There was
this maths teacher we had in Montfort school for the higher classes, called Mr
Macedo, ( he could never get to pronounce my name and the closest he could get,
was a switch to badword pathy.)
His wife Mrs
Macedo was our teacher for English in the 3 rd standard, to whom most of us in
our class owe our literary gifts to, she was later awarded a Good Teacher ribbon roled Honour.
I got a
memory of this couple when I saw a movie Titled “wwjd woodcarver”.
Many an Anglo
Indian family has left the shores for greener pastures, and these wished to
stay as they found the climate of environment good and the people around too.
I never got
around maths, so I got special attention with the chalk pieces aimed at me with
a flick of the thumb and the mid finger, or a knot of the hair and a click on
the head, what ever, the numbers just did not get right when they came through
my fingers.
I remember
An elegy written in a country church yard, “ Many a flower is born to blush and
waste its sweetness in the desert air”.
No flowers
are ever a waste, they bloom where they are to bloom, and share their sweetness
to those around.
