A Tribute to Our Teachers and Their Unforgettable Lessons

Today, my elder brother Sarwar Bajwa shared a picture of Professor G.M., our legendary teacher from Liaqat College, and it brought back a flood of memories.

In 1989, English Literature was introduced as an optional subject at Liaqat College for the first time. It was my teacher, and mentor, Professor Zafar Hussain Zafar, who encouraged me to choose it. He knew of my inclination towards literature, and I remain forever grateful to him for that advice. I immediately took his suggestion and opted for English Literature.

Liaqat College had two esteemed professors in economics—Professor Zafar Hussain Zafar and Professor Babar Khan—both of whom were highly respected.

Our new literature class started with eleven students, but by the end of two years, only two remained to take the final exam. The rest had dropped out.

I was the only one from that class who managed to secure admission to the English Department at Multan University, all thanks to choosing English Literature as my optional subject.

One of my roommates, and a close friend, Zulfiqar Sargani, also attended the literature class for a few days. However, one by one, the other nine students, including Zulfiqar, eventually quit. Every night, Zulfiqar would see me reading literature books and would try to convince me not to pursue this “foolishness.” His argument was simple: the total marks were 850, with 200 marks dedicated to compulsory English. How could anyone possibly manage an additional 200 marks for optional English Literature? It was difficult enough for students to pass compulsory English, let alone achieve first division with 400 marks in total from the English section.

Zulfiqar’s main concern was that the teachers were experimenting on us by introducing English Literature, and we would suffer because of it. My response, however, was that the challenge would inspire the teachers to put in extra effort, to make a name for themselves and the college. If even one student managed to make it to university, it would bring recognition to the subject at the college. And that’s precisely what happened when, two years later, I gained admission to the MA English program at Multan University, thanks to the hard work and dedication of my teachers.

Another roommate, Kibriya Khan, tried to intervene, jokingly telling Zulfiqar, “Let him study. It’s his choice, and it’s him who has to take the exams.”

Amidst all the banter, our small class of just two students—myself and Khalid Dasti—was given the same attention as if we were fifty. Our teachers, Professor G.M., Professor Shabbir Nayyar, Professor Bahadur Dallo, and others, never made us feel like a tiny class. They taught us with the same dedication and passion.

Among them, Professor G.M.’s immersion in Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar” was nothing short of extraordinary. Even after all these years, no one has taught Shakespeare’s plays as Professor G.M. did. Not even Dr. Shams, our professor at Multan University, could bring the same depth to Hamlet as G.M. brought to “Julius Caesar.” The way he would dive into each line, embodying the characters before commenting, was unparalleled. His frustration with Brutus still resonates with me 35 years later.

Every time he recited Caesar’s famous line, “Et tu, Brute?” his voice would be filled with sorrow, lamenting Brutus’ betrayal. Caesar had never wronged Brutus, so why did Brutus stab him? Caesar was his friend, respected and loved him. Why then?

On cold winter afternoons, as we sat in the college lawn with two chairs in the open field, Professor G.M. would repeat Caesar’s dialogue. It felt as though the entire afternoon turned somber, with the trees and birds silently listening to the conversation about Brutus and Caesar, sharing in the sadness of Caesar’s fate.

Professor G.M. was a humble and simple man, always wearing a cap, walking with his head bowed in deep thought. Literature had a profound influence on his personality. He has long since left this world, but even after 30 years, I can still picture him in those cold winter afternoons at Liaqat College. With dry lips, constantly rubbing his fingers across them, peering over his glasses at his two silent students, G.M. remains deeply upset with Brutus. His disappointment and grievance with Brutus still linger, as strong as ever.