To Miss with Love

As my bus passed by my school today, I tried to crane my neck over the high compound wall to catch the glimpse of the uniform I had worn for 10 years of my life. Everything just seemed untouched by the ravages of time or perhaps so I wish. Flashes of memories from our Teacher’s day celebrations at school run through my mind: covert drama and dance practices unknown to the teachers, (of course they always knew!) calling out to our favorite teachers as they walked up to their audience seats in the “New Hall” and presenting flowers and cards to our favorite teachers during the recess.

There was one particular teacher who received fewer flowers that day and perhaps even those who gave her one did it more out of terror than love. And yet she is the most enduring memory any pre-2000 Josephite worth her salt, has of this school! The impeccably white PT shoes and white socks, the trademark knee length skirt, the tailor made blouse, the gold wrist watch, the short crop of hair with not one strand out of place: the visage of the martinet of our school. Through her glasses her piercing eyes were capable of sending shivers down the spine of the most intractable brat in school. “I have four eyes: two in front and two behind my head”, she would warn the mischief mongers and that wasn’t far from the truth. The red lipstick: the only feminine form on an otherwise masculine face was equally “terrifying”. Her every stride commanded discipline: silence would descend on a hall full of cacophonic cackles and miraculously transform into a solemn prayer assembly with her presence. Even parents were not spared: every Josephite’s mother knew how long the sash on the beige uniform should be and what brand of PT shoes were to be bought every year.

I wasn’t particularly fond of her when I was in school: neither was my mother because she had to braid my two plaits every morning thanks to Mrs. Pereira’s rule on the length of hair. I would rather have erred on the side of caution and done Mrs. Pereira’s bidding rather than earn a flaming butt. So the uniforms were ironed at the dhobhi’s, the shoes polished the night before, (ok I used the chalks to polish them just before the PT period just a couple of times) the hair bands and ribbons were in place. I don’t recall ever getting into her bad books but I wasn’t her pet student either. I was a rather unobtrusive student when it came to sports and PT. I only did what I was asked to: be it yoga, march-past or PT exercises. Keeping my distance from her kept me happy. Even so, it is her that I remember from the most vivid recollections of what I learnt in school.

As ex-students each one of us had something valuable to take back from Mrs. Pereira: perhaps cleanliness, maybe discipline or for some, physical fitness. But for me one of the most unforgettable lessons I learnt from her was to value people who serve us. She taught us, convent bred snooty snobbish brats, to respect our service providers: right from Shakubai: the lady who cleaned our toilets to Sitaram who drove our school bus. Learning to treat them with some respect and that a bit of camaraderie, small-talk or a word of gratitude would go a long way in them feeling content about the services they render, feeling a little more significant in the scheme of things. It was possibly because of this lesson that I never found difficulty in minding my P’s and Q’s in UK where social etiquette demanded it. Even today, as I let Purushottam the canteen vendor joke about my twin sister, as I talk to Sanjay, the infrastructure in-charge, about the Ganpathi festival, as I thank the Xerox copying assistant every time I get papers copied, I remember Mrs. Pereira’s words of wisdom.

Yes she was one tough cookie in school universally feared and respected by generations of Josephites. Yet the disarming warmth that she exuded on meeting me outside an ice cream shop a couple of years back showed that she was a chocolate chip cookie: tough crust with surprising little chips that melt in your mouth. I never said this to her when I was in school: Happy Teacher’s Day Mrs. Pereira.