It has been a wonderful week!

It all started Monday morning. It seems like it was ages ago but I do realise as I sit tapping the keys here it was only two days ago!

My alma mater, my high school is having their Annual Blood Donation day on Friday, 7 Nov, 2008 at Bharatiya Vidya Bhawan at Curzon Road, New Delhi. I got a call from a number in the area on my cell phone. It was my biology teacher... and currently the vice-principal of the school wanting me to be the Chief Guest for the event!

Me? Have I really grown up enough to be now chairing sessions and chiefing events?

I still remember the days of climbing trees and jumping on fences in the school play ground. The dirt and the grime did not matter. Niether did the scraped knees. What mattered was the trees to be climbed. And ofcourse, the ripe and the unripe mangoes that we plucked. I can still feel myself swelling up with the prize of my bountiful booty... all my loot. And the lemon trees... yes... they were trees. These were much smaller than the mango trees. I could stretch a little and touch the leaves. Each time I touched the leaves the aroma of lemon lingered on in the lines on my fingers and palms. I fell in love with the floral scent. I still am in love with it. I have planted atleast three lemon plants in pots of various sizes in my own home and almost obsessively gently touch the leaves to feel the aroma again in my hand. I have passed this love on to my children, too. I see them doing the same. I see this love for the flora enveloping generations and feel somewhat dwarfed as well as an instrument to immortality of emotions in the lives of mortals.

Small things. Insignificant things. Lingering things. Memories. Are these not what we are really made of?

Who was it that set all those records in the Olympics this year? And there was this guy frpom uptown Chandigarh who won India her first Gold medal in the Games. What was his name?

I honestly will have to jog my memory to recall their names.

But I remember the first teacher to have taught me and signed my first report card. Mrs L Bruce. She was a tall woman. She mostly wore daark colous and skirts. She tought the preschool of Holy Child. Her hand writing is still seared on my mind's canvas. Straight. Well rounded. Lovely loops to the L and the B in her name. And wonderfully rounded Capital E in the excellent she awarded me in each of the catetgories listed. My first report card! I sometimes take it out and reaffirm my own self. I am OK!

And I remember the geography teacher Mr Karan Singh in BVB who managed to make the subject so interesting that I often found myself dreaming of teh formation of the continental plates and the mighty oceans in the scheme of things. Mr Karan Singh was an exceedingly good looking teacher to our young brains and everything he said was ... well... divine word! But he managed to pass his love of the subject to atleast one student who despite having streaned out into the Sciences has continued to read avidly about the earth and her history. I hope I can pass on the same kind of love for something- anything to any one child I teach.

And I remember Mrs Khattar, my history teacher who taught for fun. She loved the subject she taught. She loved herself. She often would be seen in three pairs of sandals in the course of a day. She was aggressive. She was opinionated. And she was controversial. She was quite popular with the boys of our class for the kind of blouses she wore. She would have beaten Sush at her game long long ago!

And I remember Mr Mohan Kumar... our gentle Mathematics teacher. When he wrote a math equation on the board, the world seemed to shrink. It seemed as if even we, the students had disappeared. He had a problem to solve. It required a certain method to do it. And he was not bothered by anything anyone chose to do or chose not to do in the class. His job was done only when it was done. His voice could often not penetrate the din some of us managed to create in his class but he NEVER EVER raised his voice.

And I remember Mr Chourashiya, my Electrical gadgets teacher. He tried to tell me how difficult it would be for me , a girl, to take up the subject which was a boy's domain. And then he openly appreciated my grasp of teh subject.

And I remember Mrs Kavoori who gave me 25 out of 20... five marks extra for neatness and organisation of my answer book in the exam.

And I remember... most of all... the little girl... who caught the hem of my skirt in the central courtyard... and told me... " You are the best" She handed me a tender rose with her small hands. I had to bend over doubled up at my waist to take it from her. I was in class twelve and she would have probably been in the first grade or second grade. I remebered very clearly the emotions of this powerful moment from being the giver of a similar rose some six years ago to the then head girl Anjali... and being made the laughing stock of her entire class! I gently took the rose and thanked her. I was overwhelmed and grateful that God had prepared me for this moment. I may not be able to recognise the girl now. I do, however, remeber the emotions that coursed through me. I have to say thank you... again... I did then. It was the most touching moment of my school career.

I have lots of memories that make me proud to a part of the family called Bhavan. Most of all I am grateful to god for the way He made me...

And to the many people who have shaped the way I have turned out...
More later. I am getting more emotional than I can handle!!!!!!

Thank you... all of you.