Exactly a year ago today, on 12th April 2019, a school classmate of mine messaged me directly on WhatsApp to say she had heard that our beloved high school English teacher Mrs. Jeroo Dinshaw had passed away earlier in the day. My first reaction, of course, was one of denial, though I knew she had been grievously ill for the past few days. In fact, a couple of classmates had especially gone to meet her during the previous week, after I got to know how ill she was and had asked if anyone could visit, since I wasn't in Pune myself, and she had chatted and interacted with them...."Not possible", I said," You must have the wrong information!" What the heart does not want to hear, the mind does not believe...I confirmed it from two of our High School teachers and then I knew the very sad news was true and it was time to break it on our school WhatsApp group....
On 15th March 2019, I had messaged Mrs. Dinshaw myself, like I had been doing every year for the last few years. It was the Ides of March, and her wedding anniversary. While teaching each batch Julius Caesar every year in school, she had never failed to point out how she had got married on 15th March, the very day Caesar had been warned against and subsequently assassinated on, and always joked how her brother had warned her husband-to-be too! On 15th March 2019, when I messaged her and told her we were all remembering her and sending our best wishes (her husband had passed away a couple of years ago), she thanked me and blessed us all...
As a scrawny thirteen year old who came back to join high school in June 1989 in Pune, after three years in Gauhati, Assam, meeting Mrs. Dinshaw and comprehending just how amazing her standard of English was, felt like being rejoined with a long lost kindred soul. I clearly remember that the first story she began teaching us on that first day of 8th grade was Saki's "The Open Window" and I still get goose bumps when I think of how Mrs. Dinshaw narrated and explained that 'twist in the tail' tale! I was spellbound and, like many generations of Helenites, immediately became a fan of Mrs. Dinshaw's for life. She introduced us to William Shakespeare that same week and as we began studying Twelfth Night, Shakespeare's England came to life! In an era when not many Indians had travelled abroad, Mrs. Dinshaw told us about her trip to Stratford upon Avon, Shakespeare's birth place, spun tales of seeing first hand his home and school, Globe Theatre and his wife Ann Hathway's cottage. When I visited the United Kingdom in 1997, I missed visiting this tiny town by a whisker and when I went back to England last year, after twenty two years, ironically in the very year Mrs. Dinshaw had passed away, I was determined to make it there, come what may. Thanks to my husband's dear cousin and her husband, we did visit Stratford Upon Avon, sat upon the banks of the Avon river, knocked at Shakespeare's door, had a cup of coffee in a pub he used to visit, and thus I paid a personal tribute to my beloved teacher in my own special way. She, with her magical way with words, had brought alive Shakespeare for a classroom full of young girls , (many of whom had never left India's coral strands), on a gloomy, rainy June morning, which probably perfectly mirrored regular weather in Shakespeare's country!
All of us were, no doubt, in absolute awe of Mrs.Dinshaw. The beloved and extremely pampered wife of a very rich businessman, she had no real 'need' to work. At a time when few women drove cars, let alone had one of their very own, Mrs. Dinshaw zoomed majestically into the school gates every morning in her Marie biscuit coloured Maruti 800, the very car most of India was dying to own, instead of the stately Ambassador or the Fiat, usually seen on Indian roads then. Chiffon sarees, deep cut sleeveless blouses that smacked of haute couture (and not of the tailor who had a little shop at the end of every Indian lane), high high-heels, beautifully permed and set hair and a flawless milk white complexion with skin as smooth as a baby's bottom (one of her favourite phrases!) , she was the very epitome of dignified elegance and grace. She had a larger than life, very magnetic personality and fondly addressed all of us as 'her little darlings' and 'baby dolls'. We felt as if we were straight out of Kipling's books and those colonial 'baba log' (children) were no patch on us! That was how special she made each girl feel. She came from India's Parsi community, well known for their generous flamboyance, business acumen, flair for music and teaching and a philanthropy that knows no borders of religion, caste or creed....the world certainly needs more of this rapidly shrinking group...
Once Mrs. Dinshaw discovered how much I loved to read, she wasted no time in recommending scores of books to me and continuously challenging me in class by asking me to explain or interpret what I thought a particular phrase or line meant. She contributed immensely to my already stupendous vocabulary. I say so myself but in those pre Google days, I used to carry an Oxford pocket dictionary in my uniform pocket and continuously look up words I came across in the course of a day, but did not know. Asking Mrs. Dinshaw what the word 'Tureen' meant, while studying Guy De Maupassant's 'The Diamond Necklace', is etched on my mind! Once she had explained a particular word, I never ever forgot it. And yes, she also taught us how 'Guy', the name, was pronounced, and how Champs- Elysees had to be uttered too, from the same story, because of course Mrs. Dinshaw had mastered French long before I did! And had visited Paris too, which I have yet to do!
While studying Lord Macauley's Horatius At The Bridge, I got so impatient at the delay before he jumps into the river when the choice was so clear, that I put up my hand and coolly informed Mrs. Dinshaw that I found Horatius incredibly slow on the uptake! She immediately got what I meant and her peals of laughter echo in my head to this day...On yet another occasion, in 9th grade, I had been reading a book called the Devil's Advocate, from our school library and having just learned the meaning of the phrase, immediately applied it to a character in a story we were studying. Mrs. Dinshaw instantly asked me to explain why I thought so and then agreed with my logical interpretation. That, I believe, is one of the main reasons why she stood out as an excellent teacher! The ability to let a student think, explain and explore in class, in our Indian education system, focussed as it is on 'finishing portions' and setting exams, remains sadly limited in the English teaching community today.
All my English papers came back marked with the highest marks in class and remarks like 'excellent' and 'I salute you', in Mrs, Dinshaw's hand, for all the three years that I had the good fortune to have been taught by her. This would have been enough to go to anyone's head, especially a fifteen year old's, knowing how hard it was to match Mrs. Dinshaw's impeccably high English standards, but ironically it only served to make me read and study more to keep meeting those standards...and of course, she is the one who had explained the word 'irony' to us in class, which is why I have used it so beautifully here, even after thirty long years! My mother, with her penchant for storing tangible memories, actually still has my old English file but now that Mrs. Dinshaw is gone, I'm so glad she does! I can skim through those papers and go back to that long gone era in the blink of an eye...
As 10th graders, we somehow badly managed to mess up the recitation of Edgar Allan Poe's very onomatopoeiaic 'The Bells', during our annual day, despite having been personally trained by Mrs. Dinshaw herself. Then her wrath knew no bounds and she was on the war path! Even I, who was known throughout the school as 'Dinshaw's Pet', and generally immune to her temper, got singed by it and got a tongue lashing to boot! It reduced me to tears then but I would love another scathing lecture from her now, if only to hear her voice one more time....
When Mrs. Dinshaw took leave from school in order to help her daughter, who was to have her first baby, she appointed me to teach our 9th standard class and I dreaded stepping into those large shoes! But having witnessed first hand the teachings of such a wonderful master meant the disciple did a reasonably good job, albeit with a quaking heart, but we were all so glad to have her back! We had missed her every minute of the time she had been away. In 10th grade, she personally hand picked me for inter school elocution competitions and coached me for those and for debates too, instilling vast amounts of confidence in me and today, it is my students who reap the benefits of her labour...I always ask my students to pay heed to what I am saying NOT because I am good but because I was taught by the very best. If I can pass on Mrs. Dinshaw's invaluable legacy to the thousands of students who have passed through my hands and the hundreds who are currently passing through, I will feel I have fulfilled at least some of my life's destiny...
A few years ago, thanks to two other favourite high school teachers, Ms. Nirmala Khemlani and Mrs. Veena Thadani, I was able to visit Mrs. Dinshaw and met her charming husband and one of her grandsons too. It was such a wonderful evening in her lovely home and they were such gracious hosts. I am so glad I made the effort for truly I can never repay the debt I owe her....she saw the potential and honed my language skills into something that is now being used to help so many students who sorely need it. It was during this visit that she gave me the manuscript of a book she was writing. She told me to read it and I was deeply honoured. It is a charming tale of her girlhood and her college and courtship days, written in her inimitable style, liberally laced with her particular brand of humour. I was entranced from the word go and begged her to continue writing, even offering to transcribe it for her over Skype, as she said she was not able to type much anymore...I just hope and pray her family manages to publish the book soon, if they haven't yet. It certainly needs to see the light of the day and thousands and thousands of her students would love to see Mrs. Dinshaw come back to life, though her own words.
In 2017, we had our mega high school 25th reunion at one of Pune's elite hotels and Mrs. Dinshaw along with our other beloved teachers, was one of the guests of honour. Despite not being in the best of health, (she was a cancer survivor), she managed to come and for that we will be ever grateful...That was the last time I met her, as another dear school friend and I dropped her back to her house and said good bye. In the summer of 2018, I was not able to go and see her as I was busy driving my son around for a summer project that he was doing, besides teaching nearly full time in my Academy. She gently admonished me over WhatsApp, when I wished her on her birthday on 27th August 2018, for not making time for her, as she had been waiting to see me and I promised I would see her in the June of 2019, when I would be in India next. I went back to India in March 2019 for just two weeks as my parents weren't well but I knew I would see Mrs. Dinshaw in June, when I would be in Pune for a longer period of time....How confident one is that one has all the time in the world and so do the people around us....She passed away on 12th April 2019 and most ironically I was back in India nearly a week later, as my dad had been admitted to hospital....I was too late to see my beloved teacher, and I was not destined to attend her funeral either as I missed it by three days...I will always live with this regret....
Today, I remain cut off from 'my native land', as flights worldwide remain suspended for how long we do not know...Again Mrs. Dinshaw's beautiful interpretation and explanation of this deeply meaningful poem by Sir Walter Scott comes to mind, for though my footsteps cannot, my thoughts do turn to my native land though I'm 'wandering on a foreign strand', to my wonderful teacher's heart warming memories and her family, as they mark a year of her passing...
And yes, she wouldn't have missed the alliteration in the title, in this small and humble but heartfelt tribute to her! After all, she taught me that too!
Such a beautiful evening, we met that day after twenty four years!
On 15th March 2019, I had messaged Mrs. Dinshaw myself, like I had been doing every year for the last few years. It was the Ides of March, and her wedding anniversary. While teaching each batch Julius Caesar every year in school, she had never failed to point out how she had got married on 15th March, the very day Caesar had been warned against and subsequently assassinated on, and always joked how her brother had warned her husband-to-be too! On 15th March 2019, when I messaged her and told her we were all remembering her and sending our best wishes (her husband had passed away a couple of years ago), she thanked me and blessed us all...
As a scrawny thirteen year old who came back to join high school in June 1989 in Pune, after three years in Gauhati, Assam, meeting Mrs. Dinshaw and comprehending just how amazing her standard of English was, felt like being rejoined with a long lost kindred soul. I clearly remember that the first story she began teaching us on that first day of 8th grade was Saki's "The Open Window" and I still get goose bumps when I think of how Mrs. Dinshaw narrated and explained that 'twist in the tail' tale! I was spellbound and, like many generations of Helenites, immediately became a fan of Mrs. Dinshaw's for life. She introduced us to William Shakespeare that same week and as we began studying Twelfth Night, Shakespeare's England came to life! In an era when not many Indians had travelled abroad, Mrs. Dinshaw told us about her trip to Stratford upon Avon, Shakespeare's birth place, spun tales of seeing first hand his home and school, Globe Theatre and his wife Ann Hathway's cottage. When I visited the United Kingdom in 1997, I missed visiting this tiny town by a whisker and when I went back to England last year, after twenty two years, ironically in the very year Mrs. Dinshaw had passed away, I was determined to make it there, come what may. Thanks to my husband's dear cousin and her husband, we did visit Stratford Upon Avon, sat upon the banks of the Avon river, knocked at Shakespeare's door, had a cup of coffee in a pub he used to visit, and thus I paid a personal tribute to my beloved teacher in my own special way. She, with her magical way with words, had brought alive Shakespeare for a classroom full of young girls , (many of whom had never left India's coral strands), on a gloomy, rainy June morning, which probably perfectly mirrored regular weather in Shakespeare's country!
All of us were, no doubt, in absolute awe of Mrs.Dinshaw. The beloved and extremely pampered wife of a very rich businessman, she had no real 'need' to work. At a time when few women drove cars, let alone had one of their very own, Mrs. Dinshaw zoomed majestically into the school gates every morning in her Marie biscuit coloured Maruti 800, the very car most of India was dying to own, instead of the stately Ambassador or the Fiat, usually seen on Indian roads then. Chiffon sarees, deep cut sleeveless blouses that smacked of haute couture (and not of the tailor who had a little shop at the end of every Indian lane), high high-heels, beautifully permed and set hair and a flawless milk white complexion with skin as smooth as a baby's bottom (one of her favourite phrases!) , she was the very epitome of dignified elegance and grace. She had a larger than life, very magnetic personality and fondly addressed all of us as 'her little darlings' and 'baby dolls'. We felt as if we were straight out of Kipling's books and those colonial 'baba log' (children) were no patch on us! That was how special she made each girl feel. She came from India's Parsi community, well known for their generous flamboyance, business acumen, flair for music and teaching and a philanthropy that knows no borders of religion, caste or creed....the world certainly needs more of this rapidly shrinking group...
Once Mrs. Dinshaw discovered how much I loved to read, she wasted no time in recommending scores of books to me and continuously challenging me in class by asking me to explain or interpret what I thought a particular phrase or line meant. She contributed immensely to my already stupendous vocabulary. I say so myself but in those pre Google days, I used to carry an Oxford pocket dictionary in my uniform pocket and continuously look up words I came across in the course of a day, but did not know. Asking Mrs. Dinshaw what the word 'Tureen' meant, while studying Guy De Maupassant's 'The Diamond Necklace', is etched on my mind! Once she had explained a particular word, I never ever forgot it. And yes, she also taught us how 'Guy', the name, was pronounced, and how Champs- Elysees had to be uttered too, from the same story, because of course Mrs. Dinshaw had mastered French long before I did! And had visited Paris too, which I have yet to do!
While studying Lord Macauley's Horatius At The Bridge, I got so impatient at the delay before he jumps into the river when the choice was so clear, that I put up my hand and coolly informed Mrs. Dinshaw that I found Horatius incredibly slow on the uptake! She immediately got what I meant and her peals of laughter echo in my head to this day...On yet another occasion, in 9th grade, I had been reading a book called the Devil's Advocate, from our school library and having just learned the meaning of the phrase, immediately applied it to a character in a story we were studying. Mrs. Dinshaw instantly asked me to explain why I thought so and then agreed with my logical interpretation. That, I believe, is one of the main reasons why she stood out as an excellent teacher! The ability to let a student think, explain and explore in class, in our Indian education system, focussed as it is on 'finishing portions' and setting exams, remains sadly limited in the English teaching community today.
All my English papers came back marked with the highest marks in class and remarks like 'excellent' and 'I salute you', in Mrs, Dinshaw's hand, for all the three years that I had the good fortune to have been taught by her. This would have been enough to go to anyone's head, especially a fifteen year old's, knowing how hard it was to match Mrs. Dinshaw's impeccably high English standards, but ironically it only served to make me read and study more to keep meeting those standards...and of course, she is the one who had explained the word 'irony' to us in class, which is why I have used it so beautifully here, even after thirty long years! My mother, with her penchant for storing tangible memories, actually still has my old English file but now that Mrs. Dinshaw is gone, I'm so glad she does! I can skim through those papers and go back to that long gone era in the blink of an eye...
As 10th graders, we somehow badly managed to mess up the recitation of Edgar Allan Poe's very onomatopoeiaic 'The Bells', during our annual day, despite having been personally trained by Mrs. Dinshaw herself. Then her wrath knew no bounds and she was on the war path! Even I, who was known throughout the school as 'Dinshaw's Pet', and generally immune to her temper, got singed by it and got a tongue lashing to boot! It reduced me to tears then but I would love another scathing lecture from her now, if only to hear her voice one more time....
When Mrs. Dinshaw took leave from school in order to help her daughter, who was to have her first baby, she appointed me to teach our 9th standard class and I dreaded stepping into those large shoes! But having witnessed first hand the teachings of such a wonderful master meant the disciple did a reasonably good job, albeit with a quaking heart, but we were all so glad to have her back! We had missed her every minute of the time she had been away. In 10th grade, she personally hand picked me for inter school elocution competitions and coached me for those and for debates too, instilling vast amounts of confidence in me and today, it is my students who reap the benefits of her labour...I always ask my students to pay heed to what I am saying NOT because I am good but because I was taught by the very best. If I can pass on Mrs. Dinshaw's invaluable legacy to the thousands of students who have passed through my hands and the hundreds who are currently passing through, I will feel I have fulfilled at least some of my life's destiny...
A few years ago, thanks to two other favourite high school teachers, Ms. Nirmala Khemlani and Mrs. Veena Thadani, I was able to visit Mrs. Dinshaw and met her charming husband and one of her grandsons too. It was such a wonderful evening in her lovely home and they were such gracious hosts. I am so glad I made the effort for truly I can never repay the debt I owe her....she saw the potential and honed my language skills into something that is now being used to help so many students who sorely need it. It was during this visit that she gave me the manuscript of a book she was writing. She told me to read it and I was deeply honoured. It is a charming tale of her girlhood and her college and courtship days, written in her inimitable style, liberally laced with her particular brand of humour. I was entranced from the word go and begged her to continue writing, even offering to transcribe it for her over Skype, as she said she was not able to type much anymore...I just hope and pray her family manages to publish the book soon, if they haven't yet. It certainly needs to see the light of the day and thousands and thousands of her students would love to see Mrs. Dinshaw come back to life, though her own words.
In 2017, we had our mega high school 25th reunion at one of Pune's elite hotels and Mrs. Dinshaw along with our other beloved teachers, was one of the guests of honour. Despite not being in the best of health, (she was a cancer survivor), she managed to come and for that we will be ever grateful...That was the last time I met her, as another dear school friend and I dropped her back to her house and said good bye. In the summer of 2018, I was not able to go and see her as I was busy driving my son around for a summer project that he was doing, besides teaching nearly full time in my Academy. She gently admonished me over WhatsApp, when I wished her on her birthday on 27th August 2018, for not making time for her, as she had been waiting to see me and I promised I would see her in the June of 2019, when I would be in India next. I went back to India in March 2019 for just two weeks as my parents weren't well but I knew I would see Mrs. Dinshaw in June, when I would be in Pune for a longer period of time....How confident one is that one has all the time in the world and so do the people around us....She passed away on 12th April 2019 and most ironically I was back in India nearly a week later, as my dad had been admitted to hospital....I was too late to see my beloved teacher, and I was not destined to attend her funeral either as I missed it by three days...I will always live with this regret....
Today, I remain cut off from 'my native land', as flights worldwide remain suspended for how long we do not know...Again Mrs. Dinshaw's beautiful interpretation and explanation of this deeply meaningful poem by Sir Walter Scott comes to mind, for though my footsteps cannot, my thoughts do turn to my native land though I'm 'wandering on a foreign strand', to my wonderful teacher's heart warming memories and her family, as they mark a year of her passing...
And yes, she wouldn't have missed the alliteration in the title, in this small and humble but heartfelt tribute to her! After all, she taught me that too!
Such a beautiful evening, we met that day after twenty four years!
