i remember the first time we tried to take a picture of ms g – during a tutorial – and it turned out like this – i remember how i didn’t dare to take the pic and this brilliant friend of mine decided to volunteer herself as a … as a … substitute shot who would still be the main focus of the picture. back in jc1.

and we very rarely gave presentations, to think about it … this is imran’s group presenting on gothic genre or something of the sort, i believe, also in j1. and one of the sneak shots of ms g.
her blog is on my links, at: gatsr.blogspot.com

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i was… and am glad that many of my ex-classmates turned up for ms g’s wake. my very busy, diverse class.
i can still remember how she used to call my name. she just couldn’t get it completely right. anyhow. ever since my graduation, i have gone down to visit her, at least once a year, always with my classmates who loved her just as much, or even more. sometimes i’d see her a little bit more, perhaps just 10 minutes more, because i’d also go down with the councillors. although, the last few times we always just missed her …
dear ms g. the music room, her smile, the cute socks, the little tail, the teddy bear in the pigeon hole, hindi videos, wonderful literature lessons, random life stories, talking about her nephew, some updates on her health that she talked about so easily, ah, and how the guys always had to sit in front and the girls could sit at the back, her bag, othello, her tray, her going through the texts and us trying to write down whatever she said on our books, her immense displeasure at the senior batch’s lit grades, the random people she called to role play/read out parts of whatever text we were discussing, antony and cleopatra, her smile, the werewolf, jokes to crack the class, her completing her masters (yey yey yey), and giving as chocolates as celebration, going to the Istana to get an award, her crazy sense of humour, how my other lit teacher used to be her student, her assignments (exam papers) given back with her writing in purple and orange and other colours in her ms g’ish handwriting, her explicitly implicit and implicitly explicit ‘never say die’ attitude, and oh ….. what a wonderful inspiration to us all.

ms g - "phenomenally. phenomenal woman, thats me."
[this poem was posted on aqi's blog, this lovely poem, which, when we attended the wake, we heard her loved one read it out... ]:
Ms Rosalind G
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am in the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in everything.
Do not stand at my grave & cry,
I am not there, I do not die
-Mary E Frye, 1932
I can almost hear her say these words …
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