Two words are very important for anyone, more so for writers – relevance and roots. Professor Subhash Chandra Mishra, my mentor from my hometown Daltonganj, had both. He remained relevant across generations – he taught my father and uncle, me, and several generations after that. He also never left his roots. A giant figure in the socio-cultural and academic circles of the region, he identified talent, nurtured generation after generation of students with his knowledge, positivity, and care, while staying rooted. His roots were many and deep, supported by his values, profession, and love for the region; that’s why not only his teaching but his works were also profound.

“For a bilingual, first and foremost, learn your language and that will help you learn a foreign language better. Or else you will be just mugging up stuff,” he would tell me while quoting Tulsidas and Shakespeare in the same breath. He was an English professor but equally well-versed in Hindi and regional literature.

I, a twenty-something, would listen to him attentively. I was working on my Master’s and he was my voluntary mentor. I had also written a play, “Bholwa Ke Jute,” featured by the local DD channel, and had received some recognition from an international organization. But I was raw, unpolished, and had only surface-level knowledge. For some reason, Sir thought I was capable of creating good work. I hardly believed that, but I just liked listening to everything he said with rapt attention because of his great knowledge across genres. He taught me what “literature” actually meant, the very core of “sahitya,” that is, to recreate life through a different medium.

Apart from literature, he also spoke fluently on all topics. He wrote extensively in newspapers, magazines, and for Akashvani (Radio) then; this was on top of him being a professor. My association with him lasted for roughly 2–3 years, but that duration was enough to leave a lasting impact. I moved on to Delhi and started working as a journalist, thanks to his guidance and blessings. Soon after, I moved abroad after marriage and lost touch entirely.

Yesterday, I learned the sad news of Sir’s demise. He was more than 80 years old. Suddenly, the past revived in front of me like cinematic slides in a series of flashbacks throughout the day. His teachings, his infectious optimism, and his great faith in me, I remembered everything, his visits to my house by the Koel river to guide me and my siblings. He showed me dreams which I thought I wasn’t capable of realising. He showed me possibilities in a small town, in a time and era when things were not easily accessible and every effort was met with resistance. I moved on, but his blessings, teachings, and discourses have stayed with me somewhere, and they will stay on as long as I live.

“Everyone has at least one story in them – their autobiography,” he would tell me. And I always requested him to write his book. I don’t know if he wrote his autobiography or not, but I discovered on the internet that he published a book, “Koel Ki Dhara,” based on his features for Akashvani (radio). However, some aspects of his life’s story are sketched in the minds of people like me, whom he mentored selflessly and diligently.

I have always been blessed with great mentors and teachers at every stage of my life, like Sir. I just wanted to capture his remembrance in this blog post. I also wanted to remind myself of Sir’s teachings and the importance of “roots” and “relevance” in life – both difficult while living as an immigrant. But I am sure Sir’s infectious optimism, guidance, and blessings are with me, so some kind of connection and relevance will follow. Thank you, Sir. My condolences to everyone connected to you. Om Shanti.