#Title

For whom the titles toll
I have the best job in the world. I read stories and poems for fun. I share my joy with my students. And I get paid for it. The best part is, with every new batch, I return to old texts and find new meanings and new reactions. The freshness of young students keeps me alert and agile.
I don’t blame those who are envious of my profession. Little do I care if people call me “Sir” out of love, respect, conviction or protocol. The great master I had, under whose apprenticeship I got accepted for my highest academic degree, never insisted that I address him as “Sir,” even though he was native to the country responsible for the colonial hangover that has led to our obsession with being a sire while in a position of power. I called my PhD supervisor by his first name. That was the norm at graduate schools in the UK. In a formal setting or at an undergraduate level, you are expected to use a title with surname, but never Sir or Madam. So I don’t mind if people call me by my first name without any honorifics as long as I know that the address is sincere and genuine.
I teach my students to learn from the essential human spirit embedded in human triumphs and downfalls, engagements and detachments. We deal with characters in every possible permutation and combination of lived and imagined experiences to prepare for life. When characters from the pages of our imagination appear, I start making connections. That’s what literature is all about.
The young rebels that I teach about appear in the real world in the guise of some little girls of Bogura Government Girls’ High School. My passion for life is renewed by their spirit of redressing wrongs. The older generation, represented by their parents and teachers, surrendered to the whims of an additional district and sessions judge who allegedly threatened her daughter’s classmates with jail terms under the Digital Security Act (DSA).
While the old ones boosted the ego of the judge by apparently begging for her mercy by touching her feet to protect their daughter from her wrath, the young ones staged a protest that has now allowed the judge to be judged. The protesters insisted that at school the only identity that the judge has is that of a mother and guardian. When other girls are expected to sweep the classrooms to keep them clean, the daughter of the said judge should have done the same. On the contrary, the young girl, powered by her mother’s haughtiness, refused to join her peers in the cleaning process. The girls acted as the voice of democracy. Their boldness makes me alive. They are my Joan of Arc. These little ones exposed one instance of abuse of power within the system. The judge has now been recalled.
A similar tension over power dynamics was felt when the deputy commissioner of Rangpur insisted on being addressed as “Sir.” She got into an altercation with a university teacher who went to her office for an official purpose. The officer did not like the way she was being addressed as “ Apa ” (sister) and told her visitor to follow the official decorum. The university teacher staged a protest, which drew media traction.
Many government officials have come out in public to say that there is no constitutional protocol to address a civil servant as “Sir.” The issue became a battle between two Sirs. A university teacher is normally addressed as “Sir” in our culture, whereas government officers prefer a gender-neutralised version of “Sir” in a recently developed culture. The female officer, the first ever woman DC, felt that her visitor would have used “Sir” if she was a man. The “ Apa ” address was a sign of her not being taken seriously enough.
The debate that has erupted now involves the desire to de-sire colonial legacies. As a student of postcolonial literature, I would welcome any such move that would revisit some of the colonial biases and practices and end all forms of asymmetrical power arrangements. But I think what the officer said about her post is important: you need to show respect to the chair. A personalised bhai and apa often compromise the dignity and integrity of the post. We often face such odd examples in real life. For instance, if a minister comes to our campus, a university teacher is expected to address him/her as “sir.” Then again, our politically active students, who address us as their sir or madam, would address the minister as “ bhai / apa, ” latching onto their party camaraderie.
In The Prison Diaries , Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman shares a funny anecdote. One thief was promoted to the position of a guard. He wrote to his wife about the prestige and honours that he was receiving in jail. Everybody was addressing him as “sir” and he could whip prisoners and exert his authority at will. The letter was scrutinised by the jail supervisors who had a hearty laugh at the expense of the petty thief who had no respect in his village. After reading the letter, the jailers took away his temporary guard badge. That was the end of his haughtiness. Ah, downfall due to pride – a favourite topic among literary artists.
Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction. The internet is rife with a modern-day Count of Monte Cristo. An absconding prisoner returns to city life with an immense amount of wealth to settle some scores. On second thought, Arav Khan, the Dubai-based gold jewellery shop owner, is showing off his wealth with the naivety of a teenager. He is playing pranks with the police like the childhood game that we used to play, “See croc, we have dipped into your water.” The crocs are probably his old patrons who sponsored his business.
In Ben Jonson’s animal allegory Volpone , a fox is outwitted by his parasite, a fly called Mosca. To avoid his sex scandal, the fox uses his parasite’s help to announce his death. The moment the fox is presumed dead, the slave fly claims himself as the fox’s sole heir and takes possession of his property. The slave fly does not anticipate the “master” stroke: the fox comes back to life to expose the cheat.
Volpone was a gold worshipper who treated gold as his soul. My job is fun. I connect stories.