Our English teacher in the seventh grade was a very rosy cheeked fair lady. Tall, dressed always in cotton starched sarees, usually pink ones, she looked more British than Indian.
After spending years there, she spoke in a very thick British accent. She wrote in beautiful cursive on the blackboard.
Very sweet and gentle, she was liked by everyone. Some days she looked frazzled, hair in disarray, the saree a wee bit hastily worn. Incredibly busy she must have been, I thought, what with a bakery of her own that her hubby helped in running.
Annual days saw her grown kids, I think, four of them, joining her in the audience. Her girls helped with the guitar at times.
I distinctly remember the play we enacted that she directed for the school function during Christmas. The choir chosen, manger readied, Joseph, the tall dark girl...but who'd be Mary? We looked at each other.
She smiled.
Pointing to me, "You," she said.
"Yes, Miss, she's perfect for the job." The others agreed with her.
All I had to do was to sit beside the doll (baby Jesus) as Joseph stood near me holding a stick.
The choir, chosen haphazardly, sang tunelessly. No one knew alto or bass whatever...one girl sang high pitched, other lowest, another roughly, someone crudely..it was TERRIBLE!
And I sat next to the doll, really happy I wasn't singing.
One highly forgettable act!
School days flew by in a jiffy. We lost touch with our teacher.
Twenty eight years later, we had our first school reunion.
Excitedly we introduced ourselves to each other. Three of our teachers sat in the front. I could recognize just one of them.
I stared and stared at the one sitting in the middle. She baffled me.
After the formalities were over, the ex-students got busy chatting one another up. Every person looked exactly the same as he or she did when we were in the tenth standard. I asked my friend about the lady sitting in the middle.
"Mrs M," she answered, a trifle surprised at my query.
Our English teacher! Slowly realization hit me.
What ever happened to her rosy cheeks? She looked very slim and dark. Still in saree, but a complete contrast from her past appearance.
"My goodness, I didn't recognize her," I admitted sheepishly.
We met Ma'am later. She knew us at once. I was dying to know what happened to her. But she seemed reticent and withdrawn. Had she been very sick? None would know.
The get together ended in the evening. Sad at the prospect of parting, we waved good bye to our teachers.
Especially our English teacher, Mrs M.
