Note: I went to a boarding school. So yeah, got a lot of memories with teachers.
Long, bony hands of the tall teacher writes swiftly on the black board painted green... The left-hand solving complex mathematical equations is forever imprinted in my memory. The way he would encourage us, the way that left-hand would make every problem seem easy. Every time I got a problem correct, he would ruffle my hair and smile at me. That smile would make my day. Later, I would brush the chalk dust from my hair, remembering to do so only after a friend mentioned it.
He was the first one to make me interested in Maths and I can proudly say that he saw me going from average Cs to brilliant As in Maths. Going near the boys' hostels, where his flat was situated and waiting for hours for him to arrive was quite an experience. He would always help us, whether we went one day before exams or months before. Honestly speaking, I never thought I would like the teacher who thought my Mom was my Grandma.
It was the year we had to give an important exam. We lazed around, did everything but study, not fearful of the so-called 'Iron Gate'. However, the sound of bangles jingling early in the morning never failed to wake us up, grab the nearest book and pretend to study. The teacher would come in, few minutes later, look around the room and satisfied with all of us up, would leave. We would then express our sigh of relief and go back to sleep.
Looking back at those times, I realize just how much she cared for us. In hostel life, she was like a mother to us, to all of us. She would be awake in the middle of the night, checking if all of her girls were asleep. She would tell us to go to sleep if she found us awake, even if we were cramming up a night before exams, after a bout of scolding, of course. Whenever it was her duty day for the dining hall, we would get our lazy asses up from the bed and actually go for breakfast because she would know. She would count the number, she would look for us. She was definitely not a woman to cross.
I have been scolded by her too many times to count. One time, literally a week straight, sometimes for funny reasons. Despite it all, the proud smile on her face when my grades went up is one of my best moments. Needless to say, The 'Iron Gate' was crossed quite elegantly. I would have appreciated her more had she not danced around the entire corridor while scolding us and pointing fingers because we were out of our dorms on the last freaking day of school.
It was a Tuesday. The day with the best lunch, our school had ever offered, which is saying something considering the food we were given and the lengths we went to smuggle food in. We had Environment, Population and Health (E. P. H.) just before that and the teacher was really smart. He would offer us an early leave, if we managed to recite a definition by the WHO, or every symptom of a disease listed in the book. We would cram it up, and leave early, throwing pitiful glances at the poor, hungry people in the other sections.
One time, we had to give a presentation of reproductive system (male or female) in front of the whole class that had boys. For fifteen year-olds, it can be quite traumatizing. At least we didn't have to draw figures, that was the horror reserved for the next batch.
Oh! the things I had to do for twenty-five practical marks. From writing dumb reports on twenty-five medicinal plants found in the school premises (can't thank Wikipedia enough for this) and carrying twenty good characters that I had written on a paper everyday to picking up chocolate wrappers smuggled by the parents and thrown recklessly by the children. All of us got the twenty-five practical marks though, and managed to get good marks on his subject.543Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnGRJtvOPFo
He did not just teach us, he made us learn.
There are so many more teachers and so many more precious memories. The account teacher who put up with my endless questions and encouraged me to aim for the highest marks possible. The Maths teacher with the worst potty mouth I've ever heard. It was so educational. The other Maths teacher whose flat we only visited right before exams in hopes that he would leak the questions to us. The English teacher who gave us essays and poems to write as a form of punishment. The teacher who graded homework. It was really useful on the long run. The teacher who cared for plants too much. All those teachers from whose garden we stole fruits and vegetables, and those who allowed us to take them when we asked nicely (when there were plenty, of course). The teacher who saw us smuggling food into the school but only threatened us. The one who actually helped us smuggle food cause he knew our pain and hunger. Damn! ex-students make the best teachers.
All those years spent in that school has been the best years of my life, even though back then all I wanted was to get the hell away. I can actually say that I grew up there and all those teachers who helped me during those times are the best damn teachers I could ever ask for. It's always pleasant to go back there and talk to them. I really can't thank my teachers enough.
Still I won't forgive the teacher who assigned me as the Gardening In-charge. Gardening? Seriously? What were you thinking ma'am? It did exempt me from doing actual gardening and allowed me to boss everyone around on Saturdays and assign punishments on Gardening. So yeah, maybe I will...
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