Schooled by the finest
Whenever you ask the so-called successful people how did they get their first break, they tend to respond with an air of rehearsal. Which could be the reason why almost nobody mentions their school as the breakpoint in their life (career being a non-word). Hardly anybody says that getting to go to school was how they actually made it. Education, or even the thirst of knowledge, was what drove them to success but they’ve got so far ahead of themselves that they can’t but forget those who shaped their early past and, arguably, their future.
I always admired teachers. Maybe that’s why I think this way about education and the educators. Even as a little boy, I harboured utmost empathy for those who helmed the classrooms. I don’t think I’ve ever troubled or attempted anything nasty on — verbal or otherwise — my teachers. Or perhaps I was too much of a coward to step out of my skin.
Nonetheless, it’s amazing to reconcile with the fact that no matter how bad you thought your teachers were, they pushed you in a certain direction. To put it precisely, they tried. Just like you did as a student. You weren’t a prodigy by any means, were you? And from where you are today, can you actually blame anybody else? Haven’t you done fairly well for yourself, barring the implausible standards that you must have set for yourselves just because you are a pro at the art of comparison? That asked, there are terrible teachers who do a lot of damage to their pupils. It’s rather tragic how the vanguards of our collective future—teachers are the gatekeepers of our world of tomorrow — can abuse or underuse their authority to promote mediocrity and worse still, lethargy, toward a particular subject. [“I hate history because my history teacher sucked.”] But by sheer volume, the rotten apples can’t possibly outnumber the teachers who remind us how thankless their noble profession is.
Speaking of gratitude, let me quickly list out a few of those who I remember for influencing my memory in a certain manner:
Irene teacher: My first ever teacher, in junior kindergarten (KG), was one of the most gentle and patient souls around. From whatever I remember as a four-year-old boy, she made learning fun. One day, she used a big old clock to teach us numericals. That’s how I remember learning how to count properly.
Benjamin sir: Our school got computers the very year I reached primary section. And a mustachioed fellow with strong Malayali accent greeted us in the computer class. He taught us whatever he could for the next 10 years. Bumped in to him at Mankhurd railway station in 2006. Thanked him for his time and effort after asking whether he remembers me. He said no.
Laxmi teacher: A sari-clad Kannadiga lady who taught us English and EVS. She was my class teacher too for two consecutive years in primary section. She was strict and laughed at my “…their legs are short” response to “Giraffes have long necks because…” complete-the-sentence.
Jean teacher: She was my class teacher in the third grade, had a husk-ish voice and used an asthma inhaler. She was the first one to push me towards the stage — quite literally — as she encouraged me to participate in elocution. I don’t know why she thought I’ll be good at it but I was on the stage one not-so-fine afternoon delivering a Marathi speech about Raksha Bandhan while she fed me lines from the sideline!
Piedade teacher: Our primary school headmistress, she taught us math in the third grade. One of the most respected voices around, I remember her for this particular class when she made me stand up and asked me, “What is 22 times 1?” I stayed mum because I only knew tables from 1 to 10. As ironic as that sounds now.
Elizabeth teacher: If I love stories today, it’s because of this person. She was our class teacher in the fourth grade and taught us English in an inimitable style. I remember chapters from 1995–96 only because she conveyed them like… well… stories.
Narinder teacher: A remarkable lady who always wore big bindis that matched her clothes. What Elizabeth was to English, she was to Hindi during my fourth standard.
Shaila teacher: Undoubtedly the most beloved teacher in the secondary section, she knew how to get even the most uninterested kid interested in what she had to say. A real gem.
Suhasini teacher: If it weren’t for her, I don’t think I’d have pushed myself into English literature. She not only helped raise my confidence but also ensured that I take the Queen’s language seriously. I once met her outside Sanpada railway station in 2010. I smiled at her. She smiled back.
Kushala teacher: Somebody asked me over the long weekend which was my favourite subject in school, I said English and history. She is the reason why I said history.
Amanullah sir: A thorough gentleman with a tender voice, he taught us science in 8th grade. I remember him for two reasons. One, I scored 98/100 in his class. Two, he once told us that every little thing that has life in it has honour too.
Tripathi sir: Our much-feared/respected PT sir was our Hindi teacher in 10th grade. His adherence to sahitya Hindi left a lasting impression on my psyche. Perhaps it was he who ended up inspiring me to improve my handwriting in Devanagari script.
Father Correa: School principal and an erudite figure, he taught us history for our SSC board. He dealt with history as absolute truth. He is the reason why I find it difficult to believe in “conspiracy theories” floating around in the Internet. For me, he innovated the process of education with his hand-made charts/collages/anecdotes. He was epic.
It’s quite unfair that I could manage only a handful of names but I guess it’s all right to remember at least some instead of none.
