It was August 2006 when I saw Prof. Elangovan, for the first time. He was a senior, well respected professor of Management at Bharathiar University, Coimbatore.
As one among 60 ambitious, young men and women to join the MBA program at Bharathiar University that year, I stared wide eyed, and respectfully at all the professors seated on the dais. Among the perfectly dressed, smart looking professors, he seemed quiet and unshowy. There was nothing pretentious in his form or attire.
To me, it was an almost sacred moment. A first time hosteller, I had for the first time in my life decided to become a success academically. My focus on life till then had been fun and play, and I knew I had a lot of catching up to do. Most of them had work experience, or a commerce/Business background. If none of the above, they had a mathematical background. I had last bidden goodbye to horrid maths 5 years earlier by choosing a Science major at school, and an English major for Undergraduation. And naively, I hoped to meet all hardships head-on. I little realized the battles - both personal and academic - that I would brave through, before I could add that coveted degree to my name.
The first day he came to class, we found him soft spoken. He said he wouldn't call us, 'students' but treat us a 'Managers in training.' We all sat up a little straighter, looking very important. He said there would be no spoon feeding. He was also the Placement Officer, and we looked to him as if every word out of him, brought us one step closer to our big career. He said we would be discussing a certain topic, the next day.
We all prepared hard for the next class. But the boys brought bad news - stories passed down by seniors in their hostel about what happened to those students who said they had prepared, but failed to answer him. Most of us were sweating after hearing the details. He came in, and said, "All of you close your books! I want only those of you who have prepared for today's class to stay. The rest of you get out." We knew from his demeanor that he meant it. He repeated the warning one more time, with something sounding like "God save you if you remain inside without preparing" I don't know who that brave soul was, who stood up first to leave the room. But then more of them joined until some 10 of us remained seated. This was more than I could take. I got up and hurried out as quickly as I could. About 6 remained, and they were asked to draw their chairs closer to him. I passed by the class some half an hour later, and the sight I saw, made me bless myself for having had the courage to step out in time.
For the next class, only 4 remained seated. When we all got up to go out, he asked us to stand at the back of the class. He said we shouldn't open our mouths, as we had lost our right to speak after coming unprepared yet again. It's not that we hadn't prepared. It's that nothing could prepare us for what he expected. He was looking for intelligent minds to mould, and to send back to the world. I was one among the huge mass of ordinary minds he received every year.
With almost everyone standing at the back, we had some very fun times. Making fun of those who remained seated, we could also understand his lectures better. I was calmer, learnt more, and thrived better at the back of the class. There was one instance when he took up a permanent marker to write on the white board. One fellow co-stander in good sense tried to warn him, and was told, "Keep quiet. You lost your right to speak. No, not one word from you". And continued to write.
The thing was that he used 'Beautiful' irrespective of you being in the 'right' or 'wrong'. It was the sentence which followed his 'Beautiful' that held the key. When someone answered he would say "Beautiful!" and add, "sit down, and cover your mouth if you do not know the answer. Do not open your mouth and blabber, expose your ignorance and confuse others." It would take the person a few seconds to change the smile which had started when he heard, "Beautiful"
And there was the classic, "Keerakaari(woman selling vegetables)" and "pichaikaaran(Beggar)" - for ladies and gentlemen respectively. This is what he called all unprepared scholars, and I being one of the former, took great offence to this name branding. Moving on the second year, he asked us all to write anonymous feedbacks. I wrote in mine "It is all well to call us Managers in training, and another to call us "Keeraikaari" and "Pichaikaaran"". In the next class he said, "I received some feedback... one person feels that I should not use such terms with the class. I won't." And we never heard him say it after that.
He was unexpectedly cool too. He always gave full attendance even to those who always stood at the back of the class. Once I had bunked his class, and thinking the class was over, I had entered the lecture hall while looking into my phone. He had taken a few more minutes to end his lecture that day, and while I turned pale, he said, "Good Afternoon" and collected his stuff and left the hall.
I am sure the brilliant ones have much better memories of him to share. I mean no malice, but he was way too intelligent for me. But my memories of him turn for the better in 2008. In year 2, we got to choose our majors, and I selected 'Human Resources' and 'Marketing'. Hallelujah!, I was saved. No more Pain-in-the-neck maths in my life. Although I perfomed better academically, I hadn't managed to escape Prof. Elangovan. He was the one to handle HR classes.
I had by this time realized I was not destined for greatness - at least not just yet. The future was waiting bright, but I had to get my degree and get out of that place fast. Everyone was so learned, I was feeling suffocated.
But I need not have bothered that much. I didn't know my dreams were rapidly coming to an end. That I had bigger things to worry about, than a job offer at the end of the year. A couple of months into year 2, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, cancer of the lymph nodes, stage 2B. More on that here.
He was unexpectedly cool too. He always gave full attendance even to those who always stood at the back of the class. Once I had bunked his class, and thinking the class was over, I had entered the lecture hall while looking into my phone. He had taken a few more minutes to end his lecture that day, and while I turned pale, he said, "Good Afternoon" and collected his stuff and left the hall.
I am sure the brilliant ones have much better memories of him to share. I mean no malice, but he was way too intelligent for me. But my memories of him turn for the better in 2008. In year 2, we got to choose our majors, and I selected 'Human Resources' and 'Marketing'. Hallelujah!, I was saved. No more Pain-in-the-neck maths in my life. Although I perfomed better academically, I hadn't managed to escape Prof. Elangovan. He was the one to handle HR classes.
I had by this time realized I was not destined for greatness - at least not just yet. The future was waiting bright, but I had to get my degree and get out of that place fast. Everyone was so learned, I was feeling suffocated.
But I need not have bothered that much. I didn't know my dreams were rapidly coming to an end. That I had bigger things to worry about, than a job offer at the end of the year. A couple of months into year 2, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, cancer of the lymph nodes, stage 2B. More on that here.
We informed the university I was unwell and on undefined break. Almost 2 months later, I went back to the university with my parents, and approached every professor individually. One professor asked my dad to take me home and not trouble everyone - and join the next year. The others were sympathetic and helpful. But Prof. Elangovan touched my parents heart by saying, "I will do everything to help. Let the poor child come out of her troubles." And he did. He took my father to the office, and asked the staff to render all help. He spoke comfortingly to my mom, and my parents are still grateful to him.
When it was time for the university exams, I had a shortfall of attendance, caused by travelling out for treatment often. When everything seemed to go out of hand, Prof. Elangovan spoke passionately on my behalf, and I got to sit for the exams. And I did get my degree. He was God sent. I travelled home the day my exams ended, and I sent him a thank you email. He sent a long, kind reply saying I was blessed to have wonderful parents, and he sent me his blessings, and asked me to stay in touch.
It's been 9 years now. I haven't been in touch with him after that. It might be that I have no great success story to make him proud of. Although my life is just the way I want it to be, I don't think he would have been pleased with any of his students being a 'happy home maker'. Yes, I know why I always decided against placing that one phone call. "Beautiful!" he would have said, and I wouldn't have known if he really meant it.
Still, every time I share stories of my MBA and my experience with cancer, I speak highly of him. And that will be my tribute to him. For he passed away yesterday. Everyone has so much to say, of the way he touched all our lives - with his wisdom, goodness and unique way of molding his students. For me, he turned out to be the source of help and comfort of an unexpected kind. I am glad I have my share of memories of his goodness. He left his mark on so many hearts. We pray for his soul, for his family, and we carry his memory forward.
(Pic. taken from the internet: Prof. Elangovan(Center) being felicitated for his long service with BSMED by Dr. Krishnaraj Vanavarayar, industrialist and philanthropist at Nexus 2015, Coimbatore.)
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