I first met Dr. Franson Manjali when I visited JNU’s campus after my first year living in India (I’m from the US). I wanted to know if I should apply to do a Master’s in linguistics at JNU. We met over tea in the canteen, and I asked him about the department. To my surprise, he told me that the professors at JNU were nothing
special! He didn’t try to sell the program, rather he told me that the students were some of the best in the world and second to none. The honesty and humility of his response paired with his deep respect for his students sold me. This was a person who not only thought of his students as equals, but he also clearly had a great love for teaching. I wanted to study with someone like that! The next year I was sitting in his class trying to understand the difference between structuralism and post-structuralism.
Manjali was a brilliant philosopher. Lecture after lecture he sought to instill in us not only a knowledge about the cannon, but an ability to question, debate, and critically intervene in the subject matter we were studying. Even when it was hard for him to understand my accent, we had some brilliant discussions. His classes were some of the most challenging in the department, but each semester I eagerly enrolled in each one! It is because of these classes that I went on to get my Ph.D. in linguistic anthropology, with work that engages deeply in semiotics, postcolonialism, and language. I thanked him in the acknowledgments section of my dissertation which I submitted days ago and only wish I could have thanked him in person for the role he played in my career.
As I go on to become a professor in a linguistic department myself, I have been thinking about what lessons I learned from Manjali in how to be a good mentor and teacher. I don’t know if I can pull off his dry sarcasm and directness the way he always did, but I do know that I will remember that I always valued the fact that he spoke to his students as intellectual equals no matter their level of experience. Sometimes his lectures would go on for hours after the allotted time, he would be so passionate about the lessons he was sharing with us.
I was saddened to hear about his passing. I am sad for the students who will never learn about the deep colonial legacies of the study of language. I am sad for the missed opportunity to tell him about the lessons of his that will pass through me to my own students at Binghamton University. My only hope is that those of us who are
his living legacy can keep his brilliance alive through our own work and teaching. He as a great educator and better person. He will be missed.