Fr. Kadavel

Fr.Kadavel : Possibly I have never encountered a person so complete and finished as Fr. Kadavel. As a Jesuit, his life was devoted to teaching and his celibacy only added to the luster.

            Dressed in a white cassock, medium build, standing at 5’ 8”, Fr. Kadavel had a magnetic presence. His long face was puffed, a grey beard neatly trimmed for an utmost picture of respectability, his large-framed spectacles added to that austere look and gravitas. He walked in slow measured steps on the playground where the little ones ran chaotically in their “chor-police” games. He would halt his stride and flash a little smile as each kid wished a “Good morning, father”. When in mood, he would ask a question and was generous in doling out Éclair chocolates. Though stern looking he had that underling of humour and when it erupted, he laughed to a chuckle.

            There was not a streak of animated or gawky thing about Fr, Kadavel and when he spoke, it was Queen’s English at its best. His accent and pronunciation was so distinct and correct that others feared to talk in front of him. Such a degree of expertise can be unnerving on others. He was born a Malayali and there was not a trace of that accent in his conversations.

            Fr. Kadavel taught us for 3 years and those were the best years of my schooling. We had a subject called “Special English” and this was a soft option for students to avoid Telugu. If I am any good in my written English, I can only thank Fr. Kadavel for inspiration. For one whole year, we did “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” by Harriet Beecher Stowe and we learnt much more than what the author intended. Even after more than 25 years of passage, I can still rewind my mind to those classes. Even those O. Henry stories (even today I recollect more than half a dozen stories). In a similar manner Leo Tolstoy, R K Narayan, Tagore, Maupassant, Somerset Maugham came alive like a street play before our eyes. Each word was analyzed, each line debated, every moral issue discussed and we learnt about life itself. How a random collection of short stories can be squeezed so much as unwrap so many lessons is something I go nostalgic even today. And when the Sindhi thing came off the rails my outrage was heavily influenced from Maupassant’s tale of “The Chair Mender” – the moral dimension was very clear.

            Fr. Kadavel would stride into class with a “Good afternoon, gentleman” as the class replied in unison to a chorus,” Good afternoon, father”. His eyes would glisten with a naughty glow,” Gentleman, I have brought your masterpieces” referring to the monthly tests papers. Then he would distribute each student and read out the mark and that was a ritual in itself. Abdul 5… Ayub 2… Amit23……Balaji……42 and Ravi or Karthik would invariably top at 65. Fr. Kadavel evaluated your answer sheets to even a quarter, like 5.25 on a 20 mark question. Such exactitude!

            Fr. Kadavel never wielded the cane for his stern look more than sufficed to bring the class to order. We were too young and unruly at times but his personality was so commanding that we intuitively listened. We were too young to appreciate him but there is no doubting as to the influence he wielded.

            I went to the school after more than 20 years and heard that Fr. Kadavel was in the final stages of cancer. I am not given to emotions but the news devastated me. My mind immediately went to the image of those kids exulting on winning his Éclair chocolate and his beatific smile. When he spoke in his clipped note, he was like a singer with not a false note as the words came out so impeccable that they possibly never sounded so perfect.

            Even now I think of Fr. Kadavel with affection – still preserve some of his sayings like this one on Healing of memories  - and making our schooldays count so much. They definitely don’t make such men anymore.

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: Before such men, shut your gob, fold your hands, and listen with reverence as if in God’s presence.