******************************************************************************************************************************
In our school in Muthukur we had a Drill Teacher (DT) called Dayanandam. His official designation was Physical Training Instructor (PTI) but no one called him that. He was the Drill Teacher for one and all in school and village.
For us the good thing about him was that he never drilled us. He was too lazy to do it. Instead, his Drill Classes were converted into games periods. Not that he was sticking with us guiding us in our games. He was too busy for it.
Our school had a tiny Games Room and its official custodian was the DT. But he used to pass on the key of the room to the SPL (School Pupils Leader) at 4 PM and ask him to return the key to him the next day at 10 AM.
And he went home.
The SPL would open the Games Room and take out a wobbly football, a soiled net for the badminton court and another one for the ring tennis court and pick up a wool ball and a ring ball and that was that. Most of the kids would play kabadi which didn't require any equipment at all, but a few weaklings like me would settle down to a game or two of ball badminton.
The SPL would hand over the Games Room key to me and go away...why me?...because I was the son of the Head Master. That was a clever ploy.
Father, who was as strict as a 4th Additional District Court Magistrate would however be lenient to our DT...to a fault. This was because our DT would do everything for the HM except drilling the students...like arranging the entire tamasha for the prestigious Annual Function where the District Collector would be the Chief Guest, running errands like carrying students who faint in the Assembly to the Hospital...all such service with a smile.
And then came the Griggs District Tournament whose prelims were to be held at Nellore, 12 miles away by bus. Our school had a contingent of around 20 boys going to Nellore for the Do. The games were ball badminton, ring tennis, kabadi and various athletics. I was the center-court captain for our five-member badminton team as well as the ring tennis team of two.
Those few who survive the 5-day prelims and enter the finals would go to Sullurpet, 30 miles from Nellore by road or rail. The rest would hang their heads in shame and return to Muthukur.
The entire contingent was led by our DT who was our official Caretaker. The HM calculated the expenses for the entire Do and handed over the hard cash of Rs 120 to the DT. That was to cover our transport, stay, food and emergency medicines.
I was 12 and my mom was worried...it was my blooding...the first time I left home without parents or elders. Nellore was ok for her since my auntie and uncle were staying there and would look after me if I got typhoid or chicken pox or worse. But there was no one known to her at Sullurpet...and she was silently praying that our team would be beaten hollow in the prelims and I would return with my tail tucked between my legs back home in a couple of days happily.
Father too was worried but he didn't show it...he was an alumnus of the Madras Christian College and he had to keep his chin up...the Code.
The day we were to leave Muthukur was the D-Day for my mom...
Ultimately the D-Day, my first day of freedom from the shackles of home, duly arrived. Twenty of us kids led by our Drill Teacher (DT) and assisted by School Pupils Leader (SPL) were to catch the Sunday morning bus to Nellore, an hour away.
I could sense the worry in Father's eyes and guess he wanted to see me off at the village bus stand. But he was the HM and shrank from making a scene in front of his students. My mom too wished to see me off perhaps but Father must have put his foot down. So, a compromise was reached and Father summoned our DT home to escort me to the bus stand. So the farewells and dos and don'ts and hugs were gone through at home.
The bus reached Nellore in due time and we were all squeezed into a dozen hand-pulled rickshaws and reached the RSR High School where we were to be put up for the next five days.
And then I had my first breakfast of idlis at a proper 'Brahmin hotel'. It is a strange thing that 'tiffin' at eateries always tastes better than home-made stuff....but not the aftermath.
And then we were led to the grounds for our 'nets'. I then discovered that our DT was missing and when I asked our SPL, he told me that the DT had gone to his sister's place, pushing into the SPL's pocket Rs 50 (out of the Rs 120 that Father gave him for the entire trip) promising to return by the evening. Our SPL assured me that he would take care of all of us, not to worry.
That was the last I saw of our DT for the next whole month...
The RSR school gave us digs of a sort but not food. Boys being boys, our SPL and his cronies ate their hearts out with chicken for lunch and mutton for dinner.
No doubt, this disabled the athletics team and many went home after a great holiday.
But not us the underlings who merely played badminton and ring tennis. We were asked to be strict about our diet and were given idlis and dosas which was ok with us since it was a change from home-food of rice and dal.
We lasted till the semifinals on the fifth day and lost our badminton match narrowly. I recall I wept in the court...I was just 12 and was the center-court captain.
But my partner Sudhakar and I surprisingly won in the semis in ring tennis and so entered the finals which we were to play at Sullurpet, 30 odd miles away.
That left just us two and our SPL who was our guardian in the absence of our absconding DT. The SPL then counted the money left from the Rs 50 given to him by the DT and calculated that we don't have enough for the three of us to make it to Sullurpet. And so he opted out and asked Sudhakar to take care of me...he was 14 and had an auntie at Sullurpet.
And pushed Rs 5 into the pocket of Sudhakar.
We both looked puny and so manged to travel half-ticket in the train to Sullurpet. We were supposed to play our finals the first day we arrived there and get back home with or without the trophy. The school at Sullurpet also gave us digs but not food.
And it turned out that due to some rescheduling, we were asked to stay back for 2 days. Sudhakar was nice and gave me Rs 3 and went to his auntie's place for food.
The next day we duly lost our match badly and were booed by the home crowd.
And Sudhakar left for his auntie's place saying he would stay there for a week before getting back.
That left me with Rs 2 for dinner and travel back to Muthukur.
Call it beginner's luck...as I was walking on the high road and sulking and wondering, there was a shout:
"Hey! What are you doing here all alone?"
And I turned back to find it was our alumnus at school and the eldest kid of our Telugu Pundit. He was a good 5 years senior to me and said he joined the LIC as a junior clerk there and was staying in a hotel room and eating in a mess.
And he said he was wondering if he could find a friend just then. It was November the 30th and the mess he was eating in had given him 5 free guest cards for the month, and one was left unused.
Manna from Heaven!
And after our dinner and chitchat, he escorted me to the Sullurpet railway station and left me there at 10 in the night asking me to take the Madras-Nellore Passenger scheduled to arrive at 11.
And left.
And then it started pouring buckets and drums, with me squeezing in a crowded Waiting Room and fighting sleep.
The train arrived at 4 in the morning...
And I ran to find a seat and got completely drenched.
After an hour it reached the next station, Naidupet, and stopped till 7 in the morning. And we were told that a tunnel-bridge got washed way and the train would get back to Madras and asking us to get down and get lost...
And I was left with Rs 1 in my pocket out of which I had a cup of hot coffee @ Rs 0.1 and got thoroughly refreshed.
I didn't know what to do and was advised to take the overbridge and walk to the highway and catch some bus or the other which would reach me to Nellore @ Rs 0.75.
It was becoming touch and go...
As I was waiting for a bus going towards Nellore, a truck was heading towards me and halted. The driver got down for a roadside free-pee and asked me what I was doing there all alone.
And hearing my tale, he asked me to get in beside him and offered to drop me in Nellore for free just in front of my auntie's place.
That was the end of my Blooding...a fiery rite...
My auntie took great care of me and after a couple of days of sightseeing and cinema-watching, I reached back home after a good 10 days with a Certificate to show for all my travails that jarred me but made me a man.
DT got back after a month with a Medical Certificate.
But discreet inquiries by my HM Father revealed that, with that whopping Rs 70 that he pocketed, he got stoned for a good month at his sister's place in Nellore.
...Posted by Ishani
************************************************************************************************************************************
http://www.cartoonaday.com/images/cartoons/2014/06/summer-solstice-boy-adventure-cartoon-598x400.jpg
In our school in Muthukur we had a Drill Teacher (DT) called Dayanandam. His official designation was Physical Training Instructor (PTI) but no one called him that. He was the Drill Teacher for one and all in school and village.
For us the good thing about him was that he never drilled us. He was too lazy to do it. Instead, his Drill Classes were converted into games periods. Not that he was sticking with us guiding us in our games. He was too busy for it.
Our school had a tiny Games Room and its official custodian was the DT. But he used to pass on the key of the room to the SPL (School Pupils Leader) at 4 PM and ask him to return the key to him the next day at 10 AM.
And he went home.
The SPL would open the Games Room and take out a wobbly football, a soiled net for the badminton court and another one for the ring tennis court and pick up a wool ball and a ring ball and that was that. Most of the kids would play kabadi which didn't require any equipment at all, but a few weaklings like me would settle down to a game or two of ball badminton.
The SPL would hand over the Games Room key to me and go away...why me?...because I was the son of the Head Master. That was a clever ploy.
Father, who was as strict as a 4th Additional District Court Magistrate would however be lenient to our DT...to a fault. This was because our DT would do everything for the HM except drilling the students...like arranging the entire tamasha for the prestigious Annual Function where the District Collector would be the Chief Guest, running errands like carrying students who faint in the Assembly to the Hospital...all such service with a smile.
And then came the Griggs District Tournament whose prelims were to be held at Nellore, 12 miles away by bus. Our school had a contingent of around 20 boys going to Nellore for the Do. The games were ball badminton, ring tennis, kabadi and various athletics. I was the center-court captain for our five-member badminton team as well as the ring tennis team of two.
Those few who survive the 5-day prelims and enter the finals would go to Sullurpet, 30 miles from Nellore by road or rail. The rest would hang their heads in shame and return to Muthukur.
The entire contingent was led by our DT who was our official Caretaker. The HM calculated the expenses for the entire Do and handed over the hard cash of Rs 120 to the DT. That was to cover our transport, stay, food and emergency medicines.
I was 12 and my mom was worried...it was my blooding...the first time I left home without parents or elders. Nellore was ok for her since my auntie and uncle were staying there and would look after me if I got typhoid or chicken pox or worse. But there was no one known to her at Sullurpet...and she was silently praying that our team would be beaten hollow in the prelims and I would return with my tail tucked between my legs back home in a couple of days happily.
Father too was worried but he didn't show it...he was an alumnus of the Madras Christian College and he had to keep his chin up...the Code.
The day we were to leave Muthukur was the D-Day for my mom...
Ultimately the D-Day, my first day of freedom from the shackles of home, duly arrived. Twenty of us kids led by our Drill Teacher (DT) and assisted by School Pupils Leader (SPL) were to catch the Sunday morning bus to Nellore, an hour away.
The bus reached Nellore in due time and we were all squeezed into a dozen hand-pulled rickshaws and reached the RSR High School where we were to be put up for the next five days.
And then I had my first breakfast of idlis at a proper 'Brahmin hotel'. It is a strange thing that 'tiffin' at eateries always tastes better than home-made stuff....but not the aftermath.
And then we were led to the grounds for our 'nets'. I then discovered that our DT was missing and when I asked our SPL, he told me that the DT had gone to his sister's place, pushing into the SPL's pocket Rs 50 (out of the Rs 120 that Father gave him for the entire trip) promising to return by the evening. Our SPL assured me that he would take care of all of us, not to worry.
That was the last I saw of our DT for the next whole month...
The RSR school gave us digs of a sort but not food. Boys being boys, our SPL and his cronies ate their hearts out with chicken for lunch and mutton for dinner.
No doubt, this disabled the athletics team and many went home after a great holiday.
But not us the underlings who merely played badminton and ring tennis. We were asked to be strict about our diet and were given idlis and dosas which was ok with us since it was a change from home-food of rice and dal.
We lasted till the semifinals on the fifth day and lost our badminton match narrowly. I recall I wept in the court...I was just 12 and was the center-court captain.
But my partner Sudhakar and I surprisingly won in the semis in ring tennis and so entered the finals which we were to play at Sullurpet, 30 odd miles away.
That left just us two and our SPL who was our guardian in the absence of our absconding DT. The SPL then counted the money left from the Rs 50 given to him by the DT and calculated that we don't have enough for the three of us to make it to Sullurpet. And so he opted out and asked Sudhakar to take care of me...he was 14 and had an auntie at Sullurpet.
And pushed Rs 5 into the pocket of Sudhakar.
We both looked puny and so manged to travel half-ticket in the train to Sullurpet. We were supposed to play our finals the first day we arrived there and get back home with or without the trophy. The school at Sullurpet also gave us digs but not food.
And it turned out that due to some rescheduling, we were asked to stay back for 2 days. Sudhakar was nice and gave me Rs 3 and went to his auntie's place for food.
The next day we duly lost our match badly and were booed by the home crowd.
And Sudhakar left for his auntie's place saying he would stay there for a week before getting back.
That left me with Rs 2 for dinner and travel back to Muthukur.
Call it beginner's luck...as I was walking on the high road and sulking and wondering, there was a shout:
"Hey! What are you doing here all alone?"
And I turned back to find it was our alumnus at school and the eldest kid of our Telugu Pundit. He was a good 5 years senior to me and said he joined the LIC as a junior clerk there and was staying in a hotel room and eating in a mess.
And he said he was wondering if he could find a friend just then. It was November the 30th and the mess he was eating in had given him 5 free guest cards for the month, and one was left unused.
Manna from Heaven!
And after our dinner and chitchat, he escorted me to the Sullurpet railway station and left me there at 10 in the night asking me to take the Madras-Nellore Passenger scheduled to arrive at 11.
And left.
And then it started pouring buckets and drums, with me squeezing in a crowded Waiting Room and fighting sleep.
The train arrived at 4 in the morning...
And I ran to find a seat and got completely drenched.
After an hour it reached the next station, Naidupet, and stopped till 7 in the morning. And we were told that a tunnel-bridge got washed way and the train would get back to Madras and asking us to get down and get lost...
And I was left with Rs 1 in my pocket out of which I had a cup of hot coffee @ Rs 0.1 and got thoroughly refreshed.
I didn't know what to do and was advised to take the overbridge and walk to the highway and catch some bus or the other which would reach me to Nellore @ Rs 0.75.
It was becoming touch and go...
As I was waiting for a bus going towards Nellore, a truck was heading towards me and halted. The driver got down for a roadside free-pee and asked me what I was doing there all alone.
And hearing my tale, he asked me to get in beside him and offered to drop me in Nellore for free just in front of my auntie's place.
That was the end of my Blooding...a fiery rite...
My auntie took great care of me and after a couple of days of sightseeing and cinema-watching, I reached back home after a good 10 days with a Certificate to show for all my travails that jarred me but made me a man.
DT got back after a month with a Medical Certificate.
But discreet inquiries by my HM Father revealed that, with that whopping Rs 70 that he pocketed, he got stoned for a good month at his sister's place in Nellore.
************************************************************************************************************************************
No comments:
Post a Comment