Tracing Memories; Reigniting Dreams

In which I ramble, but also establish a context and perspective, about one of the very greatest blessings of my life.

Mid-2000s, The Mother’s International School (New Delhi, India)

At ten years old, in a middle-school classroom thrumming with activity and almost-chaos, rebelling against the April heat by turning the speed of the fans to the maximum they could go, one’s only objective is to make it through the day, cocooned by one’s tight circle of best friends. Two of them; possibly three. Less than five.

Wide-eyed and clueless as I was, I certainly wasn’t expecting to fall in love. And no, it wasn’t any ordinary schoolgirl crush. It was like nothing I’d ever known up until then.

My Anu Ma’am caught my heart first. Founding member and Head of the French Department, Ms. Anuradha Karkun swept into my classroom on that fateful first day of the new academic year, full of what one can describe only as joie de vivre. The joy of living? Perhaps; but on that day, it felt more like her joy at being in a classroom full of eager ten-year-olds who had just chosen French as their third language (as per the CBSE requirement in middle school). Her positive energy was infectious; and her million-dollar smile was a sight to behold…

She introduced us to the French language when it wasn’t accessible or available at the swipe of a thumb – in the pre-instant-gratification era. Our focal point was our Le Petit Manuel textbook, the cartoon characters and their dialogues more fascinating than anything else. We got hooked on to the newness of the French names that were printed on the glossy pages – Sylvie, Monique, Pierre, Marc. We whispered because we were too self-conscious.

Inexplicably, a slow recognition dawned over me. Until then, it was as if I’d been ambling along a dark road, and someone had only just turned on a faint flashlight.

Over the course of my first year of learning French under Anu Ma’am’s gentle tutelage, I stumbled and fumbled a lot. Being a shy and deeply introverted pre-teen, I did not ask for help. I sat in the last row of the class even though I couldn’t see anything written on the blackboard, and copied incorrect words and phrases into my notebook. She made me the subject monitor, but I was so spaced out that I kept forgetting my own notebooks and assignments. The first year passed in a steady rhythm of average marks, many corrections in my notebooks, and trying to decipher this (quite literally) foreign language, with its strange pronunciations, accents, and emerging grammatical conventions.

It was in the following year that I fell in love with it.

With a change of teacher and a somewhat hesitant heart, I continued on my French-learning journey, going at my own pace, until the second cycle of the unit tests came around. The 23.5/25 on my answer sheet was the best kind of jolt – one that I certainly did not see coming, because – until that moment – my academic performance in all subjects had been average at best. Nothing to write home about. But this? This was a revelation – and the first defining moment.

Thereafter, from Class VIII to X, it seemed to me as if I’d been given a special key to unlock something. What that thing was, I still cannot exactly define. Life went on with its usual adolescent angst – my performance in the other subjects continued to dip, and I was diagnosed with severe dyscalculia  a few years later. Through that swirling mist of trying to find my place in the schoolgirl-world, I held on to French as if it were my protective shield. I was a study in contrasts: even as I continued struggling academically (dropping Maths from Class IX onwards), I excelled over and over again in my French assessments and in the classroom. I became known as the “French topper”. The dichotomy between “French topper” and “Maths duffer” always gave rise to a stark cognitive dissonance in my head. Did the former somehow compensate for the latter? To this day, it makes me wonder…

In Class X, my Anu Ma’am came back to me. This time, it was hands-down the most memorable year of learning. Five years of discovering and delighting in the complex grammatical nuances of the language had not, in any way, prepared me for the sheer brilliance of my beloved teacher-mentor – time and time again, I was left speechless in admiration at how she wielded the language as if it were a cherished musical instrument. She knew all the right notes; and produced the most mellifluous music. Her obvious giftedness emboldened me to stretch my own boundaries beyond anything I’d imagined before. Each of my flawless answer sheets, lavished with smiley faces, stars, and “Bravo!”, reaffirmed my deep love for French. We were in our own little Francophile universe, she and I. Anu Ma’am was my mirror, reflecting to me the possibilities that I could not yet see.

Present Day

Years later, as an educator myself, I reflect on the mentor-protégée relationship and realise with a perhaps chilling certainty that there will never be another one like it. Since that pivotal year in Class X, Anu Ma’am and I have shared an unusually profound chemistry – a soul-relationship, if you will. During my time as a school student, she was – among other things – the most extraordinary teacher whom I’d ever known. To this day, she is my biggest role model and a precious mother figure.

After I graduated from school, my French-learning journey took many detours, twisting and turning this way and that. I did not actively engage with it for almost a full decade. Even as my closest friends and family encouraged me to chase it single-mindedly, I ignored their persistent nudges and chose instead  to scatter my attention and interests. And so, I kept drifting… until I rediscovered French anew as a student at the Alliance Française in early 2023, under the outstanding mentorship of Ms. Padma Natarajan, seniormost faculty, who will always be a guiding light as I progress through my personal and professional trajectory.

The nine months of learning from January to December 2023, alongside a full-time job, were fulfilling in ways that I cannot ever express. It was the same childlike joy; almost like déjà vu – the same serenity and equanimity that I had felt as a schoolgirl. This is perhaps what one means by the phrase coming home to oneself. In my case, I have always found an accepting home in immersing myself in French – in whatever ways I see fit. Last December, I took a tremendous leap of faith and appeared for the DALF C1 exam, the second-highest proficiency level that one can attain in a foreign language. Preparing for this mammoth exam entirely on my own – without any formal training – was exactly what I subconsciously needed to do, in order to prove to myself that this is it – this is what is meant for me, however it unfolds.

As I write this, I have accepted a role as an English-language assistant in France, responsible for teaching English and bringing India alive in the French public school system. I leave at the end of September. It is a cliff-edge of opportunities and possibilities; I’m going to fly off and build my wings on the way down.

This homecoming has taught me an essential lesson: it’s never too late to explore – (re)discover – who you’re meant to be…