Anne The Warrior

“Hand on your life,

Feel the rhythm of time.”

[The last line of Rosen’s poem ’Hand on a Bridge’]

I’ve met a lot of people in my life of fifteen years; people who are passionate, inventive, practical, sincere, the list goes on.

I’ve met a lot of people in my life of fifteen years; but never anyone like Anne Warrior. She founded our school in 1984, with her friend, Tara Chandarvarkar. She built our school out of sheer passion.

When I first met her, I was 10. It was my first year in Aditi and like most 10 year olds that have to start afresh in grade 5, I found it hard. Everyone, except me, had been together since Prep. I felt like an intruder. I guess I just hadn’t “settled-in” as yet.

But Mrs. Warrior’s poetry class made me forget about how no one in Bangalore watched Doraemon, or how everyone’s accent was different from mine, or even the fact that I had (the dreaded) math, next block.

In Mrs. Warrior’s class, all that mattered was you, your poetry notebook, and her voice. She wove ideas of imagination, originality and humour, through her poetry and into the minds of 31 ten-year-olds. She taught us about rhythm, creativity and pulse.

There was just something about her that inspired me, something about her that stuck with me, something about her that made her stand out. She was sprightly and always in movement. This really surprised fifth-grade me, because even though she was old, (everyone that was older than 10, was old) she was still so full of life. She made us do things that I enjoyed (but I would never admit it). She walked the talk.

Mrs. Warrior loved what she taught and so do a lot of teachers. I think what made her so special was that she wanted us to love poetry as much as she did. She inspired my passion for poetry.

An excerpt from a poem I wrote in her class, in 2013.

[Brief: we were given two poems titled ‘A Girl’s Head’ and ‘A Boy’s Head’, and after reading them we were asked to write poems about our own heads.]

A Girl’s Head

“A happy face

laughing in space

Alexander the Great

My fate

Microbes

Wardrobes

Every head is different, yours, mine, theirs”.

I know this poem is really random, but that’s what was so great about her class, you could express yourself in anyway you wanted. And in today’s world this is a highly required skill. Five years later, she and her teachings are still memorable to me.

 

-Maya Saldanha 9C

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