NEW DELHI: “Look at Vriti,” Dr Debosmita Paul had said casually during one of our very first online classes in college. “I want all of you to always carry a pen and paper with you, just like she does.”It was a small remark, made in passing during the COVID-19 years when classrooms existed only through laptop screens. At the time, I smiled and moved on. A month after her death, it is one of the first memories that comes back.Paul, a Delhi University professor who previously taught at Maharaja Agrasen College before moving to Shivaji College, was found dead at her east Delhi residence on June 4.Delhi Police have since arrested a couple in connection with the case, alleging that a dispute linked to an ancestral property in West Bengal was the motive behind the murder.But for many former students, memories of her have little to do with the crime details and headlines. Instead, they return to conversations and the quiet ways in which she made students feel seen.For many of us, she wasn’t just the professor who taught Indian literature. She was the reason some of us fell in love with it.I still find myself thinking of her whenever I recommend ‘The Legends of Khasak’ to someone. Looking back, I often wonder whether it became one of my favourite books because she taught it with so much warmth and enthusiasm.The same goes for ‘Mrichchhakatika’ and ‘Cilappatikaram’, along with plenty other texts that are now difficult to separate from her classes.Students say it wasn’t just what she taught, but how she taught it. Discussions rarely stayed confined to the syllabus. Questions about literature often turned into conversations about higher studies, research and reading beyond the classroom.“Her classes felt like much more than an ordinary lecture,” recalled Vishal Gola, one of her former students. “The way she articulated the Indian classics and explained ‘Cilappatikaram’ is why it’s now my favourite.”What students remember most, however, are often small moments.“She corrected in silence; her advice didn’t make noise, but it echoes deep,” Vishal added, recalling how she once gently corrected a phrase during his classroom presentation without embarrassing him in front of others.Garvita Singh, another former student, remembered arriving on campus exhausted after walking nearly 25 minutes in Delhi’s summer heat. “Ma’am happened to pass by, noticed me immediately, and stopped to ask if I was alright,” she said. “It may seem like a small moment, but it reflected her attentiveness and genuine concern.”For Jiya, one of the strongest memories is not from a lecture but from her very first classroom presentation. “The proud glance and that little nod of appreciation with her usual warm smile is etched in my visual memory now,” she said.Outside classrooms too, students describe Paul as someone who noticed quiet efforts. As the teacher coordinator of the college music society, she encouraged participation and often made sure students received credit for work that otherwise went unnoticed.Jiya recalls struggling to carry a tabla bag before an external performance. “Debo ma’am ran up to me and grabbed one side of the handle,” she said. “We spoke of random things as we both carried the instrument to the venue. This will forever be one of my most cherished memories.”Even after students graduated, they say her encouragement continued. Garvita met Paul at an alumni meet just three months before her death, where the professor discussed her plans for higher studies and encouraged her to present a paper at a conference.Speaking to former students over the past few days, I realised that no two people remembered the same incident. Yet almost every conversation returned to the same thought: she had a way of making students feel noticed.(The author is a former student of Maharaja Agrasen College)
