Saying goodbye...

This is to write what I'd need to say. On Sunday, the most dreadful news came. Of all the people that I had come to love, the few teachers who moulded me into who I am, I lost one of the best. Mrs Flavia D'Souza, or Fundy and she was popularly known, passed away on Saturday. Surprise, disbelief, numbness and a little shock were my first reactions. It was then and there that I decided that the least I could do for her was to be present at her funeral and pay my respects. The afternoon passed trying to find someone who would accompany me for I wasn't sure that I had enough composure to go alone. For Reasons varying, most declined. Finally I found one.

That very evening after I parked my car, it started to rain. Rain was something that had been eluding us for weeks now and all I could think of was how it turned out to be a befitting farewell to a teacher always with a smile, a word of advice and an infectious enthusiasm . It turned out, the entire programme had been advanced. By the time we got there everyone, the family and the school faculty, were on their way out. I did not expect my teachers to recognise me, but most of them did, and did with a wistful eye and even a few hugs. To stand at the foot of the grave of one of your favourite teachers, is not the easiest thing in the world. To stand at the foot of the grave of your teacher and not know what to say it even harder. As Charlie Chaplin put it, I love the rain because no one can see me crying. It was ironical for me to be speechless in front of the teacher who most often trained me on how to speak.

Mrs D'Souza was the youngest of four sisters and a brother. She is survived by her little daughter and her husband who most of us knew through her stories as sonu and uncle. She was born and brought up here in Delhi, went to school to Carmel convent and further to the college of Jesus and Mary. Her stories, her antics and the peculiarity of being the quintessential English teacher somehow became her identity over the generations.

I could never see her conform to anything even remotely resembling the almost boring demeanour of the rest of the teachers. Everyone knew that very few got along with her, sometimes irritating, childlike behaviour. She could be deadly serious, most miserly with marks, rarely angry but more often than not have an air about her that you could not help but be affected by the energy in it. I am yet to see another person who could evoke such emotions in so many people at the same time. I am also yet to see a teacher who could give marks ranging from 0.15 to 8.6 and yet claim that her mathematics was weak! Most don't even try to break up the marks into quarters.

Almost all of us have at least once seen ma'am racing down the road, flailing her arms about and shouting, " let me through, I am late!". It's not every day, only it was for us, to see your teacher racing about just so she wouldn't lose a leave of because she was late and then most properly settled her hair, fix her dress, calm her nerves and go to the staffroom. Another of the peculiarities. Another of the reasons most found her weird.

She had a way about her that I cannot express. She not only went about completing the syllabus but often indulged in discussing things that happened around us. I still remember the one discussion she had with us way back in class eight. It was on surrogate motherhood. Young teenagers have an awkwardness that can only be felt. Topics like these are heard with every eye avoiding the other. She still went on and since she barely got a response from any of us, she gave us her's. Oh we all discussed it among our little groups but we just couldn't say it aloud. Maybe that was the first time I felt the urge to say what I feel without worrying about how others would judge me. From then on I tried to express my opinion where it would be heard and haven't looked back much since.

Talking of English teachers, I can safely say that I have had many over the past two decades. I've had a full-time one at home and some brilliant ones at school. Even though they have taught the same things how they did it was always different. For Fundy it has got to be her grammar and interpretation. Working on my diction or strengthening my arguments, she would always have the patience to not go about always correcting me but finding the way to just alter me enough. And how can I forget, when things got too serious, she'd just go and say,"Angrejan aisa hi hai bachha! kya karen?!".

On Sunday, when we were leaving I met an old friend who was just coming. He called out and when I saw him all I could think of was how she had affected us. All I could think of was S-H-U-G-A-R. I spoke what I had to, I told him where he had to go but I could say no more. I didn't feel up to it and I said as much. The rain just about concealed it all.

On Sunday Mrs Flavia D'Souza was laid to rest above her mother in the family graveyard in the presence of her family, colleagues , students and friends. May her soul rest in peace.

In the name of the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit, Amen!

three guys, a girl and a beautiful trip

this is to document my bangalore-kolar trip, starting on the 7th of june and ending this morning, on 12th of june.

day 1: june 7

early start at 4:30am just so i could make it to the airport on time by 6. we board our hopping flight to blr and after a bumpy flight we land safe at BIAL to see for ourself what's all the hoopulla about the new airport. it's afncy, it's clean n rather small :P

our next mode of transport was a volvo bus to the city and i must say the drive was pretty! we drove around, i'm assuming, the old part of the city which frankly was a bit of a let down considering i was expecting the silicon city to be swankier and smooth. this place was cramped, old and all in kannad! churches, convents and cemetries lined the road and when they thinned, the army took over. the houses were typically sufferring from a bad english hangover and the roads couldn't be wide enough to accommodate two of these high capacity buses! this is bangalore?!

finally we reached our destination by 1 and had for lunch the most unique paranthas...kannad style with sambhar! our tryst with the sambhar was only just beginning, as we were to discover much later. we were driven down to kolar, some 90 km away in what seemed to be a journey meant to tantalise sleep! exhaustion of the past week and the day was fast catching up but the bumpy road and lack of leg room kept us in between sleep and awareness.

kolar turned out to be the msot unexpected place...a protected defence area with luxury rooms! where we'd expected hot southern summer, we found cool coastal monsoon winds. where we'd expected run down basic student accommodation, we got pretty rooms! where i'd expected some confusion and awkwardness at being the only female around, i found receptive and supportive scientists who were more than glad to have a girl around and gave me my own room!

once we got down to business we kept our eyes and ears open wide to the incoming competition and possible glitches in our PoA. not to late to realise we'd found one...our final ppt got promptly left behind in delhi in one of the many pen drives we'd used all year round and considered unncessary for this trip! we didn't have a ppt! which meant we cursed, we shouted we cried and stay up the night! registration and briefing was where i first laid eyes on those who'd come this far like us and those who were judging us equally critically. also watching them was a girl. and like always i found 2 taller than i :(

the night was full of palpable friction and tension and frustration was just setting in. working with guys till late at night was a new experience and something i was sure i'd pull despite all my apprehensions and i must mention the guys made it much easier on me by treating me like a guy most of the time(i'm more comfortable that way) and like a girl when it was most necessary.