The Teacher Who Could Pat Mao and Still Remain a Guru

By Shri Shrikant Joshi.

Born and educated in Vijayapura,

Industriialist in Nasik.

The Teacher Who Could Pat Mao and Still Remain a Guru

On 5 September 1888, in the small temple town of Tiruttani, was born a boy who would one day become one of India’s most distinguished philosophers, teachers and statesmen—Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan.

What is fascinating about Radhakrishnan is that, despite rising from a modest background to become a professor at Mysore and Calcutta, Vice-Chancellor, India’s first Vice-President and second President, he never quite lost the personality of the teacher.

There was something almost theatrical about his appearance. He was invariably immaculate—spotless white dhoti, a long coat reaching almost to the knees, black shoes and, above all, his distinctive white turban. The turban became almost inseparable from his identity. Even when he travelled abroad and occupied the highest offices of the Republic, he retained this unmistakably Indian appearance. He carried himself with such dignity that his dress itself seemed to announce: here comes the Professor!

But behind that imposing appearance was a surprisingly warm and informal man.

When he left Mysore to take up his celebrated position at Calcutta University, his students refused to let their Guru depart quietly. They decorated his carriage with flowers, removed the horses—and pulled the carriage themselves all the way to the railway station. It was perhaps the most eloquent farewell a teacher could receive: not a garland, not a speech, but the willingness of his students to become the horses of his carriage.

Years later, the same professor found himself dealing with men infinitely more powerful than any university principal. As India’s Ambassador to the Soviet Union, he met Joseph Stalin. And in 1957, as Vice-President, he met Mao Zedong in China.

There is a wonderfully characteristic story about that meeting. After shaking Mao’s hand, Radhakrishnan unexpectedly patted him on the cheek. The Chinese delegation was stunned. Mao himself was taken aback. Radhakrishnan, completely unfazed, reportedly disarmed the moment by saying that he had done the same with Stalin—and even with the Pope. Whether one accepts every embellishment of the story or not, it captures something unmistakable about the man: he could stand before the most powerful people in the world without losing the natural confidence of a teacher.

That perhaps was Radhakrishnan’s greatest lesson. He believed education was not merely about collecting information; it was about enlarging the mind and the human being. He famously observed:

“When we think we know, we cease to learn.”

And perhaps that is why his birthday became a day not to celebrate the man himself, but the profession he revered.

He died on 17 April 1975, leaving behind not merely books and honours, but an idea—that a true teacher does not merely fill a student’s mind with knowledge; he leaves the student wanting to know more.

So, today, when we wish one another Happy Teachers’ Day, perhaps we should remember the man in the spotless white turban who rose from a modest beginning to the Rashtrapati Bhavan—and yet remained, till the end, a teacher first.

Happy Teacher’s Day!