“Please may I have your autograph?” asked Hemalalitha. A student of Class X, she would soon be leaving school after her board exams. “No hurry, Ma’am,” she added politely, holding out a little notebook. “Take this home and return it at your leisure.”
Later that week, I sat down to think of a meaningful message. Recalling my autograph-seeking days, I remembered what my favourite teacher had written at my request. Unlike Hemalalitha, when I handed my autograph album to my English teacher, Mrs Sheila Franklin, I was not on the verge of valediction. I was, however, graduating in my own small way, as I was moving from Class 7 to 8. That exciting elevation was tinged with regret. I would be bidding farewell to Mrs Franklin who would no longer be teaching me.
She was the first of several remarkable individuals who kindled in me a fervent desire to teach English. When I was nearing my goal, I learnt more about the short verse that Mrs Franklin had selected for me. It was part of a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, an American writer who was acclaimed in the 19th and early 20th century for her optimistic outpourings. While some of her works might seem simplistic today (Whatever is, is best, Wilcox states succinctly), I have always felt encouraged and emboldened by the stirring stanza in my autograph book.
I had the privilege of showing it to Mrs Franklin when I met her in 2009, more than four decades after I had known her at school. “Do you recognise this?” I asked eagerly, displaying the faded page that bore her handwriting. Her face lit up in recollection. For a moment, despite her age and frailty, she reminded me of the vibrant teacher I had ardently admired.
Mrs Franklin had recently lost people dear to her and just emerged from a debilitating illness, but she was strong in serenity. I was not in the least surprised. Self-pity was the last thing I expected from the person who, when I was only twelve years old, had bequeathed me these words of wisdom— it is easy enough to be pleasant when life flows by like a song, but the man worthwhile is the man who can smile when everything goes dead wrong.
While sharing those lilting lines with Hemalalitha, I changed ‘man’ to ‘woman’, in tribute to my late model mentor. In 1966, Sheila Franklin penned an inspiring inscription in my autograph book. More significantly, she has left an indelible imprint on me, personally and professionally— a lasting legacy.