Pereira Ma'am

“You must come to the Old Bowenpally road and then there near that corner, take a left and then ask for the Reddy’s house and then from there take the right turn and ...” in her distinct accent and voice, she gave me the instructions to her house in Bowenpally. It was after so many years that I managed to meet her. Many a time after leaving school I had wanted to meet her, though I never made the attempt. I heard of her joining the St. John’s school after leaving my school, from a common friend Mr. Comfort a musician who is already long gone dead. He was many years senior to Pereira Ma’am. I finally found her place, “You can’t miss it,there are lots of trees outside the house”. True just as teachers like her, trees and independent houses havealso become a rarity in the city. But then that was her and her house. Nancy announced my arrival. She struggled to make out my face. “I am partially blind now, can’t see clearly and only during the light hours, nor can I tolerate the bright sun either. That is why I asked you to come either between 9am and 10am or 4pm to 5pm”. She told me. “Now tell me about yourself”. As I told her what I did, she sounded happy, “So, you made something out of your life that is good. I must come to the farm once. I am not well right now, but I will”. After talking for a while, discussion went on to things of school and then about the short stories she had written about the Anglo Indian community in India. “The stories are there, with my son, who is in Mumbai, next time, he comes, I will ask him to show them to you”. I thought of publishing them. First because anything Marie Perreira writes would be nothing short of brilliant. It was thanks to her that I learnt what I did about English writing. It is rare to find teachers of that calibre and class like her these days. Teaching us Shakespeare as only a few could do: being racy in her comments with the teenage students while at the same time teaching us a thing or two about life. A lot of deep philosophy and psychological discourse happened in the class. “Please take a picture”, I asked Nancy, her care taker, who obliged. “Nancy came to our house as a child and we took care of her”. Now she looks after Mrs. Pereira, with a lot of love only few could give. “I had travelled all over the country with my husband...” and she spoke of her adventurous past. To us, she was so out of the world, coming as we did from our conservative Telugu backgrounds – most of us, and finding a fifty plus teacher, in her sleeveless blouses and Indira Gandhi’s hairstyle...speaking such perfect English...creating theatre in the class complete with dialogue and enactment...”Come to my Boozolam Angel”...she would read the lines with such flamboyance as we studied, the Irish short story, “A Rhinocerous, some ladies and a horse”...the grimness of the Cold mountains would come alive as we would go through Jack London’s “Story of Two dogs”...and Macbeth felt as if the drama was happening before us right there in the class...Nancy, brought us some tea...”I will try to get your stories published”. I wanted to; for I am sure there is a gem of literature hiding there. And as a guru dakshina for one of the best teachers I have had. “You please contact Chaya in the St.John’s school. She has published a book of poems. And then when my son comes we will go through my papers and if you think it’s good, then we can see...” “There is so much I want to do, but this blindness is not allowing me much. But I help Nancy in her work; I can still cut vegetables and do such things”. I told her that I will come and see her again once her sons come, to go through her writings, “You will have to come all the way, will you be okay to come this far”, I said yes, and she seemed to think it was a big thing. I got out as it was getting dark and Ma’am had to take rest. She touched me with her rosary, “God bless you”. Nancy saw me out. I tried to follow up with Chaaya to get the book and later to meet Marie, but when I called she said, “I am not well, please pray for me, I am going to the doctor”. I called a couple of weeks later, and Nancy told me that Marie is not well still and her sons came and left. I wondered at that...I wanted to go and see her, but Nancy told me, “She is not up to seeing anyone”. I told her to inform me if they needed any help and hung up. It seemed that Nancy didn’t think I meant what I said.