"We are
too old for all this now"
- "Aren’t
we almost the same age?"
"Okay,
then I guess I have got too old for this now. I used to get excited at such
instances during school days."
- "Do
you remember 'The Human Seasons' by Keats?"
A stroke in
casual conversations sometimes works like time machine, taking us back in time
to experience a moment but with a new vigor, leaving you with a completely new
insight. Guess this comes with age or rather maturity when a situation brings
out different meanings at different stages despite words being the same.
My classroom
was always a chaotic place to be in. Folks could keep quiet and pay heed only
when a strict (read: one who could lash out to them verbally or let the stick
do the talking) teacher entered the class. We had such teachers for English as
well, who made us to read the text attentively and solve the exercises. Looking
beyond the scribbles of the text was "out of syllabus".
During the
mid-term of standard 8 we had a new English teacher. It was evident from
her first address that it was her debut. The uneasiness in her speech and the
Principal's presence in the room made us listen to her attentively.
The Human Seasons
By John Keats
Four Seasons fill the measure of the
year;
There are four seasons in the mind of
man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy
clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy
span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful
thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming
high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his
wings
He furleth close; contented so to
look
On mists in idleness—to let fair
things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold
brook.
He has his Winter too of pale
misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal
nature.
Our new
teacher read the poems loudly and gave away explanations with completion of
each verse. She asked us to take notes and we had no other way than to oblige.
Not that we were obedient but certainly scared of the Principal. She had a
notorious way of punishing students and we had experienced all the means up her
sleeves and had room for no more.
As the
address was over, the principal looked at the teacher gleefully, though she
would smile but seldom in presence of the students. "This is
my favorite poem and you explained it with capable examples. The
students will learn a lot from you"- said she. The room burst out into chatter as they left.
"Do you
know this is our Principal's favorite poem?"
- "Heard
that.”
"We
will recite this to her during our farewell after two years."
- "Oh
yes! We shall do it.”
“Is it not
too early to plan our agenda for farewell?”
-“This
conversation would be derelict in our memories by then.”
“Will we
forget each other in some years from now? Won’t we be good as friends like we
are today?”
- "No.
We all shall join the same college, go on treks and outing, work in the same
office and be together forever.”
"But
the poem says that we might not want the same things as we grow older. Our
choices will change. Things that appear exciting now could appear lack luster
then. And the teacher explained with an apt instance, my parents are not excited
about their birthdays as I am about mine.”
-"Don't
take the poem seriously. The poets write anything. They have no friends to
spend time with. But we have."
“The teacher
is here for the class.”
Years later,
the circle of classmates has shrunk to a few heads with common interests. Most
of them set on their journey towards oblivion in our memory, right after
school. Some leapt into seasons way too early, settled down with things we
deemed for elderly. Some move adroitly with each step perfected somewhat
scientifically. There are others who
straddle like an adventurer on treasure hunt, unsure of the destination and the
bounty but enthralled by the unexpectedness of the journey. All of them undergo different seasons but at
the same time. Chronology does not define the seasons. Experience does.
“Let’s go
trekking.”
-We are
too old for all this now"
"Aren’t
we almost the same age?"
-"Okay,
then I guess I have got too old for this now. I used to get excited at such
instances during school days."
"Do
you remember 'The Human Seasons' by Keats?"
