Tails at the back
shouts Miss Myrtle
my English teacher.
as she enters
Noted for strictness
she is a terror among
the sixth formers, the
twenty of us,
push our plaits back,
hurriedly stand to greet her.
She is neatly clad in a starched
pink handloom cotton saree.
Taking her chair. her eyes
travel through the rows
lasts on Sheela, a timid girl
She summons Sheela
to come to her desk.
Trembling Sheela
goes to her.
“Your skirt
is crushed and the blouse
do not go with it. You look
shabby.”
Watching with awe,
I look at Sheela.
Find her skirt with perfect
pleats, the blouse appropriate.
Miss Myrtle continues
talking of how to dress,
and how to pick up grace.
and look pleasing.
She then reads out
“I wandered lonely as a cloud.
That floats on high over vales and hills
——–“.
The bell goes, the English
hour over. Miss Myrtle
rises from her chair
walks nodding
to our chorus ” Thank You Mam,”
Meenas Poems 