On the occasion of the Teachers' Day, Outlook is carrying tributes to the teachers who shaped our lives.?

Outlook Editor Chinki Sinha writes about her teacher Nishi Misra:

She was my English teacher in Class VIII. The day she walked into the classroom, we decided we won’t trouble her because she was quiet and didn't really seem like she was someone who'd punish us for talking in the class. Ours was a notorious batch and teachers had warned her about us. Back then, we were discovering there was a world out there and there were so many possibilities and we wanted to rebel against everything, break free, and what not. Those were the days when we listened to George Michael and Pink Floyd. This was in 1993. Nishi Misra was a tall beautiful woman who drove the kind of car we only associated with big burly men. Ours was the first ”senior girls” batch she would teach.

She had two little daughters who studied in the same school and she'd bring them with her.?

She was the first to tell me to write. She herself wrote beautifully and I remember her story Dulhin Ji that was published in The Times of India's Patna edition. She was gentle and never really shouted at us despite us being such a rowdy bunch of girls. At least that’s what I remember from those days. She was my favourite teacher and I thought I was free to write the way I would want to and not worry about the prescribed ways of writing answers. She let me write the way I wanted to. When she decided to leave, she had called me and told me she was going away, and we’d meet again. She wasn't there with us for long but we remembered her and missed her.?

For years, we never found each other. In the meanwhile, I did my things. I studied English Literature, and I told my family that my teacher had told me I could write and that’s what I was going to do. My grandfather, who had studied English Literature, used to write me letters and, besides my English teacher, he was the other person who said I should read his books because there was nobody else who’d read them and maybe I could study English Literature.

Some people stand out in our lost childhoods. Like those lighthouses. She was one of them. To me, she was one of the bravest women I had met. She brought up her daughters by herself and never lost that gentle smile of hers. She was calm and composed despite everything.?

Many years later, I met her for a brief while in Delhi. She had been well and had continued to be a teacher. She told me a little bit about her journey. It had been tough. But she had managed to do what she had set out to do.?

In July, she texted me on Messenger to ask me if I would like to come to Scindia Kanya Vidyalay as a guest and give some awards. She is the principal there.

“Anything for you,” I wrote back.

And I went to Gwalior. Just to see her. And she has the same beautiful smile even now.

She spoke softly and with conviction. We remembered the old times and she said I was a quiet student who sat in the back and was always elsewhere.

“I saved your paper to read at the end. It was my reward,” she said.

There is a bond with some people. It never goes away.

“Remember, you told me to write,” I said.

That’s love. Across time and space. Between a student and a teacher. Between two women.

The biggest solace is that she remembered so much about me. And she told me things I had forgotten. About myself. That’s what matters the most in the end. To be remembered and to remember.

It was in Patna in 1993 that it began. Our “forever” association.?