The long driveway that looped towards the entrance was lined
with elegant pines. The gates within opened into another world altogether, a
world where our innocent young minds would be moulded and polished and readied
to face life with self respect and dignity.
Our little hands held on to our parent’s, jittery at what
held beyond as we walked in anxiously through the gates and caught the first
glimpse of the fountain surrounded by flowers bordering the fresh lawn that
welcomed us. This was where we would
spend the most beautiful years of our lives.
The building represented old glory and grace of the British period, the
doors had brass knobs that gleamed as the sun’s rays fell on them, and the
wooden floors were polished. We were
called into the 'Parlour’ this was the waiting room where all the visitors were
asked to sit. It was love at first sight as we walked in. Sister Celine met us
– she was elegance personified. She spoke softly and led us to her office.
Forms were filled and formalities completed and we became a
part of this institution.....an institution whose name we would hold in great
pride throughout our lives....Loreto Convent Shillong.
For the next ten years this was going to be our home, a
building which till today continues to entice us, the sloping flower beds
maintained by the hard toiling malis, the summer house shrouded with mystery, the main hall with its piano in one
corner lined with chairs on both sides , the tennis courts which continue to
remind us of the various fetes held during our time, and the campus, where we
would play games like the Danish Rounders or have our march pasts each Friday
when each house would try and outdo the other; the boundary walls lined with
jacaranda trees where we’d spend many a lunch break playing with friends, the light green and the dark green staircases
that led to the senior classes, the water tank, the little nursery with its
doll house, the smoke bellowing from the kitchen chimneys , the sports day, the
annual concerts, the statue of Mother Mary that stood amidst the first floor
senior classes, or the wall next to the old Dorm where picture frames of all
the passed out batches were neatly displayed...these were just a few, amongst
the various memories that would go on to bind all Loreto girls, irrespective of
which year we passed out or where were we currently placed.
We came from different backgrounds, from tea gardens, family
businesses, defense officers, government officials, doctors and some even from
royal families. But once we joined school, we belonged to just one community –
Loreto.
We were taken to our first dreamland - the nursery – a sweet
cosy room in one hidden corner of the building where the small girls would play
and learn. We then graduated to the
junior wing where many generations before and a few lucky ones after us would
get introduced to Kong Irene – a loving lady with a stern exterior – she would
help us sharpen pencils and shout at us if we misbehaved. Our teachers Mrs
Ahmed, Mrs Warjiri, Mrs Dcosta....all of whom patiently laid the foundation for
the years ahead.
While Mrs Shome read out stories from thick books as we sat
listening intently, Sister Rita taught us how to pronounce correctly separating
the ‘W’ and the ‘V’. Maths became more interesting under Sister Carmel’s and
Mrs Dey’s supervision and geography under Mrs Lepcha gave the boring globes and
maps a whole new meaning. Be it history or art, Mrs Bhattacharjee, Mrs Khan,
Mrs Sagar,Mrs Wilson, Mrs Das, Mrs Hassan, Mrs Mahanta, Mrs Dutta, Mrs Roy ...we had the best teachers, some of
whom were ex-students themselves.
The joy of reaching the sixth standard gave us a new high,
because we were now going to be in the senior league. This was also the first
time that we were assigned houses...Tagore, Nehru, Gandhi and Naidu – we continue
to be loyal to them till today. But being in the senior school also meant a lot
more discipline as we were now the ideals for our juniors. Skirts
should fall just at the knee, not an inch higher and not an inch lower, the
knife pleats sitting sharply in place, the shirts and the socks were whitest
white, socks had to be at knee length, no rolling them down, red ties, grey
blazers and we were ready to go.....we stood with our feet joined at the heel
and when we sat, our backs were upright, nails clipped and hair tied in a neat
pony tail. We spoke in soft tones and knew when to use ‘Please’ and ‘Thank
you’. We were taught the importance of charity and dignity of labor, to
respect our domestic help and to care for those less privileged than us. Our
visits to the chapel, irrespective of which religion we belonged to, during
exams was more like a ritual – the silence and serenity of the chapel could
only be felt and not explained. Moral Science was an important class which was
never sacrificed at the cost of subjects like Science or Maths, because we
knew, that being educated meant more than just good grades. All this was a part
of our metamorphosis from an unsure scared tiny-tot to a confident young lady.
Our teenage years, filled with secrets and gossips, not to
forget the most looked forward visit to the St Edmund’s school for their annual
sports day...we were expected to be on our best behavior and there would be no
talking to the boys, we would be strictly watched over by the teachers
accompanying us. In spite of that, all such trips lead to new gossips and
relationships, out of which a few resulted in lifelong bonds.
Years passed and we branched out to give wings to our
dreams. We were in for a shock initially
as we faced the harsh world, there was little place for our delicate
mannerisms, but with our kind of training, we learnt to face it all as we had
aptly learnt during our school days -
And when our school days ended are
And our varied paths divide
O may the ideals of our youth
Still ever be our guide
High ideals of purity, of duty, and of truth
Learnt while we bore Loreto's flag
In the sunny days of youth.......
Loreto’s
banner gaily floats
In lands
both East and West
Loreto’s
name each girl reveres
And holds it
ever blest....!!
