I did my schooling in the vernacular. So to join an English medium college, which I did in the 1980s, was exciting. But I was apprehensive too. Exciting because you need not wear half-pants to your new institution, apprehensive as all the lectures would be conducted in English. A few college seniors, during the intermediate period between admission to the starting of the session, explained the difficulties they faced and how they were resilient enough and got over it.
Our first day in college: It was 8.8.88 and so, hard to forget. During the first few classes, the topics and each of the words sounded bombastic and flew high over our heads. Then came Mohan sir, our English lecturer. The vernacular medium classmates felt his arrival only added insult to injury. But the way he carried himself captivated us. His large check flannel shirt, bell-bottom trousers tightened with a broad leather belt and a stylish derby black shoe made us all his fans at first sight.
His British English accent and his distinct pronunciations enchanted us. We had never heard anyone speaking so wonderfully. When he started with William Shakespeare’s monologue “All the world’s a stage”, oh…we grasped everything, digested and assimilated it to our cells. This is what English medium is, we felt. His words echoed in our ears.
The way he concluded the monologue, “Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything”, pin-drop silence prevailed in class. Notwithstanding that we were science students, we were fascinated with English because of Mohan sir. We understood what a sonnet was when he taught P B Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’. We used to imitate his diction “My name is OZYMANDIAS, KING OF KINGS”. His classes mesmerised us. Sometimes he used to speak slowly and without inflection; his modulation of voice was worth applauding.
A curiosity was aroused in us as he uttered the word ‘Leena’—after each little talk. We tried to find out if there was a Leena in our class. Much to our chagrin, there was no one by that name. After observing for a week or so, we presumed that he must be taking madam’s name. But why should he mention his spouse’s name during a class? We, the lords of last bench, moved to the front bench just to find out what exactly he spoke. Again he uttered ‘Leena’. Oh! Lo… He had said “Clear now?” So this had metamorphosed to ‘Leena’ in our ears and bothered us for a week. Mohan sir’s depth of knowledge, skill and love for his subject made us all linguaphiles.
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