A personal tribute
It was with great sadness and not a little shock that I learned of the passing of Professor Temsula Ao. Such finality there in the brief statement posted in our family WhatsApp group- my heart stopped beating for a moment. A sweet gentle face crowned with beautiful snowy locks flashed before my eyes and I was taken back across the years to my post graduate days when I had been one of her students in the English department at NEHU.
Right from the start, Madam Temsula piqued our curiosity and excitement. Not only was it rare in those days to find a North eastern tribal (let alone a Naga) among the teaching faculty in University, she was also able to prove how comfortable she was in academe holding her own with dignity and quiet confidence. I think the whole class was a little in love her: she was so beautiful in every way. Tall and stately, she wore her native süpedis and zungjangs to class with finesse and grace. We would gaze and gaze at her, scrutinising everything about her person- from her elegantly coiffed hair right to her exquisitely painted toe nails! Little did I know the impact her choice of apparel and meticulously groomed appearance would subconsciously have on me later in my own life as a teacher myself, although of course, I could never quite muster her kind of élan! As for her classes, I still remember her lectures on Emily Bronté’s Wuthering Heights and I still have the paper I wrote for that novel, critiqued and graded by her. Sometimes, if some aspect or detail of the paper being taught flew over our not uncommonly dull heads, it didn’t matter because the special quality of her speaking voice- refined, musical and soothing.- was always captivating.
My second significant encounter with Madam Temsula would take place many years later. That was the time when life was a struggle to juggle things between raising a family, maintaining a home and committing to a teaching job. Why I suddenly decided to pursue a PhD degree at such a mad time is anybody’s guess! There must be some truth, after all, to Lewis Carroll’s assertion “We’re all mad here!” When I contacted her to ask her advice and opinion, she never hesitated or hemmed and hawed about my suggestion. It was really her uncurbed enthusiasm and encouraging words that gave me the courage to take the plunge. And before I knew it, I found myself registered as one of the several scholars under her supervision. At this juncture, I wish I could say that the rest was history, but the reality was quite different. I soon found out how difficult it was to be continuously engaged in completing all the stages that a doctoral thesis demands because life got in the way as it usually does. Soon five years flitted by and I was still far away from achieving my goal. And to aggravate things, I was also a little late in re-applying for a second extension. It was here that Dr. Temsula proved her mettle not just as a teacher and mentor, but also as a tough and skilful negotiator having great clout in the Academic Council of the University. Instead of scolding me for my laxness, she fought fiercely to get me my extension and succeeded- through sheer ‘mother wit.’
With new life injected in me, I was now determined to prove myself worthy of her. In spite of having taught in a college for a number of years, I was mostly clueless about academic culture in the University. During the final stage of the doctoral process, Dr.Temsula took me under her wing and closely monitored every aspect of my thesis walking me through thethousand and one things that had to be done before it’s final submission. That was the toughest and most exhausting stage of the whole doctoral process and yet, I count it as the best and most precious time of my association with her. She showed me through her words and actions what a true mentor is and I will never forget it for as long as I live.
I remember how every morning I would come to her office carrying nothing more than a hard copy of my thesis on Toni Morrison, my laptop and pen drive. She would always ask, “How are you?” something that seems so common and basic, but is actually a question that isn’t usually asked in professional academia where the personal has little place. But the personal is also political; it matters greatly and is the reason why we struggle so hard with anything to begin with. This, Madam Temsula understood without the need for words. She told me stories of her own personal struggles and experiences. Such candidness on her part broke down my own reservations and soon I found myself telling her things I usually didn’t share with others. She helped set down my worries and fears and gave me a safe place to tell my stories and to create something new. She sat me down at her computer making me read out each sentence of my thesis and with the hard copy in her hands, we went on to review every single line, sentence by sentence. All this time she was sharp, witty, always completely present and invariably, infinitely patient. She helped me to clarify my points, gave me her invaluable suggestions and insights and gently corrected any grammatical mistakes. She assisted me in rearranging and beautifying any awkward sentence constructions and even to make sense of some of my own senseless sentences! I was so grateful that the writer in her couldn’t help herself!
All this took many sittings spread out into many days, throughout which she fed and supplied me with delicious and nutritious food and copious amounts of tea- all at her own expense. How thankful I was that I had remembered earlier, to at least bring her some of our own local products from home particularly, bastenga! With her guidance, I found strength whenever I was wavering and floundering. She saw something in me and reminded me of it on the days that I couldn’t see it, poking me with the stick called ‘truth.’ “ Don’t be swayed by other people’s theories and opinions,” she often told me. “You have to find your own perspective. Be true to that.” In this way she made me believe in my own voice and words especially in a society that diminishes and silences women every single day. And every time I left her office, things became clearer; she made me feel as though I could do it this time. And I did.
It wasn’t always work however. There were plenty of fun filled moments and lots of laughter. Madam would often regale me with stories of her confrontations and ‘skirmishes’ with her maid whose outrageous shenanigans (a universal experience that resonates with all of us) she hilariously enacted with extremely comical gestures and verbal and facial expressions! She would also give fascinating accounts of her sojourn in the US as a Fulbright Fellow and how her encounters with the Native Americans would have a great impact on her journey towards learning and appreciating her own culture, heritage and oral tradition. At other times she would take me around the campus introducing me to many of her colleagues and coworkers. Once she allowed me to read the dissertations of one or two of her scholars because she wanted me to experience at first hand, the intellectual capacity and writing skill of our own tribal people. I was floored by the intellectual integrity and writing prowess of these writers: this was quality writing at the highest level! This experience opened my eyes and made me believe wholeheartedly in the mind, imagination and talent of our own people. It later led me to invest my time and interest in our own indigenous writers. She even gifted me an autographed copy of her now renowned “These Hills I call Home” which I hadn’t read even two years after it’s release. That night, I sat up reading the whole book. The next morning I told her, “Madam, your book! You write like Toni Morrison!”
“What nonsense!” she snorted.
“No, it’s true,” I hotly protested, “there are places in your book where you write as gorgeously as her!”
“Kevi,” she said, a beaming smile on her face, “that’s the best compliment anyone has ever given me.”
I have gone on to read all her published works, except the last one “Tombstone in My Garden” (2022). There is perfect rhythm in Dr. Temsula’s writing, in both her poetry and prose works alike. Her stories are marked with keen observations tinged with philosophy and an uncanny understanding of the complexities of humans. Although her poems and short stories are stunning, it was her creative nonfiction, her memoir, “Once Upon a Life: Burnt Curry And Bloody Rags “ (2014) that truly moved me. It was so honest and courageous!
Later too, there were other meetings and encounters with her, a few in her official capacity as an eminent academic and noted author and poet. But my fondest memories are the ones where we met more as friends than anything else. I count as golden the few times I spent at her home in Lingrijan, drinking tea and eating Christmas cakes and other mouthwatering tidbits, exchanging presents and talking and laughing about everything under the sun. Then there is that never-again-to-be-repeated rendezvous which took place in my sister’s house in D Block, Kohima. Having learnt that my sister designed and wove her own brand of artificial silk mekhelas, she expressed her desire to sample and buy a few sets. It was a whirlwind and exciting time with her trying out each and every set of mekhelas that was available. As luck would have it, my sister had also in her possession, a whole collection of second hand overcoats! Watching Madam gleefully donning each coat and posing for our approval was an exhilarating experience; she looked gorgeous in every single one that she tried on! I feel blessed to have seen her so at home in her surroundings, letting down her hair and being completely herself. That was the day Madam Temsula gave us the gift of herself.
We all need our special mentors- the ones who guide us without trying to take credit for any success and instead expect nothing in return; the ones who have the patience to take time to read through and correct multiple drafts of a work over and over again; the ones who see us as worthy of their time and as people with capabilities and potential; the ones who believe in us and push us to the next level and teach us simple thoughts about truth. Being a mentor is difficult. In my own role as a mentor of graduate students I have tried to emulate, on a much smaller scale, Madam Temsula’s example. I have not been always successful because I lack her innate wisdom, patience and extreme generosity of spirit. Where I have had some success are the times I remembered to take a little personal interest in the student. That was something I learnt from my own experience with Prof. Temsula, one which usually had the greatest impact on their lives just as her investment in my personal life had made the greatest difference in my life and career.
I am remorseful for not having kept in touch with her in the last decade of her years, of letting the knowledge of how influential and important she was to me slip away over the years. Being regretful is often thought to be counter productive or even useless. But perhaps it is also how we learn about ourselves, about what is important and what really isn’t. At best, it can offer clarity. And I am grateful that the memories will always be there as also the legacy she leaves behind in her poems and stories she told. She dealt in lasting values, values that outlive administrative changes and challenges, values that will continue to live on, much like her beloved characters in her stories which represent wisdom and truths that stand the test of time, mattering more than the individual, more than personal careers or any ambitions.
Thank you Madam for your kindness, generosity, and genuine spirit which continue to envelope all of us who were privileged to have known you. Your extraordinary wit, commitment and integrity will always be remembered.
Rest in peace, beloved teacher and mentor.
We miss, honour and salute you.
Dr. Kevileno Sakhrie
