Briha

 Spend three decades facing a classroom full of children and September 5th becomes a day about yourself. Roses, red pens, chocolates and students handwritten cards. You are happily tired saying "thank you" to all their happy teachers day wishes. You end up so busy being the standard-bearer that you rarely get to look back at the people who set the standard for you in the first place. Is that the ultimate professional hazard?  ​ This morning, I tried remembering all my teachers. Which ever teacher came up  my mind, I consider them my favourite.  Class 1 - I don't remember much.  I was in KV in Trichy. I remember my grandmother taking me to the Main guard gate bus stop and putting me in a bus that goes to Kajamalai, 7 kms away. Yes, as a 5 year old, I travelled in a public bus, all alone. Infact I remember the driver and conductor of that bus who kept me safe, more than any of my teachers.  Class 2- I never was in class 2. Double promoted to class 3, but that...

I have never seen a soft spoken fragile kind of a Punjabi before I met Manju. Manju miss as we all call her in School, shifted to Chennai from Calcutta.  Manju studied in St.Terasa higher secondary school in Kidderpore, Kolkata. She worked in NavaNalanda school in  Kolkata before joining Vidya Mandir. She came to VM in a nice bengal cotton with sleeveless blouse. Tara miss went weak on her legs and gave her a weeks time to make blouses with sleeves.  All of a sudden her blouses had to grow sleeves. Her typical Bengali style  sleeveless days were gone.  Those days readymade blouses were not in vogue. VM was then a very conservative school. Even now while other schools allow teachers to come in salwar suits, VM insists on saree for teachers. No doubt, saree is  an attire that demands respect and represents dignity.  She made a few new blouses and had to pair them with not so matching sarees that she already had in her wardrobe. That was not Manju. She wa...