My teachers

 My Teachers in Allahabad in the 60's and 70's. I am sure many of you would remember at least some of them. 

There were many who taught me—but some left an indelible mark, for reasons hard to explain yet impossible to forget. These weren’t just lessons on blackboards; they were acts of quiet kindness, stern guidance, and generous gifts of time—given freely, without expectation.

It all began in Allahabad—a city steeped in history, culture, and learning. Known as the city of confluence, Allahabad produced luminaries in politics, literature, and the arts. My first school was St. Joseph’s—a vibrant and prestigious institution, widely regarded as one of the finest in the city. The imposing gothic structure of All Saints’ Cathedral stood nearby, adding grandeur to our daily lives.

If memory serves me right, the magic of teaching first revealed itself to me in Class 3 through Mrs. Daniels. She was a gentle soul—sweet and ladylike. Her rickshaw—one of those upright, rattly ones—passed our home on 3rd Avenue, as the puller lived near the railway quarters. She offered me a ride; each morning, the rickshaw stopped at my house before collecting her. She paid the fare; I got a free ride. It was a quiet kindness, no fuss, no announcements. She chatted animatedly during the ride, while I was half-asleep or lost in thought. That simple ride made me feel seen, included, and safe.

In Class 4 came quite the contrast: Mrs. Pen-Anthony, our formidable Math teacher with piercing grey eyes and a strict presence. I was poor at Math, which didn’t help my nerves. But instead of giving up on me, she offered free after-school tutoring. For three months, I stayed back, struggling with sums while she watched over me, sometimes giving my desk a thwack with her umbrella out of exasperation. Her intentions were kind—she wanted me to succeed.

Math continued to challenge me, but angels kept arriving in disguise. One was Mrs. Mona Shepherd, who lived just across the road. Every evening, I’d head over for tuition under her gentle, watchful eye. Her garden had a large plum tree, and I often joined other boys in trying to bring down the ripest fruit. She had a daughter—very pretty, I thought—but I only admired her from afar.

Then came Trevor Bunting—a senior teacher well known in town and our family circles. If anyone could make a child understand Math, it was him. He tutored me briefly in Grade 6, always calm and patient. With him, I began to see the logic behind numbers. His kindness and consistency helped build my confidence.

In Grade 7, I studied under Joseph Shanker—Joe to most. He was energetic, engaging, and brilliant with numbers. A group of us showed up at his house at 6 a.m. during summer break—yes, 6 a.m.! He made Math come alive with real-world examples and relentless encouragement. Under his care, I genuinely improved.

Another teacher I remember fondly—though he never tutored me—was Mr. Carl D’Cruz. Most of us feared him. He was stern, controlled, and never raised his voice. Yet beneath that exterior was a man who quietly looked out for his students. He often called me to the blackboard—not to catch me out, but to solve a problem he knew I could handle. He corrected my careless mistakes gently but firmly and taught me that discipline and kindness could coexist. He made me believe in myself.

Here lies the golden thread running through all of this: every one of these teachers gave their time freely. No one spoke of payment. They taught not for profit, but because they believed—in us, in learning, in the noble craft of teaching.

When I shifted to Boys’ High School (BHS) in Grade 8, I left my Math struggles behind—but my learning journey deepened in other ways. At BHS, three teachers shaped my path profoundly: Tony McLeod, Winston Gardner, and Ian Scott.

English had always been a strength, so they never tutored me outside class. But they opened entire worlds of thought, language, and expression.

Winston Gardner, in particular, started me on my path into leadership and public speaking. One day, he called me aside and said, “I want you to captain the debate team.” I had no clue what I was doing—and, unsurprisingly, botched my first debate. But he didn’t give up on me, and I didn’t give up on myself. That opportunity lit a spark that became a lifelong love of public speaking and leadership—all because one teacher believed I could stand up and speak.

Tony McLeod and Ian Scott were masters of their craft. Their lessons were never just about grammar or Shakespeare; they were about clarity, emotion, and thought. They made me fall in love with the English language—so much so that I would eventually make it my profession. Their passion was infectious, and their belief in me gave me the confidence to write, speak, and teach.

And how can I forget Miss Sybil Caston. I went to her for Math and Geography in grade 11. She was tiny but tough and what a great teacher. There were some pretty girls as her neighbours so she kept a close eye on me.!

Looking back, I trace the roots of my life’s work to those classrooms and those teachers .

What united all these teachers was not just intelligence or skill—it was empathy. A quiet, steadfast belief in education’s power. They didn’t just teach subjects; they shaped lives. They gave time, effort, and trust—and asked for nothing in return.

Teaching remains one of the noblest professions in the world. It creates all other professions. And when done with heart, empathy, and love—it transforms.

John M. Zamen 

Marvin Bunting 

Sanjaya Kala 

Darren Dcruze 

Aubrey Mcgowan 

Sandra Sheridan 

Iona Lee 

Valentine Massey 

Alan Seymour 

Michael Mackrodt 

Sandra Dacosta 

Aninda Chatterji 

AvaShanker Ganguly 

Boys' High School 

SJC Old Boys' Association-OBA 

Syed Qaisar Mehdi

Ash Burn