It is nearly thirty two years since I came out of college.
Oh gosh ! really so long!
How many years since I left the portals of school?
Add another five years.
I go back to my primary schooldays.I recall my teachers who taught me to write and read.Patience was their virtue.
How did they manage?
A child would be wailing in a corner, another one nodding her head in sleep, yet another tom boy engaged in a fight.
Yet they managed, managed pretty well.
I kneel down in reverence.
In the secondary school, the teachers were tough.
They made us work.
Grammer, theorems,poetry, chemical equations, Boyle’s law, Newton’s law, botanical names, dissection of a frog, history (ancient,medieval,modern,)
geography (we saw countries when David flew in his imagination).,were all dinned into our minds.
They gave us such a foundation ,that made most of us successful..
I should make a special mention of my English teacher,Miss Myrtle.
She spent nearly fifteen minutes of every class,in relating her experience in Europe.
She would begin the class thus “when I went to Europe—-“.
The class chuckled.Annoyed ,she would start shouting.
Her anger brought the best part of her.
Her command of the language was excellent.
Her coaching in grammar laid a good base for us.,who took English as the main subject in college.
My heart fills with gratitude ,when I think of these teachers.
My eyes become wet ,when I visualise Miss Myrtle. with her spectacles
I feel she is still staring at me.Her stare comes down . oh, now she smiles benignly.Alas!
She is no more. Let her soul rest in peace.
Usually there should be a difference between a school and a college.
But I found school was far more liberal than college.
we were under the nose of our Principal.
She was a strict disciplinarian.
Her eyes would always follow us.
Here again , I have to make a special remark on my English Professor Miss Gomez
she was honour personified.
She took us to the days of Marlowe, Shakespeare, and Wordsworth.
A face that launched a thousand ships,
Age cannot wither her ,
nor customs stale her infinite variety,
To be or not to be.
if music be the food of love ,play on.
You too Brutus,
the fever and fret.
Miles to go before I sleep,
resound and reverberate .
Miss Gomez , I salute you.
Tears trickle down.
My eyes are misty.
Endharo mahanuba! says the saint Thiagarja,
The experience is exuberant..
The exhilaration is ecstatic
I
.
Meenas Poems 