My teacher and colleague, Pratibha has left us too soon
The news that former Khaleej Times journalist and my teacher at the Indian High School, Dubai, Pratibha Umashankar, had passed away in Bangalore after an illness, came as a huge shock because my last interactions with her were such joyful, lively ones. It was 2007, and Pratibha was an established writer working for WKND magazine after a long stint at Young Times while I was a cheeky temp with KT’s tabloid City Times attempting to absorb new things on a daily basis as best I could. Our chats involved old stories about IHS (there was always something to reminisce about), books (she was a bibliophile like myself) or new words she found interesting while doing the crossword. It was impossible to engage in conversation with her and not come away inspired or amused in some way. There was an earnestness about the things she did and said that could have melted even the most hardened of cynics.
Pratibha was aware of my fondness for anything that evoked nostalgia (old books and photographs make me overly sentimental, sometimes leaving me lost in thought for days); one day she came up to my desk with a photo that looked like it dated back to the seventies. This black and white image of a very young Pratibha clad in her trademark sari, poised and confident, instantly transported me to simpler, happier times. “Jaane kahan gaye woh din (who knows where those days have gone),” she remarked, with a smile that will forever remain etched in memory.
As far as work went, her dedication to finding good stories and telling them in the most objective and yet engaging way possible were qualities I will always admire and attempt to emulate. She didn’t hesitate to chase what some of us would consider a difficult story (I remember a particular one she did about bikers in Dubai and I had tried at the time to imagine Pratibha in a biker avatar, fearless and undaunted, the vision still brings a smile to my face).
It was impossible to engage in conversation with her and not come away inspired or amused in some way.
I still have vivid memories of her as our Geography teacher (she taught English as well) at IHS in the late eighties. Always resplendent in bright saris and kajalrimmed eyes and lipstick, she was ever ready with smiles of encouragement to her students. When I muse on what American historian and professor John Henrik Clarke once said, “A good teacher, like a good entertainer first must hold his audience’s attention, then he can teach his lesson,” I think of Pratibha and her skill at engaging an audience. She would try her best to inject life into our otherwise dry textbook lessons with such vibrancy and enthusiasm that even easily bored students like myself would sit up and take notice of what was happening in class rather than spend the better part of a 30-minute period in dreamland.
Pratibha extended the same encouraging attitude towards extra-curricular activities as well — I once auditioned for a play she was organising and — let’s make a long story short here — she ended up breaking it to me as gently as possible that perhaps I could work behind the scenes instead of acting in the play, and put me in charge of some artwork and other arrangements. It may have seemed like a small consolation to others, but memories of that incident still evoke the kind of warmth and nostalgia that only a few people can inspire.
It’s tough saying last goodbyes to a larger-thanlife personality like Pratibha, and living with the knowledge that we will never meet again. At times like these life seems shorter than you ever imagined it to be, and you cling to precious moments even more anxiously, knowing that once people leave, memories are all you’re left with. Like Pratibha, I can think of many old teachers (some of whom are sadly no longer with us) who have made a huge impression on me. The knowledge (not necessarily academic) and values they imparted remain an inseparable part of my life.