Thank you, Miss Verjee

To the math teacher who elevated my “percentage.”

“Teachers have three loves: love of learning, love of learners, and the love of bringing the first two loves together.”– Scott Hayden

Up until I was in grade five (in India) — and before I met Miss Verjee — I detested Math.

I had no quarrel with basic arithmetic operations: addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. They were good to me — they didn’t ask that I exert myself.

But I was on barely speaking terms with the aptly titled word “problems” — Neel had 18 oranges. He gave 9 to Sam and 4 to Rita. Sam returned 3 to Neel. How many oranges does each of them have?

And my answer would have been (had I known the line at the time), “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Bogeyman…

In primary school, we were graded chiefly on our ability to perform basic arithmetic.

My game plan was to score in this area and fib my way through the word problems. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. Sometimes, I fumbled my way to the correct answers.

The strategy served me winningly grades one through four.

In grade five, I came face to face with a bogeyman — Algebra. Now, I no longer had arithmetic to fall back on. And that was when things went south.

My marks that had coasted nonchalantly in the upper 70s began a steady decline. By the end of grade five, they had sunk to the 50s.

Meeting Miss V…

Our class teacher in grade six was one Mrs. V., or “Miss V.” as we called her. She also taught us math.

Miss V. was in her forties. She was short and compactly built, with round features and a shiny, nut-brown complexion. Her hair — most of it — escaped her bun and framed her face like a frizzy halo.

Our teachers dressed in silk or nylon saris with bright, colorful prints. Some wore pretty frocks and high-heeled shoes. Miss V.’s wardrobe seemed to consist entirely of cotton saris in a dull shade of ochre.

Miss V. rolled into class like a tank. She rarely smiled. She had a loud voice and glaring eyes. She wrote so forcefully on the blackboard that the chalks frequently snapped.

She took a near-molecular approach to math and expected her students to do likewise. She allowed no shortcuts. Every solution had to be broken down into an excruciatingly detailed series of steps — with explanations written alongside.

Miss V. gave math homework every day. I completed it grudgingly and didn’t care if I got the answers wrong.

“Rubbish Mark…”

We had weekly math tests. I started the year scoring 5 out of 10. A month later, my marks dipped to 4 — a half mark over the passing grade of 3.5. And that was when Miss V. pulled me out into the corridor in the middle of a free period.

“What is this rubbish four mark?” she shouted. Miss V. always referred to marks in the singular. “Next time you want to get three-and-a-half or what? And after that, fail?”

I cringed, conscious of my classmates watching. “No, Miss.”

“Tell your mother to come to school,” Miss V. said. “I will ask her why her daughter is writing rubbish maths homework. Why you are studying other subjects nicely and not bothering to do maths.”

“Please, Miss.” I would curl up and die if my mom showed up in front of the class. “I’ll study for the tests and do my homework nicely.”

That evening, with Miss V.’s threat fresh in my mind, I tackled my math homework first.

When I finished, I looked it over twice to ensure I hadn’t left out any steps or explanations. I checked the answers from the section at the back of the book. And then I checked again — I couldn’t believe I had gotten about half the answers correct.

After that day, I got into the habit of doing my math homework first. It took the specter of Mrs. V. off my shoulder. And it allowed me to move on to the subjects in which I was interested: History and English.

Inching up…

Over the weeks, math got easier. The homework didn’t take as long. I was getting more of my answers right.

Miss V. grunted her approval when she signed my improved homework assignments.

My weekly test grades inched up a half mark at a time.

The first time I scored full marks on a test, I was in a state of shock.

I now reached two startling conclusions:

a) You didn’t have to be a genius to get a high score in math. But you did have to practice your sums.

b) Math was about logic. It wasn’t just about numbers. I had this epiphany after writing out the umpteen explanations that Miss V. demanded.

Knotty sums…

Now that I had begun to figure out algebra, geometry too became painless.

I learned the trick — from a classmate — of letting my subconscious mind work out knotty geometry sums while I was sleeping. Before going to bed, I read the problem twice over. Then I drew the diagram and fixed it in my mind.

The next morning, I usually awoke with the beginnings of a solution. With a sense of which theorem or corollary would lead to the proof.

Percentage…

When I scored full marks in my tests thrice in a month, Miss V. grunted her satisfaction. “Remember this,” she said. “Getting good mark in maths is important for percentage (GPA).”

Miss V. was my teacher, grades six through seven. At the start of the ninth grade, I moved with my family to Mumbai.

A new city, a new school, and new teachers.

I lost touch with Miss V. but never forgot her.

In grade ten, we had a choice between two levels of math: Regular and Advanced. Although by then I had begun to enjoy math, I was content to pick regular. I saw no reason to take on advanced math since I planned to pursue an undergraduate degree in the humanities.

I scored in the 90s in math for the final board exams. It hiked up my GPA — “percentage,” as Miss V. liked to say. I thought of her when I coasted to admission into the college of my choice in Mumbai.

Homes, cities, continents later…

I remembered Miss V. when I was able to help my daughters with math homework through primary and middle school.

I considered reaching out to Miss V. then to say, “Thank You.” But then I thought: Will she even remember me — one less-than-brilliant math student — after so many years?

Over the years, we moved a lot. Homes, cities, continents.

I rarely use either algebra or geometry now. But I still think of Miss V., and I regret not getting in touch.

I should have tried harder. I should have let her know how much I appreciated her as a teacher. So what if she didn’t remember me as a student?

September 5…

September 5 is Teachers Day in India. And this time, I thought: It’s now or never.

So, here’s what I’m saying to an awesome-to-the-power-of-n math teacher, wherever she may be:

“Thank you for caring about your students as deeply as you did. For teaching me to appreciate the clean, spare logic that is math. For helping to elevate my percentage.”

“With all my heart: THANK YOU, MISS V.”