Memoirs of an ex-student

There was never any doubt that I would attend Dr. Ribeiro Goan School. My fate, and that of my sister Ramona, had been sealed long before we were even born. Probably as early as when my grandfather was accepted as a committee member of the council that constituted the Goan Overseas Association, the founding body of what later became known as Dr. Ribeiro Goan School. In natural progression his six children all attended the school. My mother at 82 years of age, can still recall, albeit vaguely, her first year in the old premises on Government Road that she tells comprised of a couple of rooms, a few benches, tables and a black board. When the new school opened its doors in 1931 she had the honor of being among its first 100-something students. Her brother Francis went on to make his mark in the school as an academic ‘par excellence´ as one of the earliest ‘non-white´ students to attain an overseas scholarship for graduate studies. Another brother, Jacob, can boast of his vigorous participation in the infamous protest mounted by students (I believe at the instigation of the teaching staff) for the continuance of our beloved Fr. Comerford´s principalship in our school (1958). It is safe to say, therefore, that the Dr. Ribeiro Goan School was an institution in our family. An institution that I inherited, or perhaps more apropos would be that it inherited me. Forty-something years after graduating from this school my memories are still strong and tempered with such affection that I feel obliged to take this trip down memory lane and invite you to go with me.

It was my first year, Standard One, or what was colloquially known within Goan School circles as “Baby Class’. Apprehensively I tagged along behind my uncle Francis as he delivered me into the capable hands of our beloved Mrs. Jacques who was to lay the foundation of my academic and religious learning. I can still recall how she would make us open our “Catechism’ books.Remember those? The lesson would start with Mrs. Jacques intoning in a singsong voice, “Who made you?’ And the response from the class would be in unison, “God made me’.During recess the girl who later became a life-long friend told me that Mrs. Jacques was wrong and that, in fact, it was my Daddy that made me. She insisted that she knew this because she had an older brother who told her. At the age of six, not having an older brother of my own, I accepted my friend´s superior knowledge. The next day when Mrs. Jacques started the lesson with “Who made you?’ I stuck up my hand and volunteered the suggestion that my Dad made me. A shocked Mrs. Jacques sent me home with a note and a reprimand. My reputation among the teaching staff of Dr. Ribeiro´s had been fostered.

We moved onto Standard Two and another beloved cornerstone of our schooling, Mrs. Coutinho, who was tinier than any member of our class. For all her diminutive size, however, she controlled the class with an iron fist.

Then there was Mrs. Nelson Paul whose ear twisting ability had, by the time we came along, been perfected to an art form. Surely we can all remember how, in one fluid movement she could tweak the ear lobe, release sharply and apply the palm of her hand in a brisk slap to the back of the head. Luis Fernandes and Irenio Costa Bir must know of what I speak having, more frequently than most, been on the receiving end of this particularly innovative form of torture.

And who can forget our dear Primary School Principal, Mr. Tavares? He paraded the school compound cane in hand, in the hope of running into a ‘perpetrator´. Where most people used words, our Mr. Tavares illustrated his intent with the cane…I know as I was on the receiving end of that whacking cane with annoying regularity.

And, of course, there was the most colourful of all our figures of authority, Mr. (Clerk) DaCosta. It was he who inducted my colleagues and me, and perhaps most of you too, into the correct and effective use of ‘the´ four-letter word. No one has ever used the word with more vigor and emphasis than our Mr. Clerk.

I remember exam time as being particularly troublesome, mainly I suspect, because I´d never spent time in study or preparation. When the class was allotted toilet time before the test, there´d be a huge exodus to the toilets where some of us would spend the few allotted minutes gainfully in corroboration of answer-swapping methods. Certainly not something to be proud of, but meriting mention simply because I was generally on the receiving end of the cane or a ‘line-writing´ 5000 word detention.

Somehow, mystifyingly, I managed to graduate to the Secondary level where the fun really began. I don´t believe the thought every crossed my mind that I was in school for the purpose of schooling. Rather, I used the four years of semi-adulthood to foster relationships and learn the true meaning of ‘social´ life. I registered and tried out for every sporting activity offered. This sadly was not because of any athletic prowess on my part, but rather as a means of getting out of class. Away games were the best. We´d pile into our school bus, the one resembling a cow-cart. The more boisterous of us would hang over the open sides of the bus yelling at passers-by. The best rides I can remember were those that we had to share with the boys. Then, there would be no hanging over the sides.Instead, we´d all be seated with much decorum…the girls ogling the boys and the boys trying to make a move.

And the teachers! Did we not all have a special place in our hearts for the late Mr. Nunes? Let´s be honest here…we loved him because he talked dirty. But, to his credit I can even now, more than forty years later, recount with clarity and accuracy the life and times of Henry VIII and all his wives.

How about Mr. Torcato and his theorems? Regrettably, I still don´t know what those are. There was Mr. Fernandes who could fling chalk with the accuracy and speed of a guided missile. And there were the Bros. DeSouza. Mr. Anthony and Mr. Stanley. Certainly one did not have the Goan School experience unless one passed through the Bros. Mr. Anthony´s efforts to teach me to conjugate and enunciate have stood me in good stead. And to him I owe a debt of gratitude. Mr. Stanley´s efforts, on the other hand, to impart biological knowledge to a particularly disinterested student fell, I´m sorry to say, upon ‘infertile soil´ – his exact words. I remember how I would rush into biology class two paces behind Mr. Stanley. As I´d take my seat, breathless, still chomping down on a mouthful of our favorite school snack, ‘mango-with-chili-powder´ I´d tune into the daily lecture of how this class would never amount to anything and how we were wasting our parents hard earned money by being there, and how we were an embarrassment to the school and humanity in general etc, etc, etc. By this point the class would be generally fooling around and paying no heed as Mr. Stanley continued in a vain attempt to conduct a lesson. As always, I´d tune out as he´d drone on about the esophagus and the duodenum and the transverse colon. Here is when I´d drop into dream mode and imagine that having defied Mr. Stanley´s damnation to failure, I´d pass my O levels with honors, surpassing the likes of brainers like Olavio and Rashmi (sorry fellow classmates, these are the only two likely-to-succeed names that come to mind). I´d become an eminent Surgeon and when Mr. Stanley is shot in the a.. by a student who would not tolerate his insults any more, I´d be called in to perform the necessary surgery. Of course I would refuse and…the sting from a piece of chalk ricocheting off my forehead would raise me out of dream mode into the reality of Mr. Stanley reiterating that I am doomed to failure.

And then the breeze of change blows the dapper and youthful Mr. Pires into our hallowed halls of learning. Suddenly school has more meaning. Mr. Pires actually seemed to enjoy his job and his pupils. Imagine that!I started to complete homework assignments and actually looked forward to science class.

This marked the era of Domenic Carvalho, Pam Moniz and Xavier Almeida. Who could resist the informality of their new teaching methods, unheard of until then? This was, indeed, the cornerstone of change for me and I say with complete confidence that I probably passed “O’ levels because of them. So, thank you Teachers.

I am humbled to have belonged to this awesome institution of Dr. Ribeiro Goan School that has produced so many successful professionals and community figures. Above all, it was the means that fostered the strongest of bonds and fondest of memories that have withstood the test of time. My sincere thanks to the committee of this year´s Reunion for their time and effort to bring us all together to rekindle those bonds and memories.