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Yesterday I was narrating how my father made me skip my Class 5 by hook and crook and got me admitted in Class 6 (1st Form) in the High School at Muthukur where he was HM. I stayed there till my Class 11 (6th Form), also called SSLC (Secondary School Leaving Certificate) Class.
In fact when Father joined the school it was not yet a Secondary School...it was passing through the phase of being upgraded year by year from what was called a Middle School (Upper Primary School) which had only up to Class 8 (3rd Form).
The rite of passage to Class 9 (4th Form) was the advent of the SSLC Register for each student. This was a booklet of about a dozen pages folded and sewed up in the middle (there were no staples and staplers then). It was about 3/4 of what is now called A-4 size. And it came with a greenish cover which was made of jute cloth threaded with cotton. This combination was practically indestructible...it had to last one's lifetime. It was like the Atman of Gita:
By the time my turn came to get my moles entered into my SSLC Register, our AHM could find only one...that too in the shameful reaches of my upper right thigh, to find which he stripped me as naked as a bullock. Father hadn't done his homework properly and took it for granted that I too would have at least 2 of the damned things on my body like everyone else.
He was at a loss then and remembered that I fell down from my tricycle when I was all of 3 and had a nasty deep cut on my face that had to be stitched up by the local doctor with a veterinary needle and twine thread. And the mark stays forever, even now. And so my SSLC Register contained this in Father's impeccable English that read:
2. A permanent bruise mark of stitches on the left half of the face an inch above the left eyebrow
or some such detailed essay.
It is not good to have such highly visible injury marks that can't be hid, as you will be caught by the police as happened with our famous serial killer (Bikini Killer). This chap was an international figure and escaped arrest several times. But when he was about to leave India for France from Goa after one of his adventures, a legendary policeman laid a trap for him at the Airport Restaurant. And caught him...it is a different story that BK escaped from prison by bribing his warders with cameras and wrist watches.
This chap always wore a cloth cap like our cricketers. For good reason...in one of his early brawls he had sustained a head injury and got it stitched up, and that would be a sure giveaway as proof of his identity. But this police officer knew all about it, and when he challenged our BK, he (BK) denied tooth and nail that he wasn't the BK that the police went after. Upon which our vigilant police officer pulled out his cap (BK's), groped and felt his scalp and found the stitched up groove and produced him in the Magistrate's Court.
Alas, I can't hide my after-birth mark unless I wear a face mask...like:
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Yesterday I was narrating how my father made me skip my Class 5 by hook and crook and got me admitted in Class 6 (1st Form) in the High School at Muthukur where he was HM. I stayed there till my Class 11 (6th Form), also called SSLC (Secondary School Leaving Certificate) Class.
In fact when Father joined the school it was not yet a Secondary School...it was passing through the phase of being upgraded year by year from what was called a Middle School (Upper Primary School) which had only up to Class 8 (3rd Form).
The rite of passage to Class 9 (4th Form) was the advent of the SSLC Register for each student. This was a booklet of about a dozen pages folded and sewed up in the middle (there were no staples and staplers then). It was about 3/4 of what is now called A-4 size. And it came with a greenish cover which was made of jute cloth threaded with cotton. This combination was practically indestructible...it had to last one's lifetime. It was like the Atman of Gita:
nainam chindanti shashtrani
nainam dahati paavaka
na cainam kledayanty aapo
na shochayati maaruta:
It is not pierced by armaments
Nor is it burnt by fire
Nor dampened by water
Nor dried up by wind
This Register was proof of the many facets of our persona like date of birth, caste, sex, father's name, marks of identification, and many other things entered into its first page by the HM. And once entered and signed by the HM, none of its contents could be changed without recourse to affidavits (fake) in the courts of law. Much like Omar Khayyam's:
The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all they tears wash a word of it
Indeed this was the last chance for a parent to declare the date of birth of his ward...many used to cook it up as suited their projected convenience...there were no Birth Certificates then issued by the Municipality of Panchayat (for a consideration). Father was too honest to fiddle with my date of birth of which I continue to remain unaware (it was hearsay as far as I am concerned).
21 years after my declared date of birth, I had to show this SSLC Register to the Assistant Registrar of IIT KGP as proof of my DoB. And 40 years later he was kind enough to issue me my Pension Card as proof of my present date of birth...I lost my SSLC Register sometime after my retirement and I regret it very much...it had loads of enchanting info about my humble self.
More than the date of birth, the SSLC Register had our id proof in 2 items. They usually consisted of moles (blackish birth marks). Most of my classmates had at least 2 of them on fairly visible outer parts of their bodies like arms, legs, hands and such. The Assistant HM would be standing by the side of the seated HM and as each student entered the Office, he would hunt out 2 moles and show them up to the HM who would, in his own handwriting, write up in classic English:
1. A black mole on the upper left arm an inch above the left elbow
2. A hairy mole on the right ankle
These moles played a very important role in our lives. Like that Atman quoted above, they are apparently indestructible and we carry them to our grave (or funeral pyre as the case maybe).
There was this lovely movie in our teens titled: Missamma (Miss Mary in its Hindi remake). This lisping Hindu girl of 1.5 was lost in the crowded Kakinada Beach on a full moon night and their parents couldn't trace her. And a childless Christian couple find her and adopt her and raise her as a school teacher (music). The parents were forlorn and it was only 30 years later that they rediscover her. And as proof of the missing Missamma's id, they cite evidence in a Newspaper ad that their child had a big black mole on her right foot, and that clinches it:
By the time my turn came to get my moles entered into my SSLC Register, our AHM could find only one...that too in the shameful reaches of my upper right thigh, to find which he stripped me as naked as a bullock. Father hadn't done his homework properly and took it for granted that I too would have at least 2 of the damned things on my body like everyone else.
He was at a loss then and remembered that I fell down from my tricycle when I was all of 3 and had a nasty deep cut on my face that had to be stitched up by the local doctor with a veterinary needle and twine thread. And the mark stays forever, even now. And so my SSLC Register contained this in Father's impeccable English that read:
2. A permanent bruise mark of stitches on the left half of the face an inch above the left eyebrow
or some such detailed essay.
It is not good to have such highly visible injury marks that can't be hid, as you will be caught by the police as happened with our famous serial killer (Bikini Killer). This chap was an international figure and escaped arrest several times. But when he was about to leave India for France from Goa after one of his adventures, a legendary policeman laid a trap for him at the Airport Restaurant. And caught him...it is a different story that BK escaped from prison by bribing his warders with cameras and wrist watches.
This chap always wore a cloth cap like our cricketers. For good reason...in one of his early brawls he had sustained a head injury and got it stitched up, and that would be a sure giveaway as proof of his identity. But this police officer knew all about it, and when he challenged our BK, he (BK) denied tooth and nail that he wasn't the BK that the police went after. Upon which our vigilant police officer pulled out his cap (BK's), groped and felt his scalp and found the stitched up groove and produced him in the Magistrate's Court.
Alas, I can't hide my after-birth mark unless I wear a face mask...like:
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