Loyola then was not as large a cluster of imposing edifices as it is now. The whole new block with Berchman's Hall on the top floor didn't exist then ('New'? many may wonder, but for us who were around when it was being built, it was a sad day when the KG playground made way for it...).
Junior School in those days was housed in a block of Baker-designed, quaint old buildings...I remember, the classrooms were unnaturally cool even in the hottest of summers.
The stairs leading down from the quadrangle there would take us into the 'forest'....Where Mr CT Varkey would take PT classes followed by the games period...They had these huge tyres tied from trees, so conveniently for the little monkeys that we were to try acrobatics!!!...The forest, where we'd set up 'camps' during exams, mark out boundaries, and fight over right of way...:)
Arre, here I go on my ramblings again forgetting what I started out with in the first place.
So, rewind to '89 (think I've got the year right).
It had been raining for quite some time, and we'd got used to staying indoors all day...colourful umbrellas lined both sides of the class room, and the familiar musty smell of wet wood permeated the air...an ideal afternoon to doze off.....
Father MM Thomas comes up to the door and gesticulates urgently to Maithri Ma'am...They confer for a few moments and Ma'am tells us to pack up our things and pick up our bags...We look at each other delightedly "No more class?"Gyaani, Mr 'Know-it-all', floats his theory: 'Class Photograph'.'Yeah' sniggers somebody,'in this weather'.
Soon we are ready and moving out of the blocks, and heading towards the main building. I look around and see that the whole Junior School is out, carefully herded by worried looking teachers. 'Cyclone warning!' somebody whispers, and the smiles die out...
There we are, seated quietly in the library , eyes growing rounder and rounder, as Maithri Ma'am explains that there has been a cyclone warning, and we've been shifted to the newer buildings lest the old blocks collapse. 'Don't worry, we're all here,' she tells us reassuringly, but I can see worry shadow her eyes. And then Murray Ma'am starts off with Dumb Charades and Damu pins a paper tail to JD'S shorts...Anson and Binu are soon arguing over whose 'magnetic pencil box' is better....Vinod starts wailing for his mother and is promptly carried away by Lazar uncle....Boys will be boys, we soon forget all about the cyclone, and start exploring the library....
Well, nothing finally happened that day...the blocks refused to fall down in strong gusts of wind and Mr Baker had the last laugh....
What touched me most, if not then and there as a nine-year old, but later, in retrospect, was the love and affection that our teachers had for us, so evident on that rainy day. Maithri ma'am with her reassuring words, Murray Ma'am involving us in games to divert our worries, the 'strict' Elaine Ma'am not raising an eyebrow at the squabbling Damu and JD....Our dear 'uncles' Lazar uncle and Rajappan uncle, harangued and harassed but patient and ever smiling...
Schooldays.....aye, aye siree... those were the best days of my life....
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
The Man With The Golden Stick.....Part I
So goes a poem in a 'Loyolite' now forgotten somewhere in the archives of our library. The Late Reverend Father Mathew Pulickal, SJ.... the man with the golden stick.... the priest who taught us to face difficulties firm on our feet.... the man who told us, so long before Chumbawamba made their song,: "You may get knocked down, but you'll get up again, nothing should keep you down...."
I met Father perhaps at my interview into Loyola...don't remember much about that...would have been a kid of four then? But quite a few of my childhood memories have him in them...At the bus boarding points, wielding his cane, instantaneously bringing order and discipline to what was just then a definition of chaos....On the corridors, sharply looking out for 'smart cookies' who'd jump through windows into class rooms..."Da!!!"....His moral science classes, where he'd take us through a diverse world of culture, history, society, and the part we have to play as responsible citizens...Those discourses on World and National history, where he'd open his diary and take us back in time....His 'pink slip' summons which every boy lived in mortal fear of....Father Pulickal presiding over the distribution of new text books every academic year.."Do well...ozhappi nadakkaruthu...."....His famous notice board inclusions.."Howlers" he called them, excerpts from our attempts at History and Civics....Father, thank you for every thing you did...I know that from up above, where those closest to God are, Pulickal Achan is smiling down at all of us...I hope we've lived up to your expectations, father....
The cane....a mighty weapon of those days....lest any body misunderstands, it was never used for 'caning'....such punishments were and still are unheard of in Loyola (from Father Varkey's times at least)...The cane was more of a deterrent...and didn't we truly need it? Looking back now, it was never used unjustly....when deserving, we got the 'kolu mithaai' and every time we knew it was coming.....like when we were seriously engaged in the sport of assailing the neighborhood's mango trees with missiles of varying nature..."Puli varunnedaaa....vittodaaa"...or loitering outside the auditorium balcony during assembly, discussing Urmila Matondkar during Mani Achan's address.....Or bunking the Youth Festival and going for 'Daud' first day, first show....."Da da da kochane....aanakku underwear thayippikkaley!!!!" But the charge sheets of these achievements never reached home.... Father had only the soundest advice to give at PTA meetings, words of encouragement and suggestions for improvement.
His snuff-box : the curious mixture held within was a mystery to all of us. But remember Father Pulickal, and Achante 'mookippodi' always comes to mind....
I remember, he had a diary in which he had carefully chronicled his travels.... he'd tell us stories of Rome and the Vatican, of Greece and the Parthenon, as eager ears strained to catch every word he said.... 'Me too will go someday, promise', I told myself....Today, as the Navy takes me on deployments around the world, I smile to myself....njanum vannacho!!!
I met Father perhaps at my interview into Loyola...don't remember much about that...would have been a kid of four then? But quite a few of my childhood memories have him in them...At the bus boarding points, wielding his cane, instantaneously bringing order and discipline to what was just then a definition of chaos....On the corridors, sharply looking out for 'smart cookies' who'd jump through windows into class rooms..."Da!!!"....His moral science classes, where he'd take us through a diverse world of culture, history, society, and the part we have to play as responsible citizens...Those discourses on World and National history, where he'd open his diary and take us back in time....His 'pink slip' summons which every boy lived in mortal fear of....Father Pulickal presiding over the distribution of new text books every academic year.."Do well...ozhappi nadakkaruthu...."....His famous notice board inclusions.."Howlers" he called them, excerpts from our attempts at History and Civics....Father, thank you for every thing you did...I know that from up above, where those closest to God are, Pulickal Achan is smiling down at all of us...I hope we've lived up to your expectations, father....
The cane....a mighty weapon of those days....lest any body misunderstands, it was never used for 'caning'....such punishments were and still are unheard of in Loyola (from Father Varkey's times at least)...The cane was more of a deterrent...and didn't we truly need it? Looking back now, it was never used unjustly....when deserving, we got the 'kolu mithaai' and every time we knew it was coming.....like when we were seriously engaged in the sport of assailing the neighborhood's mango trees with missiles of varying nature..."Puli varunnedaaa....vittodaaa"...or loitering outside the auditorium balcony during assembly, discussing Urmila Matondkar during Mani Achan's address.....Or bunking the Youth Festival and going for 'Daud' first day, first show....."Da da da kochane....aanakku underwear thayippikkaley!!!!" But the charge sheets of these achievements never reached home.... Father had only the soundest advice to give at PTA meetings, words of encouragement and suggestions for improvement.
His snuff-box : the curious mixture held within was a mystery to all of us. But remember Father Pulickal, and Achante 'mookippodi' always comes to mind....
I remember, he had a diary in which he had carefully chronicled his travels.... he'd tell us stories of Rome and the Vatican, of Greece and the Parthenon, as eager ears strained to catch every word he said.... 'Me too will go someday, promise', I told myself....Today, as the Navy takes me on deployments around the world, I smile to myself....njanum vannacho!!!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
O Heavenly Brew!!!
Simon (Simon's story is for later) gets me a mug of brown fluid. I see specks of black/grey floating around in it. "Chai, saab!" Really? I raise an eyebrow. Flecks of cigarette ash, presumably, the alien floating objects... "Thanks, yaar". Say I, ever the stickler to social equality.
The Barracks serve pathetic tea. Anything to accompany the cigg, so I shrug my shoulders and resigned to fate, take a sip from the mug. He's managed to flavour it well, indeed. Shabash to the cook or whoever brewed this.
Tea as I remember it, came carefully picked and lovingly packaged from my uncle's estate in Munnar....The very act of Mom cooking tea would be advertised by the aroma floating around the kitchen..That, and the smell of freshly frying banana chips...Aaah, for those good old days...My Dad had a penchant for pointing out shortcomings in even the best tea Mom brewed... I'll get him across one day and give him a sample of Simon's tea...He'll probably castigate the poor chap for sacrilege!!
And then there is the tea Cadet's Mess gave us. The tea we fought for, until 'angle of maximum tilt' to the decanter was established and even the most stubborn Mallu couldn't extract a drop more...Not for its aromatic value or exquisite flavour, no siree...It gave us an excuse to hang around for a li'l more time. For a cadet beleaguered with PT, drill, acads, hikes, punishments and lot more, 'coursemates' are the only solace (Jat and my cabin-for-all-seasons is a fallout of this), and teatime was some time to cherish.
And of course, the Mallu's fixation with tea. The staple beverage in any Mallu home, we'd been brought up on copious amounts of tea...Bye bye, Kerala and hello Barracks...lo! no more quality tea. Thus resigned to an unsavoury fate, I sip at Simon's 'chai' and make a face....
A few years back, I'd made a sojourn into the interiors of Kashmir(yep, yet another story) and I'd come across an interesting concoction called 'kah-vah', the Kashmiri equivalent of Tea. Imagine my amazement when I discovered that this 'tea' was actually SALTY!! Didn't want to offend the kind lady who was serving us, and held on, but soon I grew to like the taste...
And then again in Porbandar, the city where the Mahatma was born, I tasted spicy 'kah-vah' on the waterfront. Was it a smart salesman trying to pass it of as the real Kashmiri kah-vah, I wonder?
A true mallu, they say, would accept a mug of the vilest poison, if somebody were to tell him that its tea. I agree, it is for me, a part of my ethnicity. So I call Simon, and say....Mug bhar ke laana (get me more tea).....
The Barracks serve pathetic tea. Anything to accompany the cigg, so I shrug my shoulders and resigned to fate, take a sip from the mug. He's managed to flavour it well, indeed. Shabash to the cook or whoever brewed this.
Tea as I remember it, came carefully picked and lovingly packaged from my uncle's estate in Munnar....The very act of Mom cooking tea would be advertised by the aroma floating around the kitchen..That, and the smell of freshly frying banana chips...Aaah, for those good old days...My Dad had a penchant for pointing out shortcomings in even the best tea Mom brewed... I'll get him across one day and give him a sample of Simon's tea...He'll probably castigate the poor chap for sacrilege!!
And then there is the tea Cadet's Mess gave us. The tea we fought for, until 'angle of maximum tilt' to the decanter was established and even the most stubborn Mallu couldn't extract a drop more...Not for its aromatic value or exquisite flavour, no siree...It gave us an excuse to hang around for a li'l more time. For a cadet beleaguered with PT, drill, acads, hikes, punishments and lot more, 'coursemates' are the only solace (Jat and my cabin-for-all-seasons is a fallout of this), and teatime was some time to cherish.
And of course, the Mallu's fixation with tea. The staple beverage in any Mallu home, we'd been brought up on copious amounts of tea...Bye bye, Kerala and hello Barracks...lo! no more quality tea. Thus resigned to an unsavoury fate, I sip at Simon's 'chai' and make a face....
A few years back, I'd made a sojourn into the interiors of Kashmir(yep, yet another story) and I'd come across an interesting concoction called 'kah-vah', the Kashmiri equivalent of Tea. Imagine my amazement when I discovered that this 'tea' was actually SALTY!! Didn't want to offend the kind lady who was serving us, and held on, but soon I grew to like the taste...
And then again in Porbandar, the city where the Mahatma was born, I tasted spicy 'kah-vah' on the waterfront. Was it a smart salesman trying to pass it of as the real Kashmiri kah-vah, I wonder?
A true mallu, they say, would accept a mug of the vilest poison, if somebody were to tell him that its tea. I agree, it is for me, a part of my ethnicity. So I call Simon, and say....Mug bhar ke laana (get me more tea).....
Amen!
Valiantly the warrior strides, across the quiet battlefield. The war is over, its spoils looted and the victory meticulously recorded for posterity. Thirty thousand have avenged the 300 who stood their ground and died at Xerxes sword. Curtains!!! Credits!!!!
Around me, the waters have crept up steadily....It had been raining quite heavily for sometime now...I looked out of my porthole and saw a steady downpour....Mumbai decidedly slushy....Would be quite a conquest to challenge the elements and try for any outdoor stuff.... I'd rather stay indoors and watch Man U take on Manchester City. Ominous clouds loom up in the sky and make the decision for me....its pouring now, and any thought of hitting the city goes into the bin.
The Barracks are group of solid, imposing structures by the sea. Co-inhabited by like-minded bachelors from across the country, they offer a large cross-section of the Indian society for study. Who'd care for such a study I wonder???
I like these buildings...no, its not about any facet of remarkable architecture, it's the ethos that I admire, of 'all for one, and one for all' as the Musketeers put it....Men-at-arms do care for the camaraderie, mind you....So I have a place to go on lazy, rainy days, and thence I departed.
I'm here at the Barracks, and a few of the staff raise their hands in weary salute....Beautiful weather, sahib!!! Kam se kam, the cars are getting washed!!!
Loud music blares out form an open doorway into the corridors...Jat is at home. I find him negotiating the complicated task(s) of working on his computer, talking on the phone, smoking a cigg and having a cup of tea(they call it tea here, but that's a different story). "Have to go on duty man, you guys could've told you'd be coming??!!" Jat vents his disgust at me."Enjoy!"say I and proceed to make myself comfortable.
Around me, the waters have crept up steadily....It had been raining quite heavily for sometime now...I looked out of my porthole and saw a steady downpour....Mumbai decidedly slushy....Would be quite a conquest to challenge the elements and try for any outdoor stuff.... I'd rather stay indoors and watch Man U take on Manchester City. Ominous clouds loom up in the sky and make the decision for me....its pouring now, and any thought of hitting the city goes into the bin.
The Barracks are group of solid, imposing structures by the sea. Co-inhabited by like-minded bachelors from across the country, they offer a large cross-section of the Indian society for study. Who'd care for such a study I wonder???
I like these buildings...no, its not about any facet of remarkable architecture, it's the ethos that I admire, of 'all for one, and one for all' as the Musketeers put it....Men-at-arms do care for the camaraderie, mind you....So I have a place to go on lazy, rainy days, and thence I departed.
I'm here at the Barracks, and a few of the staff raise their hands in weary salute....Beautiful weather, sahib!!! Kam se kam, the cars are getting washed!!!
Loud music blares out form an open doorway into the corridors...Jat is at home. I find him negotiating the complicated task(s) of working on his computer, talking on the phone, smoking a cigg and having a cup of tea(they call it tea here, but that's a different story). "Have to go on duty man, you guys could've told you'd be coming??!!" Jat vents his disgust at me."Enjoy!"say I and proceed to make myself comfortable.
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