Mine was the 16th batch to graduate from St.Xaviers, Dehradun.

Thereafter over the decades, I have interacted with a lot of my batch mates as well as many ex-students (as I went back to teach in my alma mater for six months), soon after leaving college. Surprisingly, in spite of a lot of nostalgic feedback, there seems very little recollection of one of our schools icons, Father Gilson. Hundreds of students passed through under his tutelage, and I refuse to believe, he did not have an impact on them, and their subsequent lives .Teachers like him do not exist, anymore .So, on the eve of teachers day, I write this as a tribute to him, as also to remind a lot of us, how he remains, imperceptibly, so much a part of what so many of us are today. Way back in 1966, when Fr.Gilson left St. Xaviers Kolkata to join the fledgling school in Dheradun ,the then Junior Statesman came out with an article on him. The topic being very much what I want to write about today-his extraordinary teaching skills. When my ex-students compliment me on how I touched their lives, how can I not acknowledge the debt I owe to the man who made me aware of my potentials, and the person I am today. I am talking of the teacher who once cut off two whole marks for a silly spelling mistake in Moral Science, of all subjects, to prevent me from coming first in class! Guess why? He told me, much after I had passed out of school, that he knew I was good, but he wanted me to be the best! Never mind that I had then cried miserably, and wanted to murder him. That was the kind of insight Fr.Gilson had into his students minds, and that is why, I learnt never to be satisfied with mediocrity. Did he go to great lengths to cultivate excellence? I do not know if anyone remembers how we all used to detest the Monday repetitions, and the infamous taboo lists. Does anybody remember the books he read out to us in the few minutes spare, after the repetitions?Guns of Navarone ,Three Men In A Boat..,he would read to us one book ,and recommend similar ones in the library ,and I for one went and read all the books by the same authors. One hour of compulsory reading with a dictionary, he would tell us to do. Do we really know why most kids these days hate social studies? Why do kids think history is mugging up names of obsolete places and ridiculous dates? We would come to class in the mornings and find the whole black board covered with colourful maps of the Battles of Panipat, or the campaigns of Aurangzeb that Father had drawn through the night. We had one man enactments of Alexanders men marching with phalanxes held aloft, or Sardar Patel bullying Pandit Nehru into invading Kashmir and Hyderabad.I have never forgotten my history. Many an afternoon, we spent in the cramped drawing room of Fathers quarters, over tea and biscuits, listening to Shakespeare on long playing records. Elocution exams! Teaching us to emote, orate, and banish stage fright. Character logy instead of boring old Moral Science. Chocolates from Belgium-when he came back after a holiday-anecdotes from his childhood there, and tales of his pet tortoise; such fun and excitement in the quaint Belgian accent! Catching red handed the smart alecs who finished homework in school on Monday mornings, because the ink appeared darker from a pen freshly opened.long trips all over Dheradun on his rickety grey scooter with corrected pre- board papers. Monday report cards with grades A B C D(horror of horrors).Numerous memories of unusual practices, some so funny and some so dreaded, yet all contributing in some way or the other into grooming us to perfection. And what ageless superhuman tenacity .My brother , who passed out six whole years after me has the same memories! Even with death knocking at the door, terribly debilitated in a wheelchair ,he did not lose his quirky sense of humour. Truly a Guru in every sense of the word. Perhaps this is what Shakespeare meant when he wrote that sometimes even nature stands up and says THIS WAS A MAN. FROM A GRATEFUL DISCIPLE.