Pure-Rathna, a class act!

In the Advanced Level classes I encountered four mathematics teachers. Mrs Shanthi Herath (best known as ‘Faluda’) and Mr Dayaratne (‘Daya’ or ‘Pure-Ratna’) taught Pure Mathematics. Mr Samarasekera (‘Summarise’ as in summer-ice) taught Applied Mathematics. Mr Eustace (Yuta) filled in when either Faluda or Daya were absent.

The story was that Faluda was super bright and that had she and Yuta been given the same three-hour question paper, both would have scored 100/100, only Faluda would have completed it in half an hour whereas Yuta would have taken all three hours to finish.

There was also the view, I remember, that Faluda was the best kind of teacher for smart students who could keep up with the pace of her mind whereas Daya was more sensitive to different degrees of math skills among his students. I was never a good student, so I didn’t quite understand these notions. It all went over my head. In fact it was only after I plodded through two books by someone called Ramsey, in translation of course, one on calculus and one on trigonometry, all by myself, painstakingly completing all the exercises therein, that I got some rudimentary idea about mathematics.

Ramsey helped me understand that whoever it was that offered the comparison between Faluda and Daya was right. Daya seemed to assume that all students were clueless to begin with. And so he went slow, step by step. I had probably been daydreaming for most of those early lessons, which meant that I was absolutely at sea by the time he had moved on to the more complex problems.

Fortunately, my mother, realising that I would probably fail the ALs unless drastic measures were taken, convinced Daya to teach me. From the beginning. Privately. He taught me both Pure Mathematics and Applied Mathematics. He made sure that things like calculus, trigonometry, geometry, circular motion, vertical motion under gravity and projectiles were not seen as words in some alien language. He had only a few months but he turned an assured F into a surprising C. Well, 2 Fs into 2 Cs. To be fair, I’m sure that had Yuta been in his place, he would have helped me secure similar grades. Faluda, probably not. She was a distraction and probably broke many hearts unwittingly.

Daya didn't just teach me Pure and Applied; he made me fall in love with Mathematics all over again (Mr Upali Munasinghe was the one who made me love Mathematics the first time). More than that, he was and still is a great human being who has touched so many lived and made so many students realize their full potential.

Daya was a no nonsense teacher. Hardly ever smiled. Spoke with his teeth clenched or so it seemed to me or maybe I remembered it all wrong simply because I hadn’t paid much attention back then. He spoke fast, even though he taught slowly, compared to Faluda at least.

And then we became friends. Years later. It happens when the age difference is so much smaller than the time that has elapsed since school days. It happens when you meet students (or teachers) in different contexts. Like the Royal-Thomian cricket match.

Daya always comes to the match. He does the rounds from tent to tent, is surrounded and entertained with food and drink by countless former students. He is ‘Sir’ and he calls his students ‘machang,’ and laughs all the time. Unrecognisable from the seemingly humourless and strict teacher of our AL days.

Daya is frequently invited to student reunions and he’s quite active in the Past Teachers’ Association. When he became one of the gas-cylinder explosion victims, his students rallied to repair his house. When he became ill, everyone was sad. Daya just laughed it off: ‘my colleagues told me that finally others are able to understand what you are saying because you have been forced to speak slowly! In fact, had you still been teaching, your students would do much better than those you taught before you retired!’

Daya doesn’t know this and neither have I told him (I should) that thanks to him, I became a decent tutor to Arts Faculty students forced to learn ‘Basic Mathematics.’ I taught calculus to my friends and those in junior batches. Step by step. Slowly. Obviously not as well as he taught for he was in a different teaching league, but good enough for them to pass the subject.

I will probably run into him this week at the SSC. As has always been the case, I will go down on my knees, touch his feet and worship him. He would laugh and say, as he always does, ‘Ah Malinda….umba kohomada?’

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

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