Posted by Haris Gulzar on September 8, 2009
Its amazing how we develop associations with those we hardly know. Associations that aren’t only associations on the face of it, but are deep and meaningful. And not always do we realize the sense of association unless we part with those whom we feel associated with. These people may not be our closest of friends, but only someone we met a couple of times only. These people themselves may not be valuable to us, but a feel of their existence after we part might be very valuable.
In my first semester here at IBA, I was a teaching assistant of a course that was being taught to the first year BBA students. There were 3 sections of this course, about 120 students for whom I was assisting the teacher. Although I didn’t know each and every student by name and face by the end of semester, but I did know quiet a lot of them, specially those with whom I used to have a bit more interaction. Students usually came to me to submit their assignments or reports, or occasionally a couple of them would come to ask something from some other course they were taking.
That was the entire relationship I had with those 120 students. A sort of a student teacher relationship, where the teacher (not exactly a teacher but sort of a teacher) didn’t even know each and every of his students, but still I felt associated with them. In the second semester, whenever any of my students would see me, they would say Salam to me and I’d reply and ask about their health. Some of them used to discuss with me their teachers and their gpas and their progress in courses etc, although I wasn’t assisting any of their teachers in the 2nd semester. It somehow felt good to see them.
One morning when I was getting ready for my class, a fellow hostelite who happened to be one of my students as well, came to my room and told me that one of their class fellows had a severe accident while to coming to university. A bus ran over him. He just told me about the accident and didn’t tell me if that student made it or not, but his shaky voice and the hurriedness said it all. When I reached the campus, which is hardly a 7~8 minutes walk from hostel, I could tell immediately that he did not make it. The way people were sitting in groups, saddened, a few of them having tears in their eyes, and a few faces shocked by the news, it was apparent that my student had died.
He was 19. I didn’t know him much, but he was my student. That day, whenever any of our teachers asked our class if we knew the boy, I raised my hand and said he was my student. I so felt bad every time I mentioned it. I felt bad only because I knew him. Only because I had a feeling of association with him, and I only realized it when he was no more…