Love has many definitions. Gratitude has different dimensions. The expression of love and gratitude is always subjective.
Yesterday, the 5th of September, was Teacher's Day. I don’t usually believe in these special days or ceremonies. But still, I found myself deeply immersed in the memory of a beloved teacher.
I met this beautiful lady when I was just nine years old — a woman beaming with energy, radiating joy to every soul she met. She was around five feet tall, of moderate build, and loved wearing matching earrings. The sound that defines my pre-teen years is her loud, infectious laughter.
At that time, I was performing very poorly in math, possibly inheriting my dad’s math anxiety. My mom found this wonderful lady who was teaching abacus, and I joined her class in 2014. I entered without belief or expectation — after all, what more could a nine-year-old child hope for?
But soon I realised that what I was learning was more than just numbers. I was becoming a better human being. She taught me not only mathematics, but also values, virtues, and the joy of embracing life.
I still remember the rhythm of our two-hour abacus class. It always began with a proverb, which she would explain so gracefully. Then we would practice, and finally, we ended with a rapid arithmetic test. One day, I scored 24 out of 25. I was just 10, but to me, it felt like the world. She gifted me a small orange-coloured plastic box with a fresh scent. It might sound simple, but to me it was a treasure. I carried it home proudly, hugged my father, and felt the warmth of her love for me as a student.
But she was more than just my teacher — I admired every bit of her. I even started imitating her style, wearing matching earrings like she did. Life went on, and by the time I was 11 years old, I had completed the abacus course. After that, I barely met her. Yet, my love and respect for her stayed deep in my heart — though I never expressed it out loud.
In November 2024, I met her husband and conveyed my regards to her. He warmly invited me home, but I never went. Deep inside, I believed she would always be there — as fresh, bubbly, and joyful as ever.
But life had other plans. As academic pressure mounted, I barely had time to relax. One tired Friday evening, when I returned home, my dad said, “Ma’am had a stroke, complications followed, and she passed away this afternoon.”
The words didn’t hit me immediately. At that time, I was struggling with my own failures, trying to pull myself up and organise an event. But months later, when I finally found time to sit quietly with myself, the truth hit me hard.
I couldn’t believe that the lively soul so close to my heart was gone. I was haunted by the thought that I could never again see her, hear her laughter, or feel her presence. I couldn’t imagine her, a spirit so alive, lying still in an ice-box — emotions frozen.
That was the day I realised my worst habit — procrastination — had cost me something irreplaceable. I had become so caught up in chasing instant gratification and shallow achievements that I forgot the essence of gratitude. That realisation hurt deeply. It broke not only my ego, but also my heart.
I don’t know how I will ever thank her for what she gave me. I don’t know. It feels like wanting to cry out loud but being unable to. It’s a kind of silence that suffocates the heart.
A few days back, on the day of Onam celebration in our college, my roommate forced me to break my minimalist principles and wear matching earrings. When I dressed up and tied my hair into a high ponytail, I looked into the mirror and smiled. For a moment, I saw her. I remembered the very first proverb she taught us in class: “Laughter is the best medicine.” I smiled through my tears. Maybe she still wants me to smile.
Love for teachers, from a student, is unconditional. Love, in its pure form, is non-judgmental. Any love without respect is flawed.
Today, love for teachers might have lost its innocence. Many times, it is even misinterpreted. But for me, if love is divine, then love for a teacher is supremely divine.
Teachers leave behind more than lessons — they leave behind pieces of themselves in their students. My teacher may no longer be here in person, but her laughter, her proverbs, and her spirit live on within me. Every time I smile through tears, wear matching earrings, or remind myself that “laughter is the best medicine,” I feel her presence.
Love for a teacher never fades with time or distance; it only grows deeper in memory. And if I had one more chance, I would simply say: “Thank you, Ma’am, for teaching me not just abacus, but the true meaning of love and gratitude.”
If there is one lesson she left me with, it is this: love and gratitude should never be postponed. Because sometimes, when we wait for the right moment, life takes away the chance. And so, in my silence, I carry the loudest truth of all — a student’s love for a teacher is eternal.
By Sreya.
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