End of an Era

A rather dramatic title, I know, but it’s what came to my mind earlier this afternoon when I learned that the former principal of my school passed away after a long illness that she faced with characteristic courage and spirit. She ruled, for there is no other word, the school for more than thirty years and her time at the helm was what could only be called an era. The history of the school will forever be divided into ‘before’ her time, and ‘after’.

We were impressionable girls of 12 when she took over as principal from Anglican nuns who were returning to England. After decades spent trying to teach boisterous Indian girls how to be young ladies, I imagine the nuns were rather relieved to be going home. While some of them were undoubtedly martinets, they were largely a gentle bunch and we were sorry to see them go. We would miss their white wimpled figures bobbing around the school premises, but with the casual insouciance of girls that age, we were ready to adapt. Quite frankly, we had other more pressing concerns than who would take over as principal.

A mistake, as it turned out. The nuns had left us in very good hands. Within a few short months we felt the changes taking place. This was not a lady we could take lightly, and she very effectively proved she meant business. Gently at first, she steered the school along in the direction she deemed right, and slowly revealed the steel in her personality. Her decisions were not always popular, but no one could argue that they didn’t bring results.

We had only three years left at school and were fortunate that she still had the time from administrative duties to teach, for she was a superlative History teacher. Her English lessons had us enthralled and none of us dared to take Julius Caesar lightly under her reign. Shakespeare under a less experienced teacher would have been a disaster! She made sure we actually understood and remembered more about the great emperor than his unforgettable ‘Et tu, Brute’, not that we appreciated it much then.

Such was her persona that long after we had passed out of school we still straightened smartly when we bumped into her anywhere and meekly wished her the time of day. She remembered the names of all the girls she’d taught years after we’d left her ambit, and with our names she’d remember, and bring up with a half naughty smile, all our schoolgirl lapses.

She was a legend, and came to be synonymous with the school over the years. Even after ill health forced her to retire, she didn’t take a backseat, continuing to provide discreet guidance and direction to the school. It’s not my intention to write a maudlin piece about her, for she didn’t inspire such soppy sentiments. She was a force to reckon with, and no one remained indifferent to her. There are some teachers you never forget, and she was certainly one of those, and now when she’s finally laid down the baton, it seems fitting to pay a tribute.

Text messages are flying to and fro, the phone keeps ringing as the old girls network spreads the news of her passing. The reactions are varied, ranging from guilt at not being able to visit her when she was ill, to deep regret at her passing. No one is unmoved. When she leaves the school portals for the last time, it will certainly be the end of an era. The gates will open again to a new chapter in the history of that venerable old school.