?I think I was a late developer. I was not so good in Standard I at Camp Fouqueraux Government School. Come Standard II, my teacher,

Mr Gopaul, learnt that I was an orphan and one of the poorest in the class. He gave me free private tuition while others paid 50 cents. He inspired me and lit up the hidden cells inside me. In Standards III, IV and V, my teachers Caussy, Jaggernath and Nahaboo saw in me an average student. The revelation came in Standard VI with Mr Armoogum.

One episode has left an indelible imprint in me: two classes were combined with more than 80 students packed in one room because the new teacher Mr Astruc had not arrived. When he did so, Mr Armoogum asked him to select his students. And he picked out the best according to him, basing himself on their looks and their clothes! Mr Armoogum then said sadly: ?He?s taken the best ones. But it doesn?t matter. Let?s get down to work.? And he worked so hard that for the primary school leaving certificate, only one pupil failed and many obtained 5 As whereas, in Mr Astruc?s class, more than 50% failed. What did Mr Armogum prove? That you must never give up till the goal is reached. For me, he remains the best among my best teachers.

A few things have left an enduring impression on me. In the 1950s without TV or radio, children played a lot at home and at school. They ran about a lot and sweated and in the process lost extra fat. Very few obese children were seen. At school, we played in the morning before classes, during breaks and midday recess and after school, before tuition. So both the body and the mind developed healthily. With interaction children also learnt a lot from one another. Education is not restricted to the four walls of a classroom!

In the 1960s, a fierce cyclone hit Mauritius. I remember the head teacher giving shirts to the orphans. I saw God in him. No surprise even today, I find more pleasure in giving than receiving! We walked 4 kms per day to school without shoes from Belle Terre to Camp Fouquereaux. We played on the way there and back. We all brought our lunch in a basket with our books. We sat outside eating together, some sharing curries. When the food was stale, the teacher often brought a loaf of bread to feed the hungry, making sure that everyone had their lunch. A hungry stomach never helps the mind to function properly.

Each morning we stood in line for the teacher to check our hair, clothes, nails and feet. Dirty nails were a cause for punishment as personal hygiene was the teachers? preoccupation. Mine were not always clean because I would cut grass, work in the sugar cane fields or garden. We usually only took a bath on Saturday in the village river. Parents did not mind teachers punishing their children. Students had to learn and do their homework. Teachers were feared but respected.

The Hindi teacher, Pandit Luchova, was a tall thin man who wore a white kurta and dhoti. He taught us the virtues of life, the heroic struggles of Hindu gods, goddesses and warriors. Maybe I learnt the dogged determination to fight against evil and never to compromise from him. The development of the personality and character was part of the curriculum. And we learnt more from story telling than anything.

There were two outings for the upper classes every year. It was fun taking the bus - a rarity for village children. We visited various sites, stopped at a beach or Pamplemousses Gardens for lunch. Once again, education is not within the four walls of a classroom only.

We all feared the head teacher. Whenever the school was inspected, we panicked. Everyone was scared because the inspector reported on each teacher, the head teacher and the school. Promotions depended on him. He visited each class, checked the written work of students and asked questions. Accountability led to work ethics and responsibility.

Teachers gave us lots of homework. And, the next day, they would check it one by one. So, instead of reading books and magazines to polish up our languages and arithmetic, we were submerged with homework.

After Standard VI, I went to Mauritius College in Curepipe. Once in Form IV, the History and English Literature teacher who was known to be lazy, just sat in front of the class smoking. He told us to read a few pages whilst others were talking and playing up. I was reading a cartoon magazine on Macbeth. The administrator Mr Madun passed by and caught me. He slapped me so hard that I nearly fainted. I?ve never forgiven nor forgotten him. He should have rebuked the teacher, not me. But he ignited something in me.

Thereafter, I learnt History with revenge in my heart. It was a challenge because I felt I had been unfairly punished. As a result, in Form V, my history teacher, Mr Coopamah was proud because I got a distinction in the SC exams outclassing everyone at the Royal College Curepipe! 20 years later, I met him at Government House when I was Deputy Prime Minister. He was working at the Finance ministry.

Once, my friend and I were walking in the yard when I saw a bundle of notes. I picked up five 5-rupee notes, which I took to the office of the principal, Mr Rughoo. Surprised, he asked me why I had returned the money. I was in Form II. Later that day, he visited every class and informed the students of my action. All applauded and he gave me an ink-pen as a gift and reduced my monthly fees. Jay Narain Roy taught me English literature in Form V. He always had a long stick in his hand. He always walked about while teaching. I used to write like a mad person and developed the art of writing. Also once one writes something down half the learning process is completed. I would remember things even without reading those notes later. Today, I continue while reading or listening to the BBC or RFI. My diaries testify that writing helps to train the tongue and the mind. And the more one writes, the more one?s personality develops and one?s horizon opens up.?