almost two years, and then it was time to leave. I had too much other work to do outside the volunteer work. My last day at the Centre was pretty much the same except that Jibbu hadnt turned up. I was angry at him for not making it on my last day. I was about to leave when he did turn up. He had a little packet in his hand : "Anna, for you Anna". I took the packet, wished him luck and walked home. I opened the packet at home, and there were three candles : all handmade by Jibbu.

One, I lighted the day I learnt he cleared his board examinations. The second, I'll ask m mother to light up today, because I heard he got into college. The third, I will always keep with me, a reminder to myself of someone who, in a small way, made his mark in my life.