St Joseph’s: Looking back, from Ghalib to graphs
An ex-student looks back at the agony and ecstasy of Urdu and Math classes.
KARACHI:
In the mid-80s, for students entering the hallowed halls of the senior Cambridge section at St Joseph’s Convent, despite a gruelling entry test, the next five years presented a glimmer of excitement. They would mean new friends, more party invites, music on the Walkman (the glory days of AHA, the early days of Madonna), the honour of being part of the senior assembly…and oh, yes, the O’ Level curricula to breeze through.
(Read: St Joseph's Convent to celebrate half a century of dedication today)
Needless to say, the initial report cards set us ingénues very straight on the order of priority of that game plan.
And then suddenly, in class VIII, we found ourselves warily facing a new vista: new teachers, new drills. Math class would now be taught by Miss Soares and Urdu by ‘Bari’ Miss Siddiqui, both legendary academics, who had toughened up and polished previous generations.
Suffice it to say that the next three years would make boot camp seem like a walk in the park.
In Math class, Miss Soares would give a daily five-minute test which counted towards the final grade. If the homework wasn’t done and you had the temerity to make an excuse let’s just say it would have been easier to just drop out of school on the spot.
Urdu class with Miss Siddqui was daunting. She kept a vigilant eye on us, and always knew who was secretly reading the latest teen novel wedged in the central fold of the text book. A wide variety of ‘literature’, ranging from Mills and Boons to Sweet Valley High thus found its way to the staff room. When it came to test time, dictation and spelling quizzes were a bit like playing the lottery. You were lucky if you got anything right, no matter how hard you had studied.
And then, one day we graduated and much to our delight, with respectable grades in Math and Urdu! Suddenly the results brought to mind the soft-spoken encouragement from Miss Siddiqui, the grim “Are you warming benches?” from Miss Soares (which never failed to send us into paroxysms of laughter despite the gravity of the situation). How could we forget the many practice papers patiently corrected by them both and all the extra tips to help us pick up the pace?
Today, I realise that although Miss Soares and Miss Siddqui taught us the subjects of Math and Urdu, what they were actually trying to impart to us were the virtues of honesty, discipline, hard work, perseverance and common sense. Perhaps we didn’t turn out to be accomplished linguists or mathematicians, but if we have succeeded in any of our pursuits with integrity then I do believe we have done them proud. Can we thank them enough? Probably not. But knowing them, if we have put to good use what we learnt, that is what matters to them.
The writer did her O’ Levels from St Joseph’s Convent High School in 1993.
Published in The Express Tribune, September 13th, 2011.
In the mid-80s, for students entering the hallowed halls of the senior Cambridge section at St Joseph’s Convent, despite a gruelling entry test, the next five years presented a glimmer of excitement. They would mean new friends, more party invites, music on the Walkman (the glory days of AHA, the early days of Madonna), the honour of being part of the senior assembly…and oh, yes, the O’ Level curricula to breeze through.
(Read: St Joseph's Convent to celebrate half a century of dedication today)
Needless to say, the initial report cards set us ingénues very straight on the order of priority of that game plan.
And then suddenly, in class VIII, we found ourselves warily facing a new vista: new teachers, new drills. Math class would now be taught by Miss Soares and Urdu by ‘Bari’ Miss Siddiqui, both legendary academics, who had toughened up and polished previous generations.
Suffice it to say that the next three years would make boot camp seem like a walk in the park.
In Math class, Miss Soares would give a daily five-minute test which counted towards the final grade. If the homework wasn’t done and you had the temerity to make an excuse let’s just say it would have been easier to just drop out of school on the spot.
Urdu class with Miss Siddqui was daunting. She kept a vigilant eye on us, and always knew who was secretly reading the latest teen novel wedged in the central fold of the text book. A wide variety of ‘literature’, ranging from Mills and Boons to Sweet Valley High thus found its way to the staff room. When it came to test time, dictation and spelling quizzes were a bit like playing the lottery. You were lucky if you got anything right, no matter how hard you had studied.
And then, one day we graduated and much to our delight, with respectable grades in Math and Urdu! Suddenly the results brought to mind the soft-spoken encouragement from Miss Siddiqui, the grim “Are you warming benches?” from Miss Soares (which never failed to send us into paroxysms of laughter despite the gravity of the situation). How could we forget the many practice papers patiently corrected by them both and all the extra tips to help us pick up the pace?
Today, I realise that although Miss Soares and Miss Siddqui taught us the subjects of Math and Urdu, what they were actually trying to impart to us were the virtues of honesty, discipline, hard work, perseverance and common sense. Perhaps we didn’t turn out to be accomplished linguists or mathematicians, but if we have succeeded in any of our pursuits with integrity then I do believe we have done them proud. Can we thank them enough? Probably not. But knowing them, if we have put to good use what we learnt, that is what matters to them.
The writer did her O’ Levels from St Joseph’s Convent High School in 1993.
Published in The Express Tribune, September 13th, 2011.