Father Camille Bouche was a teacher who would have found little favour with today’s parents.
A pink-faced Jesuit priest from Luxembourg he spoke English with a heavy Gallic accent in a Kolkata where BBC accents were the standard of excellence.
He smoked incessantly, rings of second-hand smoke wafting over all those teenaged boys running down the school corridors, sometimes even dropping the ash down our collars. He used his cane liberally and stingingly. Over the years, generations of boys, fathers and sons, all got a taste of that whistling cane. If he was in charge now, someone would have surely been raising a stink about the chain-smoking, ash-dropping, cane-strumming foreign priest.
Today teachers are measured by how well they prepare children for all the competitive examinations that lie ahead. Father Bouche’s job was different – it was to fashion us out of mud and bruised grass and send us out into the world.
Listen to an audio diary of Sandip Roy’s heartwarming story about Fr. Camille Bouche, based on his 2011 tribute on Firstpost, here: