🌕 Guru Purnima: My Journey from Fading Traditions to Heartfelt Connections 🌕
Growing up, I still remember my mother telling me, "Today is Guru Purnima. আজকে নিজের গুরুকে প্রণাম করতে হয়". No grand celebrations, no elaborate rituals — but a gentle acknowledgment. In our village, I'd see the elders, like my mother’s aunt, visit her Guruji at the ashram, and offer sweets and bow in respect. But for me, it was just another day, a concept wrapped in the innocence of childhood that I didn’t quite grasp.
Life took its own course. My father’s transferable job meant moving from place to place, and with each new city, the roots of tradition seemed to loosen. Urban life swept in with its busy schedules and new priorities, slowly eroding the customs that once bound families and communities. The quiet reverence for elders, the small rituals that held so much meaning, the unspoken gratitude towards teachers—all slowly faded into the background.
School and College: A Celebration That Never Came
Looking back, Guru Purnima was notably absent from my school days in the city. Instead, Teacher’s Day held significance—a day of cards, chocolates, and student performances, a festive school event. University life was a bit different. I'd observe professors calling their own mentors, checking in on retired teachers, and exchanging warm words. But once the day passed, everyone returned to their routines. The cycle repeated every year—some teachers had passed away, others were living their retired lives, and the connection, though present, remained fleeting. Importantly, it was the day when god fearing good citizens refrained from criticizing their teachers, especially the ones who had passed away.
Yet, amidst the academic stress, there was something beautiful in those brief reunions. For a day, the usual hierarchy dissolved. Professors, seniors, and juniors would sit together, sharing meals, laughter, and gossip. It was a rare moment of warmth, a reminder that learning was, at its heart, a shared journey, not just a hierarchical one.
2018: The First Real Guru Purnima
It wasn’t until 2018 that Guru Purnima truly resonated with me. Something unexpected happened. I was working with a paramilitary hospital in Kolkata and a constable I had trained to assist me in O.T. approached me out of the blue, touched my feet, and simply said, "Today is Guru Purnima. You taught me so much. I consider you my Guruji."
That moment struck me deeply. Here was someone, unprompted and genuine, acknowledging my role in his growth—not as a spiritual guide, but as a teacher. It wasn’t about religion or rituals; it was about gratitude, respect, and the profound impact of knowledge shared. I hadn’t fully realized the extent of my role in his life until that moment.
Since then, I’ve noticed how Guru Purnima has found new life. Social media now floods with wishes and gratitude—for teachers, mentors, guides—and WhatsApp statuses fill with heartfelt tributes. It’s not the Guru Purnima my ancestors knew, but in its own way, it carries meaning, evolving with the times while preserving its essence.
Full Circle: Yesterday’s Message
Yesterday, on Guru Purnima, I received another message from him. Overthe years, he's been posted out to various locations but, he always makes it a point to contact me, communicate and pay his respect on Guru Purnima. He's now posted in Delhi, preparing for his post-retirement life, and yet, after all these years, he still remembers the lessons I taught him in Kolkata.
That small gesture meant more than any grand celebration. It wasn’t just the message; it was the memory. The realization that something I once shared stayed with him, helped shape his life. In that moment, I understood something quietly powerful: we often don’t know when we become someone’s Guru. It’s not always formal or ceremonial. Sometimes, it’s just being there, teaching honestly, guiding without expecting acknowledgment. It reminded me that teaching isn’t just about imparting knowledge—it’s about leaving an indelible imprint on someone’s life. To be respected as a teacher, to know that your guidance truly mattered, is a humbling and fulfilling feeling.
The Meaning I Carry Today
I’ve come a long way—from a child who didn’t notice Guru Purnima, to a student who didn’t celebrate it, to a teacher who now sees its silent beauty. Looking back, I see the journey: from a child unaware of its significance, to a student who saw it as just another day, to a teacher who now understands its true essence.
Today, I realize it’s not about elaborate rituals or official functions. It’s about pausing—just long enough to say, "Thank you."
Thank you to those who shaped our thinking, who challenged us, who believed in us when we didn’t believe in ourselves.
Traditions evolve. Maybe they look different than they did before. But as long as the feeling stays—the gratitude, the quiet acknowledgment—Guru Purnima lives on. Not in grand displays, but in quiet, heartfelt moments of respect.
Not in noise, but in stillness.
Not in ceremonies, but in connection.
Not in crowds, but in hearts.
This year, as I sit quietly with these memories, I feel deeply grateful. For all my Gurus. Known and unknown. And for the chance, perhaps, to be one for someone else.
And that, perhaps, is the real meaning of it all.
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