
It was around 1am when I found out he had passed away.
We called him Rector. Well, more precisely, Rector Sir. He was a Doctor in the city where I grew up. Among other things he had set up a local hospital, and a school. Our school.
For those of us now blessed with free education & healthcare, it’s hard to imagine how crucial these two institutions were in that neighbourhood.
I did not know him that well but vividly remember a conversation I had with him as a little girl. It was the day after my parents had one of their usual rows.
Ma thought our Dad was working too much and paying little attention to his family. “It’s JUST a job”, she had raged, “But it’s time away from your children.” It occurred to me that my Dad had one job but Rector Sir had 3! Does he have rows like this at home too, I had wondered. So I stopped him in the corridor the very next day to ask.
“You are already a Doctor, so why do you have more jobs?” I was curious. He smiled and said he loved what he did. “But it’s time away from your children”, I said in the best approximation of my mother’s tone! He laughed heartily, insisted we were like his children too, and asked where I had picked that sentence up from. My mother had drilled into us never to say anything about life behind closed doors so I said I thought it up by myself.
He pondered for a while and then said, “Other people’s parents, children: there will always be opportunities to love them as your own. And if you want to then you should do something for them. Like they are your own.”
That sentence stayed with me- guiding me through life. Ours was a very poor school. We were packed like sardines, a tiny room for library, and few resources. But we had teachers who gave up lucrative careers, & time with their families to teach there. We had an enduring sense of community. My teachers were guests at my wedding, some of my closest friends are from that school, and the lessons I learnt there have been invaluable throughout my life. What a legacy to leave behind.
Rest in peace, Rector Sir. Thank you for treating us like your own.



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