This is not the only thing that I remember of my English teacher every time I think of her. An awe inspiring person who is so deeply etched that sometimes I can easily compare the similarities between her and me. A fair judge of character and the most enthusiastic teacher I studied under. I do not know how she is now neither do I know where she is, but if there is something I do know, then its surely that feeling that takes me back to my 6th std (and on...) Where she started teaching me English.
I had never had seen, or met, a teacher as enthusiastic about her subject, the children she taught, and the class she taught in, as her. Alive every minute. I have ceased to remember what was in the books that I so religiously carried in my bag to school. How ironic that teachers are not given as much importance in our life as books are, while its mostly them that keep the spirit of a subject alive.
I love English for the stories it gave me, and for the poems I read, more over I love it cause all my best memories of classrooms and school go back to English.
The way each character came alive every time the reader found its way on to Hemalatha Ma'am or Nagireddy Sir's hands. The magic they created with simple narration, anecdotes to add, and a wonderful smile they had for everything else. It just brought out the best in them - the books, the teacher, and of course the class. Thanks to them, my love for the 'subject' carries on. More over my respect for teachers and enthusiasm for teaching lives on.
Dotting my 'i's and Crossing my 't's, I move on.
