My father

My father got sick by the news of my quitting the job I was doing though I assured him of my reason and repeatedly requested him not to be worried. But he was so impatient. In fact, he was in tumultuous state of mind thinking that I might quit the job as most of the stupid and geniuses do in their career. He was so desperate to travel a long path to come to see me and make me convinced against my will. He insisted that I have to be in where I am now. It is twenty fourth jobs that I got though I didn’t join all but one that I started at the very inception of my career that was teaching. I opted for teaching as I was highly inspired by my teachers and my uncles from my boyhood. It is why I didn’t appear for interview in 25th BCS in spite of successfully completing long procedures of facing interview board, because I thought I would, only, become a teacher whether I was in college or university or abroad. But I didn’t remember a very popular adage, “man proposes God disposes.” Being a teacher I taught around eleven years in different govt. colleges where I found little scope for teaching. I learned that teaching is neither all about teacher nor all about class lectures. From the morning to evening, sometimes till eleven PM, I spent at colleges and took more classes than it was in my scheduled routine and had done official task, more than what a dozen of my colleagues used to do collectively. Investing all of the skills I acquired with full of my élan vital, I failed to produce a student of the kind I wanted to see, who would be at least studious let alone would have love for knowledge. But what I found was addiction, a kind of mania for inflated grade or GPA. It frustrated me but I was hopeful like a utopian. In fact, I was and still now, live in utopian world of dream to make others go forward at the expense of mine. I waited a year, second, third .. thus around eleventh years to become assistant professor while my students were going to become associate professor at university. Perils didn’t end there; my juniors become my boss only because he was from a subject other than mine. It appears so parochial to think only of promotion. I was in unrest to communicate others verbally or through writings, especially those whom I love most, the students, colleagues, friends, even general peoples. I sought windows to see and take breaths. I was in need of freedom, freedom to write, freedom to speak but I found myself in nothing but slavery. I was just a traditional teacher who wanted to become an organic one. I tried and consequently impelled to change my track keeping my principles and vision intact. I wanted to create new meaning of my life. It was only freedom I could enjoy. I didn’t like to bury myself in books alone like Professor Mustaque Ahmed, once who said me that he refrained from talking to his wife for twenty five years at a stretch making him completely buried in thousands of books.