Memories #17-English lessons

My 10 A classmates were up in arms saying that I never write about them; most of my posts involve stories from the adjacent class of which I had also been a part of. In my defense it is not intentional as to what I choose to write about. How can I not write about the fond memories of my very own class which I once topped.Firstly a brief about this motley bunch of 43 students who were notorious in our school for all the wrong reasons. Our class teacher, a veteran of sorts used to lament on the fact that this was one of the worst batches she had ever seen in her chequered teaching career. Our Principal had a dedicated corner in his room where you could always find one of my classmates being pulled up for indiscipline. 

Into this mix comes Mr P to teach English. He was a peculiar character who used to exaggerate the words a bit when he spoke the queens language. For instance he threw you out by saying ‘out you go’ in a loud and booming voice instead of a simple “get out”. You were in ‘jeopardy’ of being thrown out of class if you didn’t get your act straight because of his strictness. One fine day Mr P was in a rotten mood ‘chucked’ out M on the least of provocations. At that opportune moment our Principal was in the midst of his routine rounds. Seeing him at the end of the corridor like clockwork M sneaks back into the class at the very instant when Mr P’s back turns towards the black board and stealthily closes the door. This enables him to stay out of sight of the Principal for the time being by hiding behind the door.It is a matter of time before Mr P finds the door shut much to his chagrin. He asks M to leave the door ‘ajar’. In response to this J points to a dozing D with his mouth open thoroughly tired after a game of intense cricket during the lunch break. J exclaims “ Sir, his mouth is ‘ajar’. Mr P exclaims ‘silly boy’ his mouth his ‘agape’ not ‘ajar’ and goes on to shake D from his stupor with an earful. This left the entire class in splits which led to a ‘pandemonium’;  D and J join M for company at the door. 

One fine day Mr P was checking on the homework in class and there were a good number of us who did not complete it. Mr P was trying to understand as to why so many of us didn’t finish their homework. A general trend was that we forgot about it all and would do it the next day. To which Mr P gave a word of caution ‘Procrastination is the thief of time’. As this unfolded  R from somewhere back in the class was tapping on the bench purely out of boredom trying to connect with the innate tabla artist within him. A quip from Mr P “Who is the carpenter’s son here?” silenced him for the rest of the academic year.

Another day the same story repeats and Mr P in a candid moment tells the class that ‘Old habits die hard’ so you guys better mend your ways or else you will get into trouble sooner or later in life.He rounded off the lecture by saying ‘let bygones be bygones’ and ‘let sleeping dogs lie’. He was ready to move on and implored us to start afresh . But we never changed I and for him we always remained ‘incorrigible.’ 

Another fine day our Maths teacher was on leave. Being in the midst of the first board exam of our lives we were always under a lot of pressure. In turn we never ‘let slip’ an opportunity to just go play to our hearts delight. Our class leader B was dispatched promptly to the Principal’s office to capitalise on this juicy opportunity to squeeze in a games period. The tension was palpable as we were all in anticipation of a much needed break. We were in for a shock when Mr P walks into the class and a pall gloom descends through the entire room. At that very instant every soul in the class was cursing B. What a useless guy he was, who couldn’t get this simple task done and why the hell did he go call Mr P when he was supposed to get us a goddamn games period. 

Meanwhile, B was on cloud nine when he managed to negotiate a games period with the Principal. In his excitement he took a detour to the games room manned by the ‘effervescent’ Jose uncle to get the required sports 'paraphernalia’. With a huge smile written on his face he rushed into the class to announce his successful conquest oblivious to the fact that Mr P was in full flow. He froze in terror when he realised that Mr P was glaring at him who went on to ‘chide’ him for his recklessness. A crestfallen B walked back to his seat dejected; he should have noticed something was amiss when he walked into the unusually quiet classroom, in his moment of ecstasy he chose to ignore this fact as he walked in.A collective sigh escaped the room as it came to light that we had cursed this hapless soul needlessly a  moment ago.The ‘omnipotent’ Mr P had pulled a fast one on us; the moment he saw a window of an opportunity to cover some unfinished portions he just grabbed it.On second thoughts B felt that the Principal on his part might have been in a ‘dilemma’ given the fact that he was deliberating  with his deputy as B walked in with his request.

A few of my classmates currently reside in or are in the vicinity of Ohio in the US of A but not many of them recollect that for the first time in our lives it was Mr P who taught us the correct pronunciation, it is Oh "io” instead of Oh"ei"o which we were using until then.

My post today though a light hearted take on my 10th standard English lessons is actually quite the contrary . All the ‘words’ in the post that are in single quotes are directly taken from the vocabulary that I was introduced by Mr P in that very classroom. If I am still able to recollect these words after close to two decades it is testimony to the greatness of Mr P as a teacher. As a writer I will be forever indebted to Mr P for introducing me to a totally new set of words quite early in life thereby bringing in some diversity to my existing vocabulary. It has also to be mentioned that I have only used first letters to denote the names of my characters in this post. That is due to the fact that I don’t recollect the names of the guys who were in these hilarious situations. For the record these blokes include globe trotting academicians, business men, doctors, software engineers,management professionals,HR executives,marketing leaders,civil servants among many others.     

With Inputs from Arun R,Nidhin Thomas,Jithin Thomas,Sudarsan,Sreekumar,Rahul Ravind, Bijo Thomas

In case you liked my post please check out  similar posts Mitochondria, An inspiring teacher, We are the underdogs, English lessons

Memories #16-The Lunch break

This blog originally posted on 18.08.2020 was published in the Loyola School, Trivandrum Diamond Jubilee Souvenir almost a year later

In case you want to read the article as a digital copy in the diamond jubilee souvenir please scroll down

The lunch recess in school was divided into two parts: the first, lasting anywhere between 3 and 10 minutes serving its actual purpose, and the second, for making a run to the football ground. Undoubtedly, this period of time was the most anticipated part of any day in school. It was a no-brainer that lunch was the last thing on our minds. 

This practice of having lunch in under five minutes has come in quite handy later in life—when we squeeze in breakfast before our mad rush to the office or a quick lunch on a busy afternoon plagued with meetings. On the other hand, my heart goes out to all those mothers/guardians who diligently prepared our daily lunch by putting in their lives and souls on something that their wards would just breeze through. Only when we started to cook on our own did it dawn upon us the pain that our parents undertook to pack our daily lunches.

Now, let us take a step back and observe the different kinds of students you would come across during a typical lunch break. Couch potatoes like me preferred to sit and eat in class before making a beeline to wash our tiffin boxes, and subsequently, make our way to the ground. This lot went on to become academicians and researchers. 

Then, there were others who rushed to the ground, balancing their tiffin boxes to eat while sprinting. This category went on to become Project Managers and Software Engineers who can get any job done on the run. 

Another group of guys would line up at the doorstep of the Games Room manned by the ever-smiling Jose Uncle. This was to procure cricket bats/basketballs/footballs, which were to be used during the recess. This bunch consumed their lunches standing by the door of the Games room. This set of guys went on to occupy the leadership positions of their companies or got into supply-chain management.

There were only a limited number of trees in the periphery of the ground. These also doubled up as wickets for the game of cricket and were allotted on a first-come-first-serve basis. Some of the designated daves were earmarked to make a run for these trees and reserve them for their team. They would hold the fort so that no one else would come and lay claims on the tree. In the meantime, their lunch was in the company of birds under the cool shade of the trees. These blokes went on to become officers of the armed forces.

Quite often, disagreements would crop up between two parties when this reservation system went awry. In such cases, there would be some guy who would play the arbitrator or bulldoze his way through to suit his group’s interests; these guys went on to become hot-shot lawyers.

Finally, there was another group of guys who were meant to get things ready before the games paraphernalia arrives on the ground, which would include selecting teams, ensuring the toss is done in cricket, choosing sides for the goal, selecting a team, and so on and so forth. Needless to say, these guys ended up becoming HR professionals and management professionals in their respective organisations—no points for guessing where the toppers of the class would be all this while.

A similar drill was witnessed towards the end of the lunch break as well. We would continue to play, even after the bell went off announcing the conclusion of the recess. Half hardheartedly, one by one, the students would trudge back to the class, drenched from head to toe in sweat. 

An enterprising few would still continue playing for some more time like a dying flame before rushing back to the class only to be chided by the teacher at the door. While this bloke is making his walk of shame to his seat, there will be one guy who would sneer at him and make a sarcastic comment in a “told you so” manner—he would eventually end up as a consultant. The guy who came in late would end up as an entrepreneur or a businessman.  

 

Graphic: Theatre Of Dreams by Aravind Senan (2013)

Quite recently, a painting of this very ground by a talented artist who happened to be our junior was shared in our class WhatsApp group. This scene from one of the most colourful epochs of our lives evoked a rush of nostalgia. What was even more, many of us, including the writer, had a dream of this very ground through the subsequent week. Mind you; this was almost a decade-and-a-half after our batch had left school.

Dreams, in Freud’s view as per Wikipedia, are formed as the result of two mental processes. The first process involves unconscious forces that construct a wish that is expressed by the dream, and the second is the process of censorship that forcibly distorts the expression of the wish. All dreams are forms of “wish fulfilment.” 

My classmates, in their early thirties, are spread all across the world; these dreams are manifestations of their inherent desire to come back one more time to their alma mater and play a game of football with their friends. After being overwhelmed by these accounts, we decided to host a virtual meetup to discuss more on this topic. Surprisingly there was a blockbuster attendance which was a testimony of its importance. 

During the call, we rued the fact that we didn’t have any photographs of us playing football on this very ground. It was an age before Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, Twitter or the like. As rightly put by Sreejith Unnikrishnan, “In fact, it was good that we didn’t have anything of that sort back in the day else we would have spent more time posing for pictures rather than actually playing.” This is exactly the reason why we don’t need physical proof of our time spent at the football ground; the times we spent in those hallowed grounds akin to the generations of our fellow Loyolites had left an indelible mark in our hearts.

With the passage of time, a two-dimensional photograph may disintegrate due to the elements, but the memories will forever linger in our hearts. 

“Cheer Loyola sons

Cheer till game is won...”

Note:

Aravind Senan, an artist at heart from the batch of 2013, is currently pursuing his Post Graduation in Animation Film Design from the National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad.

Angelo Bevin, an avid blogger from the batch of 2001, is currently working as a Management Professional at Mindcurv, Cochin. He blogs at: randomthoughts

The Goa chronicles- Part 1

I still don’t get it as to why I was having a fixation on Goa right from the time of my maiden visit to the coastal state somewhere in my mid twenties. For starters I come from a state that has got some great beaches so that cannot be a reason. In my childhood I was extremely religious for my age and mind you I am an altar boy* with close to 6 years of experience,could it be churches; again a vehement no . Was it cheap alcohol? as I am not much of a tippler so that can be ruled out as well. Could it be food; but you do get great food in Bombay and Kerala; partly yes i would say. What impressed me most was the laid back vibes of the city akin to my personality. Time stood still when you were there; many a times you could witness that the people lived their lives at a leisurely pace, a far cry from the din and fury associated with Bombay.

The first birthday of either one of us after marriage coupled with the fact that both of us had just recovered from a bout of jaundice made us think that we need to do something special. I don’t recollect as to how exactly Goa came into the mix of things. I had only been to Goa a couple of times before;Jeslin had never been to Goa. She had been going ga ga about her trip to Kashmir for quite sometime now which she undertook a few months prior to our marriage. So the stakes were pretty high as far as I was concerned because I wanted to beat that.Driving down from Bombay to Goa a distance of about 600 kms would be a coup d'etat under the given circumstances. 

I was quite skeptical to be frank, for the uninitiated I was not much of a guy when it came to driving a car. I used to drive only if it was absolutely necessary. My brother was crazy about driving so I was more than happy to hand over the wheel to him whenever possible. This resulted in my driving being beginner level but he turned out to be an exceptional driver. Towards the end of my bachelorhood when K, an officer from the armed forces had got posted in Pune. Most of the weekends Jian, Arun, Soto,John and myself used to take off either to Lonavala or Pune with me at the driving seat of the White Swift. All of us were classmates in our alma mater Loyola School,Trivandrum so it was like a homecoming after so many years and very much anticipated. That was the longest distance that I had driven before the erstwhile Goa trip. The trip to Goa was at least 3 times more than that and had to be covered within a day.   

I had heard about the Mumbai Pune expressway for the first time in my 7th standard about how the tires of the car would burst because of the heat caused due to friction as a result of the speed at which they would be traveling. Though not a pleasant fact for some odd reason it stuck to my memory. I was quite thrilled when I drove through it for the very first time because it is like revisiting something you studied in school in flesh and blood. Quite often you are transported back to the classroom where I was a brooding bespectacled teenager.It was quite a coincidence that my very own classmates at that time were my co-passengers in the current trip.  

Lonavala

We zeroed down on the resort that we needed to stay at and made the bookings promptly. My only criteria was that we needed to spend enough time for me to rest and recuperate before driving back. I switched on to my planning mode to finalise the route that we should be taking. Meanwhile,Jeslin went on mapping the must visit food joints that we should hit according to the distance from our place of stay along with other places of interest. Our individual objectives were pretty much mutually exclusive so that there was no room for a conflict. I was in charge of getting us to Goa and back while she had to ensure that we had a good time over there.The fact of the matter was that I enjoy planning a trip meticulously beforehand as much as the actual trip.It wasn’t much different this time around as well which was very similar to the than countless other times like our college trips.

Finally the D-day arrived, we woke up at 4:00 am in the morning and started our trip around 5:00 am. Jeslin remarked to me that she had not woken up so early in her life even for her board exams. The rains had let up a bit and we could leave Bombay without much hassle. Incidentally, this was also our first time that we used Google maps for navigation courtesy my birthday gift for Jeslin. 

All set

The Mumbai Pune expressway was a breeze; it was quite romantic to be driving through lush greenery with the monsoons painting a wet blanket over everything.After Pune the route was quite new to me, the last time I had travelled through here was exactly 2 years ago on one hell of a trip from Bombay to Trivandrum along with my mother and brother.In a bid to save time Jeslin had packed chapati rolls with a filling of chicken and a few boiled eggs. There was enough supply of water as well so that we didn't need to stop for food enroute. This was a masterstroke I would say because the few heavy spells of rain slowed us down considerably. But nothing prepared for what was to come next.

There was an all important detour at Nipani(refer map above) a little after Kolhapur where you get off the Pune Bangalore highway to make your way to Goa. Thanks to my attention to detail we took the right turn.Back in Bombay I had even checked out the real time google maps and memorised it a couple of times because of its importance. But on our way back we got a bit complacent and lost a turn in the stretch which caused us a fair amount of inconvenience to us and made us realise its importance.

The beast

Once I took the turn it took quite a bit of time to adjust because suddenly you are switching from 4 lane to 2 lane. Now you have to also factor in the vehicles coming in from the opposite side which was not the case earlier. We had covered a little over two thirds of the total distance by then. The progress was understandably slow and to compound matters there was a torrential downpour when we crossed Amboli Ghat. It was raining cats and dogs, our descent downhill had turned tricky with raindrops crashing into the windshield with unmatched ferocity that even the viper blades failed to keep up .With the visibility being reduced to a few metres we had to switch on our headlights and put on our blinkers as well. Till date this is one of the toughest and challenging stretches that I have ever driven through. I will be honest with you that my heart was in my mouth as I was driving at a snail’s pace. We could have parked the car by the side and waited for the rains to clear a bit. But living in Bombay for a few years now made us realise that this kind of rain could go on for hours. Moreover, we were also losing daylight quite fast, navigating such dangerous terrain bereft of street lights could be even more treacherous for driving. The calculated risk paid off because we reached the plains by the time the sun set, by then only around 80 kms separated us from our destination. 

Dark clouds over the horizon

But the rains were relentless and things were starting to get tough given the fact that we had a long day. The final stretch was excruciatingly frustrating more than what we had signed up for. There was no other option but to soldier on. The last nail in the coffin for my desperation to peak was when the so far reliable Google maps pulled out a fast one on you by taking you to the backside of the resort. I vented out my ire on my navigator even though it was no fault of hers. We finally checked in by 7:30 PM after being on the road for close to 15 hours. Due to which we decided to call it a day and grab dinner from the resort itself. We weren’t disappointed to say the least courtesy a live band was performing at the dining hall. They dedicated the popular goan song “maria pitache” to the tired couple in attendance making their evening all the more special. Our first goan trip together had indeed started with a bang.

Picture abhi bhi baaki hain mere dost….

                       

                                                                                                    {To be continued……}