A Window To Perceptive Journalism

Sometimes, A Primary School Teacher's Retirement Is Also News

S P Singh

Chandigarh: Sixties was the era of being young. The era of flower children, Che Guevara, hippies and the come alive age for psychedelic folk. Freedom was the key word. The spirit of freedom was also quietly at work in a far away sleepy Al-pur village in Sultanpur Lodhi, a world removed from where Bob Dylan's notes were keeping pace with a'changin' times.  

He could have gone unnoticed in this part of Kapurthala even if he had strutted around wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt himself, but a young damsel called Surinder Kaur was conspicuous as she trudged on foot eight miles every single day to school and back, year after year, to become the first woman in decades to clear matriculation examination in this region.  

That was 1966. Surinder retired two days earlier, and the farewell party was organised on Sunday. But retirement of a primary school teacher making news? On an average, eight teachers retire in Punjab every day, 240 in a month, slightly less than 3,000 in a year. So what's the great fuss over Surinder's retirement?

And why did thousands of teachers converge upon Chandigarh's Sohan Singh Bhakna Bhawan to wish her well? And why were hundreds crying unabashedly in the back rows of the auditorium? Why did the who's who of trade unions, teachers' unions, aanganwari workers' unions, sub-ordinate staff workers unions, and a major chunk of leftist top brass lined up on the stage, marigold garlands in hands?  

Kaur, a primary school teacher, is president of Government Teachers Union, which has thousands of teachers as members, hundreds of them principals or school lecturers. Across India among the trade union circles, she is known as a leader of men. 

As mesmerised journalists, veterans of gatherings far more important, spent hours watching in disbelief how a primary school teacher's life and times could inspire generations of not just students but even of teachers, every single member in the audience waited for hours to meet her, even if for a few seconds, to hand over the lovingly-wrapped little gift or to hug her tightly, fight back a tear and pose for that one etched-in-memory picture.  

A junior basic teacher (JBT), Surinder Kaur's life remained a saga of struggle from her days of walking down to the school. Standing up to unfair officials, fending off a constant stream of sifarish from them, launching umpteen agitations for teachers' rights and just demands, but everytime making sure the students in her school do not miss a period, Kaur's standards remained high. "You can't be a good teachers' union leader, if you aren't a good teacher first," she said.  

Repeated terminations, deliberately targetted transfers and arrests became the staple of life, but concerns of students and teachers remained the only constant factors. Kaur was winning legions of fan followers along the way. In 1977, when she had become aligned with the CPI(M), fellow comrades suggested she and an equally feisty trade unionist Nazir Singh get married to create more synergy. Nazir Singh was then a diploma engineers association general secretary. And the marriage is often quoted among trade union circles as an ideal bond.  

September 30^th was Kaur's last working day at the Government Elementary School at Mohali's Kumbra village, and she was there dot on time. A day earlier, many told her not to participate in the nationwide strike as it may affect clearance of her retirement benefits, but Kaur was just being herself. "I couldn't have negated a lifetime's commitment a day before my retirement," she said.  

Kaur's elder daughter Chetna, an MBBS, used to wonder why their two-room rented house never has a corner free of union-related documents and pamphlets. Son Gauravjit, a computer engineer, used to be amused with their home forever witnessing a constant stream of teachers with any troubles. On Sunday, both watched with pride as hundreds were waiting in queues to hug their mother.  In a far corner, a frail old couple Niranjan Singh and Puran Kaur silently watched the adulation being showered on their daughter, and happy in the knowledge that they were so right in not asking her to stop going alone  to the school eight miles away. They had not heard of Dylan's times a'changin, but they helped bring the winds of change.■

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