His classroom wasn’t about dates or leaders. It was about questioning everything: Why did a peasant in Bengal interpret Gandhi’s message differently than a lawyer in Madras? Why did nationalist slogans catch fire in some villages and fizzle in others? His genius was in exposing the messy, uneven, lived reality behind grand narratives. He showed us that history isn’t a tidy story; it’s a conversation, constantly unfinished, always demanding new questions. His students didn’t just memorize facts; they learned to distrust the obvious. And that’s the real legacy: not a textbook, but a way of thinking. Even today, when we read about caste, class, or culture in Indian history, we’re walking in the path he carved. Quiet in person, towering in intellect; he proved that the most powerful ideas rarely shout.