Snakes @ School

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Towards the end of yesterday's post, snakes crawled into my blog (after a long gap).

The above sentence reminds me of a time in March when fish were swimming into it. These fishy posts so troubled the heart of the Israeli-Desert-Based friend of Aniket, SG, that he wrote pleadingly to Aniket:

"....could u pls ask GPS not to turn so "fishy" on his blog? it's so tantalizing....out there he mentions hilsa, chingri and what not, with great abhor, and here I have to content myself with humus and falafel....."

So then on I had to debar fish whenever possible (mainly because he had said that these blogs remind him of Ruskin Bond; for a change, from shopworn RKN)

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But snakes are ok I guess, although Google tells me that rattle snakes are a delicacy in California, forget Far East.

As I was saying, yesterday I wrote, talking of Dorothy Parker's charming picture:

"....The filament of smoke from the fag goes snaking up like a cobra with her pen's venomous nib as its head......"

So here I go talking about the snakes that have entered my life.

The first snake that I saw at 3 was spotted by a widow on the lookout: it was a green snake on a green tree and launched me on my glorious career of unrepenting lies. Vinit ranks it his third best blog:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2009/10/seven-ages-of-lying-man.html

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The seaside Village Muthukur where I had my schooling was sandy and didn't have too many species of snakes. But had many tiny water-snakes, absolutely non-poisonous, and practically defenseless against groups of kids that cornered them with stones.

Kids in a bunch tend to be merciless. One leads and the rest follow the Leader till they face the music, get punished, sometimes rusticated for an year or two, if not jailed, in the prime of their later youth.

The seeds are sown in schools.

The equally harmless slim green snakes that climb trees and heights and always looked forlorn were very kind to us in our school:

The lower classes (barring the final and semifinal years) had no pucca classrooms. There were just two long sheds partitioned by mobile walls made of 'hole-y' thatched doors on wheels. It was the duty of Class Monitors to move them hither or thither depending on the need of the moment under the supervision of the two quarreling teachers on either side.

Each shed had a high ceiling which was covered by a dome of rotting bamboos and palm fronds and dried coconut leaves and stacks of hay, all held together by coconut fiber ropes (every village was self-sufficient as I described elsewhere).

There was a blackboard in each classroom on a mobile slanting mount; but few teachers except the unfortunate Maths Teacher had any use for it. The others told stories, gabbed, dictated and wielded the cane.

All boys of the lower classes happily squatted on the sandy floor. The ladies were provided with a few posh mats made of intertwining palm leaves, but many preferred the homely sand.

There were always a couple of 'back-benchers' expert at snake-spotting. The mandate given to them by the Monitor was to look out for green snakes crawling on the high roof. As soon as one of the foolish snakes was spotted, there would be a shout: "snake! snake!! snake!!!" followed unanimously by "where?, where??. where???"; and in a few moments there would be pandemonium. The Teacher had to satisfy himself that it was no lark; the expert from the 'back bench' would then come forward, snatch the Teacher's proprietary cane and point to the goofy snake who was so startled by the noise that he would halt in his slow tracks and stare down dumbly with questioning eyes.

The Teacher would be scared that the nervous snake would lose his head as well as his hold and drop down on the back of his shirt. So he would lead the entire class outdoors and call for the peon, who would come with his long 3-tier bamboo stick, launch it up and expertly let the snake climb onto it, bring him down and let him go up a neighboring tree.

By then a good half hour would have been spent usefully, till the Teacher reassembles his students and asks: "Where were we?" and try to resume his dictation: "Fourthly, Emperor Ashoka dug roadside wells......"; but finds the spell of Ashoka broke; and would 'Announce Games'.

The HM (my father) would then come for his Inspection and order relaying of the entire roof of the shed with more of the same (due to budgetary constraints) and call for quotations. The bids would have to be opened by the DEO who would find so many loopholes in the processing that fresh estimates would have to be approved and quotations called for again; by which time a couple of years would pass by and we would be in the prefinal year, shifting to the pucca rooms with a 'cemented' roof; and lose all interest in studies.

The other village Atmakur where we stayed earlier for a brief year was rocky, hilly, dry and had a plethora of snake species including the deadly cobra and krait.

Indeed on the very night when my father joined duties and was allotted an abandoned huge Government Bungalow due to shortage of rented houses, my mother was about to step on a hissing resident cobra in the makeshift Kitchen.

With the help of the local 'expert' tribal snake-catcher the cobra was captured after he immobilized her with his forked stick latching onto the snake's neck, gripping her by her tail, holding her upside down at arm's length, easing her into his pot and quickly closing the lid.

We kids were ordered to keep away bolted in a side room, but only my mother missed the Show.

The snake-catcher took away his cobra as well as Rs 10: as unjust an arrangement as the barber taking away my precious hair as well as Rs 50 in Hyderabad.

I suspect he released his cobra into some other frightened lady's kitchen whenever he was short of cash for his toddy.

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Post Script: Optional

I am told that Srinivas's sons, Sri Charan (Class XII) and Uma Varun (Class X) fight for who would first get hold of the Ishani booklets I send. Samit also reports that his son in Class XII enjoys them.

These tall tales I tell are meant for kids like them. If adults read them it is just because they are transported to their school life. That is why I am pleased that SG mentions Ruskin Bond. I first met Ruskin Bond in my son's Class X Reader in a story about an umbrella stealer. I recall writing a booklet Raadhaa Rhymes in simple words. I am unhappy that I can't find simpler words and often escape with a tougher one. But kids are specialists in getting the meaning of a new word if the context is clear.

Pratik once told me that, unlike modern stories which are based on dialogue, my stories have hardly any dialogue. That is because 'just' dialogue is for adults with a well-developed intellect which I don't pretend to have. Throughout my life I dealt with 18-year-olds and so never grew up (as Aniket admits). For decades, first years entering IIT nervously would meet gps in a Lecture or Lab and feel relieved. That was my business there.

Kids excel in pictures which can be seen. The whole Passing Show is new to them. When I look back on my school life, it is all pictures (say of snakes on the ceiling). I try to render them into words. Kids who read them render them back into pictures they can easily relate to and are happy.

RKN and Hemingway have been accused and ridiculed by their 'modern' contemporaries that their books don't demand dictionaries. RKN never cared to respond to criticism (he was too busy) but Hemingway said famously: "Big words don't necessarily mean Big emotions".


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