Cherished school days

As far as basic education is concerned, I think I was very lucky. Although we attended a poor man’s school, the C. J. School at Tata Colony, Tardeo, a charitable institution, it was a good one and I made the most of what I learnt there.

We were lucky to have Freny Sethna teach us English for the SSC. She was a very learned lady and a scholar in English and Persian who retired the following year. She was actually the founder teacher-principal of the school and enjoyed the support of Lady Hirabai Cowasji Jehangir.

French was taught by Hutoxi Palkhi­walla from Std VIII. We were fortunate as the teacher who preceded her was not competent and our seniors had to unlearn what they had been taught. Palkhiwalla later settled down in South Africa. The French language contributed a lot to improving my English.

A day before the French exam, the last one for the SSC, everyone had gone to collect a full paper from a private source. I was the only one who refused to do so as a matter of principle. I would not cheat. Though the paper was the same as the one predicted, I scored the highest marks.

Science was taught by Banu Balsara who was thorough in teaching her subject. She had also taught us arithmetic and algebra in our earlier years and I can never forget the contribution she made in my life. Instead of reading novels and indulging in gossip, I used to read health science books in the school library and impress her by making electrical gadgets at home. My father would encourage me to the extent of letting me use the battery of his motorcycle. Through the library books I gained knowledge about electricity, magnetism and even automobile engines years before we actually studied them.

I cherish my school days more than my years in college because my school prepared me for life. Unfortunately, I was unable to pursue further education after taking a great interest in cycling, which took a lot out of me. After I became the state and national champion in the same year, it was necessary for me to remain at the top. Circumstances were bad as well, and I had to take up a job.

Unbelievable as this may sound, when I was in Std VI, after arguing with our English teacher, a Punjabi lady named Miss Mehra, I complained to the other teachers that the grammar she was teaching us was absolutely wrong. I had insisted, at that tender age, that I did not want to learn something wrong, nor did I want to lose marks. The matter went to the principal. I was listened to, cross examined, our text books were checked and the teacher was removed from the next term. Just imagine a young boy doing that, and without the help of his parents!

I am lucky that I have good memories of my teachers.

RUSTOM A. HAVEWALLA

raslu@hathway.com