A Humble Bow on Teacher's Day

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆

 

(originally posted Sep 2022)

 

Ah, Teacher's Day. Brings back so many memories. Many teachers have influenced and shaped this lump of mis-shapen clay over the years - some in ways that they never intended. But none rise to the level of, you guessed it, Sr Carmella, the Ruler with the mighty ruler, the red-ink Redeemer, the Molder of hearts and minds, the one that put a curse in my cursive handwriting. 

One particular year stands out the most. I forget exactly what grade it was but it was after kindergarten (with the fond memories of dueling with new koh-i-noor pencils and the coveted, scented, green-white erasers) and before the high school days (which was the last time we... knew it all).

The students, pushed, poked and prodded guided by a few disinterested teachers reluctantly put on an annual after-school Teacher's Day event inviting the parents to recognize the teachers, showcase the budding talent and, I suspect, push fundraising. Almost every Sharma jee and their respective Auntie jee attended. Or so it seemed. It gave them a chance to catch-up with other Sharma jee / Auntie jee's and brag about the accomplishments of own brats brood. The aftereffects were felt for weeks by us because many of us were admonished at home in the following days about that fabled, despised überachiever Sharmajee ka beta and our own wasted youth (I suspect we all have taken turns in that role for our fellow classmates in their own respective homes at some point).

The talent portion of this extravaganza consisted of classical songs (no Bollywood, thank you!), skits, and recitals of Hindi and English poems selected by Sr Carmella. There was various levels of enthusiasm for participation amongst the students. Many of the individuals picked for the various routines volunteered were voluntold and had no choice but to perform. The most unfortunate of the kids were assigned female roles in the skits (it was an all-boys school). Such hapless kids were teased mercilessly by the rest of the barbarian horde who did not seem to have any appreciation for arts or culture and clearly were raised by wolves with no civilizing influence in their lives outside school. I confess I may have participated in this hazing shamelessly at some point... under peer pressure, of course (that is my excuse and I am sticking to it). I humbly apologize for all such youthful indiscretions to my then classmates.

As for auditions, they went (as planned) - not well as I had no desire to participate. I recited a couple of English classical poems dutifully but with insipid disinterest. Mr CC (Cyril Cecil) Richards was the English teacher with a dedicated manner and a desiccated heart to go with it. He mercifully picked others over me and expressed his disappointment in no uncertain terms about my lackluster performance. He had such hopes. 

The Hindi teacher, Sri Hareram Pandit (uncharitably called haraam pandit by many, since he assigned lots of homework and was always repeating aaram haraam hai), well, I was already on his $hit list since the beginning of the year. I may have mentioned this disapproval in an earlier post about my Hindi homework, about not rising to my potential, and he took no time to rule me out of the lineup without the mercy-killing resorted to by Mr Richards. 

My off key singing and fidgeting knocked me out of the chorus lines of the rendition of a composition extolling the gurus over the ages. That song was specifically composed for that occasion by Kavi BKP (baanke piya) Akela who was a constant presence in most local kavya sammelan's and insisted we call him kavi raj. He accompanied that song with a mean harmonium that still sends chills down my spine. That number, thankfully, had not been heard of before or... since that evening. 

Having successfully navigated the auditions minefield, I was happily reading a mind-expanding Enid Blyton's Adventure book during classs while other unfortunate classmates had been pulled into many rehearsals going on around the school. Then my plans went awry. I suspect one of the teachers (or my best classmates) ratted me out and I sensed doom with a capital D. Sr Carmella arrived in the classroom and informed the class (and me) that they needed an EmCee for the event and I was it. The rest of the class cheered this announcement with an equal mixture of relief, glee, envy, jeers and other assorted feelings. My perusal of that Adventure series book was rudely and crudely interrupted. 

I spent that entire week in close proximity of Sr Carmella. I wrote and rewrote short intros to the various items. Endless reviews. Repeated revisions. All I recall was there was an impressively large number of performances (each grade, if not each section had at least two), and the number of short intros was equally large. With a great deal of patience, she made suggestions about powerful word choices, proper grammar, accepted composition, the pitch, the delivery, the poise, etc. etc. She was relentless. She was cajoling. She was encouraging. She was firm. Once we (she, mostly 😂) agreed on a final version, she had me memorize each item and rehearse the delivery endlessly in front of her. As a final word of advice, she told me to ad lib if my mind went blank. 

The dreaded evening arrived. I don't actually recall moving from behind the curtains but I must have, in a total state of funk, been gently pushed out in front of the audience by Sr Carmella. I saw in front of me a crowd of impatient parents and restless fellow students. With wobbly knees I folded my shaky hands. Somehow I found my voice and greeted the crowd about the fun filled evening to come. And we were off with humko man ki shakti de na enthusiastically belted out behind me, by a troupe of individuals hidden in the anonymity of the group. (The only Bollywood number that evening) Once the jitters wore off, about halfway through the evening, any botched delivery, flubbed lines and prepared scripts went out of the window. My induction into the Art of 3Bs (blah blah blah) can be traced back to that evening. Some classmates came back in the following days and called me an attention hog. But my 15 minutes of fame was quickly forgotten, when durga puja break arrived.

Thank you, Sr Carmella, for getting me ready for life - I still use her advice and the Art of 3Bs for many of corporate and customer presentations. 

To everyone - hope you all had your lives enriched by a least one Sr Carmella.

© 𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖆