In the misty hills of Dehradun, where the Doon Valley whispers secrets through its pine trees, Mrs Cherry Jain emerged as a beacon of education, blending grace, grit, and a touch of glamour into her remarkable life. Born into a Christian family, Cherry’s early years were steeped in the rhythms of hymns and community gatherings. Her faith shaped her compassionate spirit, but love had its own plans. When she met and married Mr. Jain, a kind-hearted man from a traditional Jain background, it was a beautiful union of worlds. “Darling, our differences make us stronger,” she’d often say with a warm smile, embracing her new surname while holding onto her roots. Cherry Jain became a name synonymous with elegance and resilience.

Her passion for the English language was legendary. With a voice that could make Shakespeare sound like casual conversation, Miss Jain joined St. Thomas School in Dehradun as an English teacher in the 1970s. Her command over spoken English was impeccable—crisp, articulate, and infused with that rare ability to make grammar feel like poetry. Students adored her not just for her lessons, but for the way she poured her heart into every class. “Why settle for ‘good’ when you can aim for ‘eloquent’?” she’d challenge her pupils, staying late to refine essays or practice pronunciations. Unlike some educators who pushed for extra home tuitions to pad their pockets, Mrs Jain believed in the power of the classroom. “If we work hard here, my dears, the world outside will bow to your words,” she’d insist, turning school hours into transformative sessions.

But it wasn’t just words; Mrs Jain cared deeply for her students, treating them like her own. One rainy afternoon, when a shy boy struggled with public speaking, she pulled him aside after class. “Come now, Raj, let’s try that speech again. Imagine you’re chatting with a friend over chai.” Under her guidance, he blossomed, later crediting her for his confidence. Her dedication extended beyond books—she was the school’s musical soul, her fingers dancing across the piano keys during assemblies. The halls would fill with the soul-stirring notes of hymns like “Amazing Grace,” her playing so emotive that even the rowdiest kids fell silent in awe.

Of course, life at St. Thomas wasn’t without its dramas. Mrs Jain’s unwavering standards sometimes ruffled feathers among colleagues. Whispers of plots circulated—jealous teachers scheming to undermine her, perhaps envious of her popularity or her spotless record. But she stood firm, like a Doon oak in a storm. “Let them talk,” she’d confide to a trusted friend over tea. “My work speaks louder than their whispers.” Her poise shone brightest in moments of correction, always delivered with kindness. Take the infamous assembly incident with Mr. Moses, the stern vice-principal. As the NCC cadets fidgeted and a few stragglers lingered, he boomed, “Both of you three left behind in assembly or NCC cadets left behind—stay put!”

Mrs Jain, ever the guardian of proper English, stepped forward with a gentle smile. “No, Mr. Moses, it is ‘all three of you stay here,’ and the NCC cadets should not disperse just yet.” The students stifled giggles, but Mr. Moses nodded, appreciating the precision. It was classic Cherry—fixing the world one sentence at a time.

Her style added to her charm. Draped in vibrant, colourful saris that swirled like autumn leaves—crimson reds, emerald greens, sunny yellows—she brought a splash of joy to the school’s corridors. And oh, her soft spot for gold jewellery! Friends often spotted her at Doon Jewellers, browsing delicate necklaces or intricate bangles. “A little sparkle never hurt anyone,” she’d laugh, her eyes twinkling as she tried on a piece. It wasn’t vanity; it was her way of celebrating life’s beauties. Whenever she met me, mostly at Doon Jewellers, where Vimal and Kamal Kapoor are also her students, she would hold our hands as in school, telling my wife, ‘they are my kid, you know’. Always full of affection, she was.

School socials were where Mrs Jain truly let loose. An accomplished dancer, she’d glide across the floor during events, her sari flowing as she waltzed or swayed to Bollywood beats. “Come on, everyone—life’s too short not to dance!” she’d call out, pulling reluctant teachers and students into the fun. Those evenings turned formal gatherings into memorable parties, forging bonds that lasted lifetimes.

After decades of shaping young minds at St. Thomas, Mrs Jain’s vision led her to greater heights. In the early 2000s, she became the principal of the Aryan School in Dehradun, where she transformed it into a nurturing haven for holistic education. Under her leadership, the institution flourished, emphasizing not just academics but character and creativity. Even in her principal’s chair, she remained approachable, often playing the piano at school functions or correcting a memo with her signature flair.

Today, Mrs Cherry Jain’s legacy endures in the eloquent voices of her former students and the harmonious spirit of the schools she touched. A Christian heart in a Jain home, a teacher who danced through challenges—she reminds us that true education is about love, hard work, and a dash of sparkle. As one alumnus put it, “Miss Jain didn’t just teach English; she taught us to live it.”