Teacher’s Day Memories – A Journey from Village to Infinity
It was the year 1997. I was a young boy in my native village, full of curiosity but with no idea about the world. Our government school was not inside a building - it was under the shade of trees, Mango, Lichi & Mahuwa etc.. That tree was our roof, the ground was our floor, and nature itself was our classroom.In those days, there were no classes if it rained, if a storm came, or if any other natural force interrupted. Our school was as open as the sky above us- nature decided our timetable
This simple school under the tree can also be compared to the ancientGurukuls of India, where students learned in the middle of forests, away from pitakul and distractions. Later, the great poet Shri Rabindranath Tagore’s Shanti Niketan in Kolkata carried forward the same spirit—education in the lap of nature. Even today, some modern universities across the world hold special classes under different trees, believing that nature creates the best classroom for reflection, learning, and wisdom.
Every morning, some of my friends would arrive early. They would sweep away the dry leaves, arrange the space, and bring two wooden chairs from a nearby house. With that, our “school” was ready for the day.
We had two teachers: Mr. Ameerul Haq and Mr. Parmod Budg Bihari Singh. I don’t even remember which class I was in, but I remember how they patiently taught us the basics of Math and Language. It was with them that I first heard about Teacher’s Day. They explained why we celebrate it and what it means. Although it was not a major concern for us, we were unaware of any celebrations beyond the religious festivals.
Today, I don’t know if they are alive or not. But wherever they may be, I pray they are in peace.
When I moved to Salafia Darbhanga for my boarding school years, my understanding of teachers grew deeper. I stayed there for four years, and life itself started to feel like a clay pot on the potter’s wheel. The simple clay was me, but the careful hands of my teachers shaped me into something stronger. Every teacher was like a different tool—each one adding their own touch to the pot of my life.
I still remember Mr. Abdul Wase sir. On the second floor of the school, he would look outside the window towards the pond and tell us, “When a student makes wudu, wears clean clothes, and recites the Quran, the fishes in the pond begin to dance with joy.” I am still wondering what was the measing of 'the fishes in the pond begin to dance with joy'.
A true teacher has a vision that goes far beyond the walls of a classroom. Some teachers, I believe, are specially sent by Allah with a divine purpose—to guide, to inspire, and to shape lives. I feel in my heart that my teachers were among them, for they nurtured me with care and taught me not just lessons from books, but how not to become a bad man. Although I am not a good man.
Later, in Patna Muslim High School, I had another unforgettable teacher—Late Salfi Sir, although I was with him for a year only. He was strict, very strict. Once he said, “The part of the body beaten by a teacher’s stick will not burn in hellfire.” At that time, I feared him. But looking back now, I realize even his harshness had a strange kind of love hidden inside. He taught not only me, but also my elder brother and cousins. May Allah grant him the highest ranks in Jannah.
Many times, a teacher’s advice feels small at the moment. But when you follow it, you realize how powerful it is.
By the time I reached college, the picture was very different. It became a race—a race of assignments, exams, and semesters. Every step was heavy with pressure, but also full of hope. That race pushed me forward, teaching me discipline, hard work, and the hunger to build a better life.
I once dreamed of becoming an art student, even a philosopher. In fifth class, I was inspired by Rousseau, when we read how he believed life should be made easier for children. His thoughts touched my young heart. But as time passed, like many children, my dreams changed again and again. Deep inside, art remained my true calling. Yet, I was pushed towards science—because people said it had more scope, more opportunity, and that this was the age of science. Later, society guided me further toward engineering. In truth, I did not choose this path—life chose it for me. My journey became one of countless milestones, each shaping me in ways I never expected.
And still, somewhere in my heart, I wait for that moment… or that person… who will allow me to return to my first love - philosophy and art.