Jamia millia islamia...Mohammed Yusuf PAPA

The Terror with a golden Heart

Mohammed Yusuf PAPA, physics teacher, vice principal, Jamia Senior Secondary School.

Urdu poet of humor & satire.

Simple person with a style of his own.

A brand with an ambassador within was all famous for many things. He was famous for his poetry that could make you laugh until your jaw sides hurt. 

He was famous for his temper that could make you forget every joke he ever told. He was famous for his bone china cups that appeared only when he wanted to forgive. He was famous for his pet words that became our words. "Suuarr", "Chappan chhuri ka dance", "Tansen ki aulad", "Bahar kya teri amma nach rahi hai". He was not just a teacher. He was a personality & a legend in his own lifetime.

Papa was a terror for students, and every single student tries to even change the track on which Papa used to come. If you saw him approaching from the left, you would walk to the right. If you saw him turning towards the corridor, you would disappear into the nearest classroom. It was not that we hated him. It was that we feared him and fear, in those days, was a form of respect.

Still bright in my memories, whenever he enters from school gate, the track dividing the four lawns of middle and senior secondary school becomes utmost clear right up to his disappearance to one of the classrooms after crossing the center stage. Students disappear from his path like strong wind of a chopper disperses the grass around. Nobody wanted to be in his way. Nobody wanted to catch his eye. Because catching his eye meant catching his attention and catching his attention meant catching his unexpected wrath.

During practicals of measuring the current by ammeter in class XI, one of the very common practices, I am sure many of the students may have gone through is, shunting of key and winding the wire on the knob. It was a simple procedure. 

A routine task. 

But in Papa's lab, nothing was simple or routine because Papa was watching, always watching.

Papa was very active all the time.

He saw Qyam having some problems in taking the readings, he went and observed him. Qyam was struggling. The needle was not moving. The connections were not right, and Papa was standing right behind him, silent, waiting.

Qyam looked at him, he then said, "Shunt kar."

Qyam didn't understood and Papa repeated, "Shunt kar."

Papa lost his patience and shouted, "Abe suwwar shunt kyon nahi karta?" (why you are not shunting)

Qyam said, ok sir and he remove one connection going to ammeter!!!

"Tujhe shunt karna nahin aata? Din bhar bijar ki tarah ghoomta rehta hai." (You dont know how to shunt, whole day you roam like a bull)

"Aa mein tujhe shunt karoon!" (Now i will shunt you)

He kept his wristwatch, as usual on table and praised Qyam in every possible way he can. The praise was not words. 

The praise was the stick. 

The praise was the slap. 

The praise was the punishment that followed by every mistake!

After beating him, Papa becomes more ferocious. It was as if the act of punishment gave him energy, as if the anger fed on itself and grew stronger with every strike.

It was bad luck of Zia who tries to play smart and come to Papa and said, sir I did the shunting, but readings are not very good.

Papa went to his table, looked at the complete assembly, tried shunting and without shunting, same results!! 

The needle refused to move. Something was wrong and it was not the shunting.

About to ask Sami Sahib to change the apparatus, he found the fault.

Now it was the turn of Zia.

Zia made a mistake while connecting copper wire, he winds the wire on knob at least five times and that was crime in Papa's lab. Five times! Not once or twice. 

Five times. It was as if he had wrapped a turban around the knob.

He shouted again.

"Suwwar!!! Reading kaise aayegi?" 

"Tu ne pagdi jo baandh rakhi hai." 

(How will you get the reading? You have winded it like a turban)

"Tujhe mein pehnata hoon pagdi....." (Let me make you wear a turban)

By the time Zia said sorry, it was almost over. 

The punishment had been delivered. The lesson had been learned and Papa had moved on to the next victim.

These were little glimpses of our physics practical classes. English language is unable to express the real feelings we had experience at that time.

It was very common for Papa to throw jokes while teaching. Those jokes sometimes went out of proportion, but after all, he was PAPA. 

He was not just a teacher. 

He was an institution. 

A legend. 

A man who could make you laugh and make you cry in the same breath.

Papa was a performer and the classroom was his stage.

Apart from all what I have mentioned above, everybody might smell that Papa wasn't a good teacher or a good human being?

It's not like that.

It is a reality that Papa was not comfortable at all in numerical, but his theory was very clear. He could explain the laws of motion. He could describe the properties of light. He could make you understand the mysteries of the universe. But when it came to numbers, when it came to calculations, he struggled and he knew it & we knew it too, but he never let it stop him.

I remember, during one of the sessional tests.

One of my friends played mischievous.

It was Papa's style to provide spread sheet, thoroughly stamped, signed and stapled along with questionnaire. With the same anticipation, my friend prepared some answers prewritten on loose papers. He had planned it perfectly & rehearsed it in his mind. 

He was ready.

Papa distributed the paper, students started attempting them. 

As usual Papa keeps close eyes on all.

My friend selected the required sheets and removed the pin from the original sheet and inserted the prewritten answer sheets to the original by keeping the front page of original intact. It was a work of art & masterpiece of deception. For a moment, it seemed like it would work.

Papa, suspected him, went near to him, stands there for a while and took his answer sheet.

He then said, "Abe suwwar, tu itna hoshiyar kab se hogaya ki saare sawal zara si der mein hal kar diye?"

(How you become so intelligent that you have finished all the questions in no time?)

There was no reply to his question, and the ultimate thing has comes once again.

He beats him like a beast.

Throw him outside the class and assured him all the consequences preventing him to appear in exams.

Now, this was very serious.

After finishing the test, we assembled in Muzaffar Bhai ki canteen to seek a solution. 

The tea was ordered & samosas were shared. 

How do we fix this? How do we save our friend?

We have decided to meet Papa to apologies.

The main question still remains?

Who will go and talk to him and where?

The way he acted, it means, he can repeat the same any time, any where.

Finally it was decided to go and meet him at home after Maghrib prayer.

A panel of four including me was agreed upon to seek his forgiveness. We were not sure if it would work. Not sure if he would even listen. 

But we had to try. 

Because that is what friends do. 

They show up even when they are afraid or even when they know they might fail.

Evening came and we all proceeded toward his house. 

At the entrance we encountered his son and our senior Masood Bhai.

We asked and he said Papa is in.

We send the message that few students from school seek meeting.

He came out and looked at us!

We were frightened for some unexpected to happen. 

Yes, it happened, but not the way we were thinking.

Papa, asked us, "Kya tum sab iski sifarish lekar aaye ho?" ( Did you all come here to recommend him?)

We all said that we are here to seek your forgiveness and he was very afraid, so we accompanied him.

He then said, come in.

We went and sat in his drawing room.

He once again asked our fathers name and told us that what has happened wasn't good and we should be honest in what we are doing.

If we are not dedicated with honesty then it will be difficult to achieve the targets in our future life.

We were looking at him while he was talking, completely changed person, quiet, smiley and calm. This was not the Papa we knew. 

This was not the man who shouted and beat and threatened. 

This was someone else. 

Someone gentle. 

Someone wise. 

Someone who cared.

He then forgives him.

He offered us a cup of tea in nice bone-China cups, totally different to the cups in Muzaffar Bhai ki canteen. 

The moment was surreal.

We all came out thanking ALLAH and then Papa.

It was an achievement for us, and we celebrated with Nihari Roti in Batla House. 

I think that he indeed was a nice person, because he had humorous imagination power. 

It was his versatility that made him an icon in Jamia Millia Islamia. 

He could be terrifying and tender, harsh and humble, storm and the shelter and somehow, we loved him for all of it.

Later on, after many years, I heard that students become "very bad students" and one of them has puffed cigarette smoke on Papa's face.

That was the end of one teacher, and we never heard any story of Papa from our juniors thereafter. 

The respect was gone & with it, the legend faded.

He has shouted because he knew that we listen to him. 

He beat us because he knew that we respect him like our parents. 

He loved us because he knew that we will never hate him.

He was a real person with no artificial flavorings of so-called professionalism.

I still respect and love him, and this will be conveyed to my kids forever.