And the yarn starts when I was in fourth standard on 9th February,2007 at St.Carmel Convent School (Jorhat,Assam,India) where I was just known as a ‘infirm’ student and not by my name.
Not that incident,date or time but that person changed me into a better human. For the first time when a person made me feel special. For the first time a philosophical kid was loving to hear the frail taunts about herself. For the first time she was apt to sit alone at recesses time. And for the first time she was being treated vulnerable.
                                                  “First impression is the last impression”  
And this so true. No impression was more resonant than my Teacher. Even today she remains vivacious in my soul and in my world.
                             “Teaching is not a service, profession or a job. It is a pillar of the society”
Well,my narration starts in class four when the whole class was just at verge of reciting the morning prayer at school. But just then my computer teacher entered, requesting my class teacher to standby the prayer and said:
                                                “Excuse me Reena teacher,where is Randhir”?
I raised my hand from my position. She passed a beam and said:
                                                             “Happy Birthday to you”
It was just from that day I realized that she too had her Birthday on the same date. And every now and then we celebrated our Birthday’s together.
No matter how much I was discriminated emotionally and mentally. No matter I failed to give good result to my other teachers. No matter I was being teased. All that matters was and is my teacher’s appreciation towards me. How being a kid I was cohered to this world. At a very tender age I knew the difference between the good and evil. I faced the agony of being a lame student, of being a pale figure in my friend circle. But one person who made my school life memorable is than that of my dearest Sobha Bothra Pincha Teacher. No boon of a child in her life, black hairs are turning into grey but her nature seems everlasting for all her students because she is and had been a great motherly figure. Her words to me:
                                               “Help me to keep the smile on my face”
And I am following her words. From her I get the strength to give respect to all my teachers who have crossed my way. Not a single teacher is untouched by my loving gratitude that I owe. Some students celebrate teacher’s day on 5th September, I celebrate it everyday. And today I am glad to hear the applaud from my teacher’s not for my good results but for being a good Student. For once I regretted. Today I have no regret because I take pride in being taught from my Sobha Teacher.
Dear teacher your advice, wisdom and teachings will remain engraved in my life. Good teachers teach because they are passionate about teaching. Great teachers like you, teach to make the world a better place.
If I am successful in any way today, be a good daughter, a good friend, a good consoler, a good sister, a good person or a good student. I owe all and all to you Sobha teacher. And if I am able to write this in the honor of you it because you taught me the value of letters. All these years I kept asking and you kept giving. Now I think its time I started giving back and it all begins with two simple words-
                                                                        “Thank you”

Dear Poet Friends, the famous Coffee House is located opposite Presidency College (my alma mater) at Calcutta, it was set up during the British days, initially known as The Albert Hall. However, this poem has been inspired by an old Bengali song . Hope you will like it. Thanks, – Raj Nandy

MEMORIES OF COFFEE HOUSE OF OUR
                      STUDENT DAYS

Those nostalgic memories and our colorful dreams have
receded with the past.
Our regular evening meetings at the Coffee House has
flown with time’s arrow, - since nothing lasts!
Be it summer, monsoon, or winter, we had regularly met,
To exchange notes and gossip, even heated discussions
use to take place.
Our old friend Nikhelesh had left for Paris, and Moidul
settled in Dacca, as I last heard.
Guitarist D’Souza of the Hotel Grand now lies buried in a
walled cemetery next to a church.
Betrayed in love singer Reena Roy is spending her days in
a lunatic asylum alas!
While Amol suffered from a raging cancer, life had proved
merciless for him till the very last!
Renuka was perhaps the happiest amongst us all, having
married a millionaire husband as I have been told.
She lives in a luxurious bungalow covered in jewelry of
diamond and gold.
Sanyal of Art College who drew pictures for an Ad Agency
those days,
With wide eyes listened to the narrations of Runa Roy, the
amateur actress, during those Coffee House days.
Long haired Basir, the amateur poet, has been forgotten in time;
None of his poems got published, his talents had remained
unrecognized!
Between sips of coffee and cigarette smoke heated arguments
use to take place.
Topics ranging from politics, poetry, art and football, were
very popular even in those days.

Those black round wooden tables and chairs still remain
unchanged to this very day.
But with the passing of time the faces of its occupants have
all changed, as generations have faded away.
Thus the cycle of life revolves as new flowers bloom.
But the Coffee House shall continue to last through many
a moon.
                                                           ­      -By Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

“Can miles truly separate you from friends? If you want to be with someone you love, aren’t you already there?”
A very good evening to one and all present here. Today Im  here in front of all of you as we approach the end of our schooling days.
But i believe half of my job is already done here because its not me but our scribbled stories on our school benches that will dive us into this beautiful journey of nostalgia.
Although walls cant speak but the doodles on walls of our school bathroom can surely make us reminisce those malicious scenes of crimes we have done there.

Little did we know how quick ten years would pass by just like that.We have bloomed into  flowers from tiny little saplings in this orchard of childrens Academy. And in no time, us bunch of flowers will be unveiled in front of the whole world.
I still remember in flashes, the days of our pre primary section where we would yearn for that one cup of hot chocolate milk that would be served to us at least once a week. The same craving, in the primary section transformed into love for shezwan vada pav which still continues to be our favourite. Maturity then peaked and we entered secondary section to disrupt the whole world and win the worst class award right in the beginning of sixth std.
For me Children’s Academy is not just a school- but a journey that all of us have endured for these past ten years. Living every moment as If there was no end to it because that’s how it exactly felt like ! But today im realizing how wrong I was. It ends! The journey sure does- but the bonds and the friendship is never going to end. I wish someone had warned me that more than the people, it’s those moments that I will miss the most. Now, we will never be able to dance in front of our friends classroom and make them laugh during an on going lecture while we were on our way to the washroom. Now reena miss will never nag us for using the word “abbey”. Those menacing threats by Suddha Shetty miss to apply the canteen oil on our hair if by chance we showed up with washed dry hair to  school instead can never be relived. Now nikita miss will never  ask you about your missing id card and ask u to tuck in your shirt. Whom will we have psychology sessions with if not our bhagayshree miss.Whom will we wish suprabhat guruji to now? Who will leave us discombobulated with their flabbergasting vocab if not our beloved English teachers madhavi miss and  sen gupta miss?  not even paresha miss’ chemical reactions could beat our instant change in  our demeanour from a loud noisy fish market to an attentive obedient class when rohit sir or mallya maam would be on rounds.  Its hard to believe that no matter what we do, no one will replace the void of affection of our teachers in this emancipation. Its hard to believe that how all of these annoying rules that have  been playing in the background of our life will suddenly just cease to exist. Its hard to believe that the building of children’s academy that we visited everyday will no  longer even be a part of our life. Its hard to believe that now we wont see Vipin sir laughing at his own jokes before we all start laughing… just by watching each other laugh.
The cherished and hallowed corridors of Children’s Academy will become our Alma Mater that one day will surely be revisted by us to share the pride of our collective success, one day. These golden memories and the fact mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell will never be forgotten by us. And for that I can’t thank bhakti miss and simi miss enough!

And lastly to end my speech i wish to quote no one. I wish to end my speech just by singing the first  two lines of our school song. Lets chime in for the last and final time and sing it in our heads.
“ the bells of our school, ring out far and wide
Their chimes make our childhood so happy and bright!”

He was born July 2, 1925,
son of James and Jesse Evers,
Medgar Evers of Mississippi,
World War II veteran,
fought in the Battle of Normandy,
June 1944,
with his soldier brothers
of same and other races.

He rose a leader,
a Freedom Hero,
Mississippi field secretary of NAACP,
President, Regional Council of
***** Leaders,
husband of Myrlie, her purity
of devotion,
father of Darrell, Reena Denise,
and James,
civil rights leadership of the
highest calling,
of a bravery that persevered
again.

That early morning,
June 12, 1963,
a shot of hate tore
through his heart,
he was fallen in his own driveway,
his family witnessed this
most heinous of murders
committed in the insanity
of human acridity,
the bitterness in our psyches.

June 19, 1963,
full military honors,
Arlington National Cemetery,
for a man of a character so
much more loving
than his assassin's.

We, as a people,
we must obliterate
pre-conceived assumptions,
faulty thoughts of each other.

Medgar Evers of Mississippi,
Medgar Evers of America,
posthumously awarded the
Spingarn Medal,
murdered in a country
he fought for,
merited eternally by God.

Kyra
doesn't give anyone beera beera
Rosaline
doesn't have a friend in Joseline
Reena
doesn't mind Tina
Eva
could be a typical diva
Janine
doesn't seem to be sanguine
Laurel's
favorite color is probably coral
Sheila
doesn't remind me of a monster as in gila
Abe
probably doesn't need to be saved
Casey
probably likes pizza as in Shakey's
Soledad
probably has been in the caverns names Carlsbad
Fredricka
wishes she had a dog as in a golden retriever
Irene
maybe models herself after Darlene
Jane
she's sane
Joan
doesn't moan
over losing a loan
on and on