8. My High School Education (Std.8-11)
(Memories of St. Joseph High School)
In Gujarat, if you go to a village and ask, “Is Kantilal here?”, you’ll likely find ten or fifteen of them in one neighborhood. Gujarati fais-bua (aunts) loved a few names Kanti, Amrut, Chandu, Naran, Prahlad, and if they were feeling modern, maybe Jayanti.
One such Kantibhai Patel was our PT teacher at St. Joseph High School.
Saturday mornings were his domain. For a full hour, he made us stand in attention, at ease, raise and lower our arms, move left and right, and march in rhythm. Some Saturdays were for lezim (a rhythmic drill with jingling instruments), others for dumbbells.
The NCC cadets had to be particularly sharp — dressed in khaki shirts and shorts, caps, belts, long socks, and those heavy boots that thumped as they marched. When the NCC contingent paraded on 15 August or 26 January, Kantibhai’s pride and authority filled the ground.
I too wanted to become an NCC cadet, but my mind was half-in, half-out. I had school lessons to attend and sacks of cement to tear open and stitch by hand at home. Giving up my third period for NCC didn’t appeal much. Also, there were limited uniforms, and the sergeant decided who got in.
Michael
Our NCC captain was a vibrant, quick-tempered boy named Michael. He made me stand straight with my feet together and then declared, “Your ankles touch, you won’t do for NCC.”
I was quite pleased with that excuse and happily walked away, thinking, Good one less thing to worry about.
That same year, tragedy struck. Just before the Diwali vacation, our school had organized a picnic to the Vatrak River near Kheda.
My mother wouldn’t give me money or permission, so I didn’t go. But several students went swimming in the river, and Michael the NCC captain and the school’s sports star ventured too far out and drowned.
The entire school was shaken. His sister studied there too. We all went to his home to pay our respects, and later, his photo was placed on the school wall — a quiet shrine to a bright life cut short.
Nickname of Teachers
I went on to finish my 8th to 11th standard — balancing schoolbooks with cement sacks. But through those four years, few teachers remained immensely popular: Dinesh Dave, our Gujarati teacher, Bhanuben, our Maths teacher, Shri Raman Sharma, our Sanskrit teacher, and Kantibhai, our PT master.
No teacher escapes a nickname in school. Once a name catches on, new students inherit it from the old. The nickname endures till the teacher retires and the best part? The teacher rarely ever finds out what it is.
Kantibhai our PT teacher came from a village called Vanch, near Ahmedabad. Some student must’ve first called him “Vancho,” which over time got distorted into “Roncho.”
He was strong in both body and spirit.
Many years later, after we had left school, he was standing at Maninagar Railway Station when he was accidentally pushed onto the tracks just as a train passed. One of his legs was severed. Yet, astonishingly, he survived.
Without losing composure, he picked up the severed leg, placed it in his bag, and got himself to the hospital. The doctors were amazed.
He was taken to the operation theatre, and they managed to reattach the leg.
Though he was left with a limp, even today at the age of 85 he walks on his own and lives independently.
His son lives in America, and his wife has passed away. But with the affection and support of his brothers and nephews, Kantibhai “Roncho” Patel still lives cheerfully, walking on the very leg that once defied fate.
Every teacher in our school had their own special quality a mark that made them distinct and unforgettable.
Satyabhashak Sir was my English and class teacher in the early years. I was one of his favorite students, so our bond was especially close.
In Standard 9, Mrudulaben Shah became our class teacher. She taught us Hindi. Her name suited her perfectly soft-spoken, gentle, and kind-hearted loved by all.
Bhavsaar Sir, who taught Gujarati, was a scholar and a delight to learn from. He had a way of making everyone laugh while teaching.
If we have to carry younger siblings at home and that disturbed our homework, he would advise, pinch their cheeks and thighs until they cried, and then hand them back to their mothers — with the advice to get more time to study!
The other Gujarati teacher, Champakbhai Parikh, was tall, a strong personality, and taught with great clarity.
Peter Sir, the oldest of the staff, taught us History a bit gruff, but very sincere.
Vora Sir made me master in maths
Babu Bhai Vora Sir taught Mathematics with such clarity that one explanation was enough to make the concept stick. He could write on the blackboard with both hands simultaneously!
He taught at good speed, ensuring the syllabus was finished early so that we’d have enough time for revision before exams.
He once noticed that I worked at a pace that matched his and he quickly recognized the spark in me.
Apart from Math, he was also excellent in Sanskrit and English, and knew general knowledge about the Hindi film industry and its heroes and heroines.
Every day, he cycled 20 kilometers (10 each way) from his home near St. Xavier’s College to our school empty picket.
If his bicycle got a puncture on the way, he would get it repaired on credit and pay the next day. Such was his dedication.
Sharma Sir Special
In Standard 10, our class teacher was Sharma Sir, who taught Sanskrit. He was barely four feet tall, but his love for Sanskrit and his passion for making his students love it was immense.
If a student made a mistake, he would teasingly call them “Murkhanandan!” (son of a fool) and, when necessary, tap their head with the reverse side of his finger ring.
He smiled rarely, but when exams came, he revealed all the tricks to score well so that many of us, including me, chose Sanskrit over typing in Standard 11.
When the timetable overlapped with other subjects, he would call us to his home in Saraspur on holidays to complete lessons.
Through religious rituals and his teacher’s salary, he managed to buy a house in Ghatlodia Society. His two daughters got married, but his last days were painful. He broke his femur bone, was bedridden, and received little care from his family. He passed away in that state.
In Standard 11, Satyabhashak Sir again became our class teacher, though Principal Father Jerry now taught us English.
Father could read and explain entire lines even if the book was lying upside down on the bench — a real master of the language!
Dineshbhai, star eclipsed
In Gujarati, Dineshbhai Dave Sir was the star.
He taught stories and essays with such imagination and depth that we were completely immersed — he was, without doubt, the most popular teacher in school.
When we were in Standard 11, our principal Father Jerry Lobo suddenly terminated his employment.
We students went on a month-long strike in protest which disrupted our studies and hurt our final exam results.
The issue?
Dineshbhai was teaching at two places — our school and Prabhudas Thakkar College in Paldi, where he took morning classes.
Someone from the staff tattled to Father Jerry, who summoned Dineshbhai and reminded him of the school’s rule against holding dual jobs.
When Dineshbhai denied it, Father Jerry personally visited the college that Saturday and got written confirmation from the principal that Dineshbhai indeed taught there.
He had no choice but to leave.
Later, he was placed in another school under the government’s surplus-teacher scheme.
But his departure left a bitter taste in our otherwise sweet, happy school life.
Neither did Dineshbhai return, nor did our board results which dropped by nearly 10% that year.
Bhanuben and Other Teachers
Chauhan Sir taught us Physics. Later, he joined Prabhudas Thakkar College as a lecturer and eventually became its Principal.
Bipinbhai Shah Sir taught Chemistry, while Bhanuben handled Biology and Mathematics.
Bhanuben, on the other hand, was cheerful and graceful, with a melodious voice that made her well-loved by both students and teachers alike.
She taught in such a gentle, engaging way that the 30–35 minutes of her class would pass without anyone noticing.
After school, she would stay back for another half hour to take extra math classes, and the student who solved a problem first would receive a pencil as a gift.
Soni Sir joined later to teach Music. He was visually impaired, but he had a magical ability to fill us with a love for music.
He taught us to sing patriotic songs like: “Aao bachcho tumhe dikhaye jhanki Hindustan ki, Is mitti se tilak karo, ye dharti balidan ki…Vande Mataram!”
When we sang the lines about the guns roaring — “Bandook dhan-dhanati…” — our voices would thunder like gunfire, and the whole hall would be charged with patriotic fervour.
Brother strict with the girls
Brother (a Christian brother) taught us English language from Standards 8 to 10, and in Standard 11 he taught us English grammar.
Brother was dark-skinned, stout, and had a deep, booming voice.
His favorite disciplinary tool was the duster — and he didn’t hesitate to use it!
He was especially strict with the girls.
When they came to class neatly combed with ribbons in their hair, he would teasingly say,“Looks like the brides have arrived!”
But then he would scold them for not completing their homework or not paying enough attention in class.
Some girls like Cecilia, Theresia, Sabina, Urmila, Usha, Sumitra, Flomina, Manjula, and Jashoda usually escaped his wrath — but Leela, Pushpa, Prafulbala, Ranjanbala, Elisa, Katrina, and Vijaya often ended up on the receiving end of that flying duster!
Edward Sir
How could anyone forget Edward Sir, our drawing teacher? He tried his best to teach me drawing — but I simply couldn’t grasp it.
Even so, once I drew a cow and a few free-hand sketches, wrote some descriptive answers, and somehow ended up getting the highest marks in the class!
Drawing, at that time, meant simple tasks — sketching an animal, a bird, a few free-hand drawings, a branch with leaves, or a scenic landscape — all colored with watercolors. That was it.
The boys, instead of focusing on drawing, were usually more interested in teasing Edward Sir by calling him “Chapta (Flat),” much to his irritation.
Among the school staff, Balubhai, who started as a peon, was later promoted to clerk. But for any matter - filling out forms, paying fees, applying for scholarships, or any administrative help — everyone went straight to Balubhai.
The official clerk, known as “Number 30,” hardly got any visitors!
Evening Classes for Reading
That year, since Standards 10 and 11 had board exams, the school arranged evening classes from 7:30 PM to 10:00 PM.
This proved a blessing for students from families living in cramped 10x10 rooms.
The school day ended at five thirty, so many nearby students would go home, eat dinner, and then return for study sessions.
Father Jerry would make rounds to ensure that discipline was maintained during these sessions.
Gone like a wind
Of all the teachers I’ve mentioned earlier, only Kantibhai is alive today 85 years old, still healthy and strong.
I don’t know the whereabouts of Vora Sir or Bhanuben, but Father Jerry, Brother, Satyabhashak Sir, Bhavsar Sir, Dinesh Dave Sir, Mrudulaben, Shreeram Sharma Sir, Joseph Sir, and Balubhai — all have passed away.
As for my classmates, I don’t know where most of the girls are now. I’m still in touch with Bhikhabhai Solanki, a dear friend. I sometimes speak with Wilson, and occasionally hear news about Pravin Sonara and Chimanbhai. No contact with Ramanbhai Prabhudas, and Mala Rani, my benchmate, is also untraceable.
Ramanbhai Bababhai passed away about ten years ago, and I last met Ajimuddin around twenty years back — he never found his Elisa, and now struggles financially, making and submitting applications for government schemes as middleman to get some cut.
I have often thought of organizing a reunion of our teachers and classmates, but somehow, it never worked out.
Except for one or two, most teachers have departed this world, and my classmates, now senior citizens, are all busy in their own lives.
Last month in September 2025, when Kantibhai came by, it brought back a flood of memories. It gave me a chance to remember and salute them all.
Respect and greetings to every one of them.
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