One evening, as I was travelling home on a local train, I noticed a familiar face sitting across from me. It was my old music teacher, someone I had not seen in nearly 15 years. I could not help but introduce myself, and she smiled warmly, though she did not quite recognise me. Despite that, I felt a wave of excitement and happiness. I asked how she was, how her family was, especially her son, and if she was still teaching music. She listened patiently, smiling politely, clearly intrigued by how well I remembered her. Before her stop arrived, I quickly asked for her number so we could stay in touch, and she gladly shared it. Then, she stood up, nodded gently, and said, “God bless you, Kanna,” before stepping off the train.
The rest of my journey home was filled with nostalgia. Memories of her classes and little moments rushed back. I remembered rushing to her class, where she would scold me for being late. I was only 12 then and often gave up easily, thinking a raga or certain swaras were too hard. Whenever I complained that “I don’t like that song”, she would calmly reply, “How can you not like it?” Determined that I would learn, she gave me extra attention, patiently listening, correcting me, and making me practise every day until it became easy. I also remembered a time when she asked us to choose a film song of our own and perform it in class. I immediately refused, overwhelmed by the thought of writing down the lyrics and learning it on my own. She gently scolded me for giving up too quickly and asked why I would not at least try. We could always see how it went, she said. Reluctantly, I bought a cassette, wrote down the lyrics, and practised. I remember those days — we could only write the lyrics by playing the cassette again and again, pausing, rewinding, and trying to catch every word. I was surprised not only that I learned the song, but also by how much more capable I was than I had believed.
As I grew older, her lessons stayed with me. She taught me the importance of trying at least once before giving up and trusting that practice really does make a difference. I learned how to focus, put in my best effort, and only then decide whether something was too difficult.
That mindset has guided me ever since, helping me through interviews, studies, problem-solving and many other challenges in life.
The happiness from this small, unexpected meeting surprised me, but the effect she had on me all these years — subconsciously — was even greater. What I once approached with fear and reluctance as a child had, without my knowledge, turned into a strong foundation for life. It made me reflect on how many influences we carry without ever noticing them, and how rarely we get the chance to acknowledge the people behind them. I never had the opportunity to tell her what her patience had given me, but in that simple blessing she offered before leaving, there was a quiet sense of gratitude and closure. Sometimes, it takes years — and a chance meeting — to understand the true value of what once felt ordinary.
