Pandit Ji

I'd like to write about my Hindi teacher - Pandit Ji aka The Hindi Master
I had to make quite a bit of phone calls before I reached him, with each person referring me to another, the first number originating in a high-school next to where I was staying, but eventually I got through to him, and when he told me how much he charges, I was perplexed and flabbergasted- 10 rupees per hour.

He's 75 year old. He speaks Tamil, Malayalam, Hindi, Urdu, Sanskrit and English, all of them in a very articulate and old fashioned way - "We shall have our tea now" sort of 1940's gentleman's English.

When I first met him, and during the lesson, I, regarded him in an entirely different light than I do now.
Here is this educated old man, adorned with an array of degrees, obviously learned and cultivated, but with a shorter attention span than mine. Every few minutes he would get up to fetch a book, or meander about some irrelevant subject. I became irritable and decided then and there that out of respect and good manners, I'll finish the lesson, pay him, and never see him again.

Little did I know that shortly thereafter I would fall in love with his persona and charm.

His story is a sad one. His wife died a year and a half ago. His son passed away a few months ago in a freak accident who's details I'm not privy to. He lives with a different son, the son's wife, and their daughter, in a house owned by him, but dominated by them.
He is like a prisoner in his own house. His son won't give him money for his Insulin shots, and his daughter-in-law denies him access to the kitchen, thus forcing him to eat at her whim, and remain hungry at times.
They constantly hector and scold him about how little he charges, and when he tries to explain, with a childish sheen in his eyes, that the poor (double meaning) children need to learn, and can't afford more then 25 rupees a month, he is met with harsh rebukes.

For some reason, I decided that I will return the next day, and see if I can make the best out of it. After all, it's only 10 rupees an hour...

The next day, he allowed me a glance into his bleeding heart, by reciting some of his poetry in English and Hindi. He is an excellent poet. Albeit not as good with words as some of the big names out there, but nonetheless, when he recites his poems, and his eyes moisten (and so do yours), it touches you deeply.

Eventually we reached a compromise - a third of the time for actual studying of Hindi, and two thirds for ruminating about life's woes and going out to visit his array of eccentric friends.
I began to look forward to the time when we would meet, eagerly passing the time until our lesson arrives, gingerly negotiating the 4 kilometer path to his house, a daily pilgrimage.

On a daily basis he would allow me another glance into his soul. He can't hire a helper to assist him in the daily tasks because it would offend his son and daughter-in-law (the neighbors will talk - his son doesn't take good care of him), but they on their part, do not make any effort in easing an old man's daily tasks. Thus he is stuck in a kind of purgatory.
Every other day, we go out from his house, very slowly, with him clutching at my hand, and encounter another interesting event or person.

Such as Mark, an American in his sixties, who's been living in Kodai Kanal for 8 years now, and spent 16 years living here as a Sadhu some 25 years ago. Mark rents a house with his mother, 102 years old. She can't hear anything, but has a banging sense of humor.
Mark has a farm which grows all the ingredients that are used in cooking there (I had an amazingly delicious and healthy meal served to me once). He is an avid collector of books, and has been a Hindu for quite some time now.

Walking down the street with Pandit Ji takes a lot of time. Not only does he walk slowly and he needs to halt and catch his breath every few minutes or so, we get stopped by a myriad of his ex students, who join their hands on their chest and then bow down low to touch his feet and then their own forehead -all done out of respect, deep respect, for this learned Pandit.
Later he confides in me. 'It is all hollow, and your are the only one whom I can unburden my weary heart on to.'

After our final lesson ends, I touch his feet and wish we'll meet each other again.

As I walk away, my eyes moisten. I reach for my bag and put on my big pair of sun glasses. After my veil is established, my shield from the outer world, I let the tears run freely.

P.S.
If any of you ever make it to Kodai Kanal, and want to learn a language or just meet an amazing person, let me know.