I read S. Muthiah’s fascinating book, The Anglo Indians – A 500-year History, released during Madras Week celebrations, with such interest that I could hardly put it down until I finished reading it. The subject was researched thoroughly and the book very sensitively written. The book brought back to me memories of my childhood and filled me with nostalgia.

I studied in St.Williams’ European High School, Madras, where the Headmistress and her assistant were Irish nuns. The rest of the teachers were all Anglo-Indians. My father took me when I was about 4 years old in 1930 to get me admitted to school. Mother Margaret, the Headmistress, shook my father’s hand and planted a kiss on my cheek which I wanted to brush off but did not dare to. As was the case with all Europeans, they could never pronounce any name in any language but theirs. So I was named Peggy (short for Margaret, the Headmistress said). My two elder sisters, Indira and Hemalata, were named Hilda and Annie, my elder brother Niranjan was James and my younger brother Siddharth, simply Sid. As we siblings called each other by these names at home and we spoke mostly English, our relatives thought we were very snooty. Dressed in the school uniform, socks and shoes, and with a solar khaki topee (hat) and with a name like Pe ggy who would guess that I was an Indian!

Spare the rod and spoil the child was the maxim those days. As I recount the punishment we were subjected to, it would sound like a horror story. But we took it all in our stride. And our teachers no doubt thought that they were doing it for our own good. Children who did not understand a question were sometimes made to wear dunce caps for the day. They were made of paper and shaped into a cone. A cane was always on the teacher’s desk, to be used whenever she wished to – like if you did not pay attention or if you scored 0 out of 10 for the sums done in class. If all the spellings of words dictated to you were wrong, the answer paper was pinned to your back and you had to wear it all day long.

Mrs. Martin, Standard 2 teacher, was one who was feared most by all the students. We dreaded going to her class. Later I heard that she had led a tough life and took it out on her students. We all loved the gentle and soft-spoken Miss Soares and the quiet Miss Thomas. Miss Ormes made the students adore her because she was full of fun and made us often laugh in class. Miss Smith taught us music and was dignified and had beautiful classic features.

As a child I remember the difference in the way we lived and the way the Anglo-Indians lived. I used to admire the way the dining table was laid, with plates and spoons and forks and drinking water glasses and napkins where the teachers had their lunch, while we at home sat on the ground and ate with our hands. They sipped water gently from the glasses while we at home had to hold the metal tumbler high and pour the water into our open mouths. My classmates spoke often of dances and parties that they as a community attended and I listened longingly, wanting to attend one of them.

I do remember some of my classmates. The youngest was Lizzie who was the darling of the school. She had a crop of golden hair like Shirley Temple and, like the child star, could sing and do a tap dance. Unfortunately she died of typhoid at the age of 6 or so. I remember Merlyn Trimm and her sister Irene. They stayed with an uncle and aunt as they were, I think, orphans. Rosy Santamaria was a lovely looking girl. And then there were the Dalys. Marie Daly was a beauty and she knew it. I was told that the Dalys emigrated to Australia.

Do I regret my Anglo-Indian childhood? Not at all.

I am 87 years old and I know that the gentle Mother Margaret, the bright and young Sister Paula, all my teachers and many of my classmates are no more. I owe what I am to all of them.