The anti vaxxers are out there

 We always talk about time flying and months going by in the blink of an eye. 

 However , I do believe we take time for granted and don't often make the best use of it . It's only when you have Covid in the family will you realize how long 10 days actually is. 

 The 10 days' isolation period drags, is tiring , depressing and extremely stressful . 

 So my advice -: PLEASE LOOK AT THE SUFFERING ALL AROUND YOU and TAKE THE VACCINATION. EVEN THEN, YOU NEED TO BE CAREFUL - VERY VERY CAREFUL . 

 Then at least , if you get Covid ,hopefully it won't spiral out of control and you won't be on a hospital bed with tubes sticking out from you. This is not a fad or a joke - Covid is serious business and the quicker people realise that- the better . 

The anti vaxxers are out there , doing a disservice to themselves, their families and society at large. I sincerely hope a time comes when vaccinations are made compulsory in all offices, factories, movie halls , on public transport and airplanes around the world. Tightening the noose is the only way . 

We can only be safe when the vast majority are vaccinated . There is no other way and it's not rocket science - it's common sense. Till that happens , we will remain susceptible to catching the virus . Hope and pray that better sense prevails. Please don't be offended if you are part of the anti vaccine brigade, as that's your choice but an extremely dangerous one .

The anti vaxxers are out there

 We always talk about time flying and months going by in the blink of an eye. 

 However , I do believe we take time for granted and don't often make the best use of it . It's only when you have Covid in the family will you realize how long 10 days actually is. 

 The 10 days' isolation period drags, is tiring , depressing and extremely stressful . 

 So my advice -: PLEASE LOOK AT THE SUFFERING ALL AROUND YOU and TAKE THE VACCINATION. EVEN THEN, YOU NEED TO BE CAREFUL - VERY VERY CAREFUL . 

 Then at least , if you get Covid ,hopefully it won't spiral out of control and you won't be on a hospital bed with tubes sticking out from you. This is not a fad or a joke - Covid is serious business and the quicker people realise that- the better . 

The anti vaxxers are out there , doing a disservice to themselves, their families and society at large. I sincerely hope a time comes when vaccinations are made compulsory in all offices, factories, movie halls , on public transport and airplanes around the world. Tightening the noose is the only way . 

We can only be safe when the vast majority are vaccinated . There is no other way and it's not rocket science - it's common sense. Till that happens , we will remain susceptible to catching the virus . Hope and pray that better sense prevails. Please don't be offended if you are part of the anti vaccine brigade, as that's your choice but an extremely dangerous one .

The naysayers say ' it's just the flu'

 

When I first heard about it – I was confused.

Just like everyone else

The questions were the obvious.

Was this for real? A virus? Dangerous?

Life threatening? Merciless?

No respect for gender, colour or economic status?

And the naysayers asked, ‘what virus’?

 

Then it was classified as a pandemic

And things started looking gloomy.

And appreciably, more serious than before  

Schools, businesses, colleges, shops, and malls

Mosques, churches, temples and gurudwaras

Downed shutters

This was going to be a long haul

 Entire countries went into lockdown too.

Masks, gloves and sanitisers ruled.

Economies shrunk, many starved.

And the media went berserk.

And the naysayers said, ‘how stupid can they be’!

 

As mankind huddled in fear

the disciples of Nostradamus

Scoffed as they always do,

Citing scripture

While predicting the end of the world.

 

Everyone had a question on their lips.

What next? Why our generation? How do we get over this?

How long will it last?

What of the job market?

Will we survive the onslaught of this tiny mite

Which had brought us to our knees?

And the naysayers said

 ‘Wear masks? No not me’!

 

Hospitals were overflowing.

And the dead were being hurriedly.

Disposed of, buried or cremated.

 

While some Governments, the world over. went into panic mode.

Others were systematic & action oriented.

Those slow to react bore the brunt of the onslaught

And Covid feasted on their entrails.

They showed high up on the infected tally.

 

The world over - tens of thousands got infected.

Plus, some more  

And people started dying like flies.

With no one there to bid them goodbye.

Then the naysayers

in their infinite wisdom

Said ‘You all are mad – you are overreacting.

This is so absurd.

This is just the common flu.

It is much ado about nothing’

 

Fast forward – the silver lining began to appear.

Vaccines were developed at speeds unbelievable.

Salvation was round the corner

And the neigh Sayers surfaced again.

They said it was impossible.

For a vaccine to be developed so soon

This was a conspiracy to control the world.

And eliminate half of the population.

 

Then people began getting vaccinated

And a semblance of sanity has returned.

 

The process continues today.

It is measured, it is staggering - but our tormented world

Is moving forward- slowly but surely.

One painfully moderate step at a time

Yes  

Some semblances of normalcy has definitely returned

As we go about our daily business.

 

This pandemic has entered our bodies.

And toyed with our minds.

And yes, it’s scary, it’s depressing, it’s real

The intelligent are still nervous.

Masks and social distancing are going to be

Very much a part of our lives

At least for some time

There are mutants galore.

And the danger is not yet over.

Those vaccinated, are still being infected.

Albeit mildly.

But the terrifying thought still haunts us.

Will Covid rear its ugly head in another form yet again

Tearing families asunder?

It’s happening – it’s still out there- it’s no secret.

And the naysayers

Oh, those ignorant naysayers.

Still say,

‘’ You are crazy – it’s just the flu’

 

MG

St. Joseph's, Allahabad

 St Joseph’s School and College – Allahabad At the very outset I must mention something – I am no historian – not by a mile - and I am certainly not writing a history of the school or any other place in Allahabad for that matter. These are just memories – mostly wonderful ones so read on …….. Yes, it is about St Joseph’s, Allahabad. It was and still is, one of the premier educational institutes in the city. I studied there from the Kindergarten till grade eight and then transferred to the Boy’s High School. Before you ask why, here is the reason – I failed in Hindi and rather than repeat the class I decided to change schools. (Not that I did any better in Hindi there but that is a different story altogether!) St Joseph’s is very close to my heart because not only did I study there, but my mother worked in the school office, as secretary to the Principal for several years and I am sure many of you will remember her - for some time she also dispensed simple medicines and looked after minor first aid ! I have two very vivid memories to begin the narrative. The first was while I was in Kindergarten, standing near the hedge beside the Principal’s office gate and bawling my heart out as I had lost my school bag . It was, in all probability, my first day in school. Fr Cyril George was the Principal. He was extremely genial, rather short and a trifle podgy. He came out of the office with my mother behind him and when he asked me why I was crying, I replied “I have lost my bag near Fr George’s hedge” You see that was where I had been told to wait for the rickshaw man to take me home, so I remembered the name & the place well – I did not however recognize Fr George ! The other, was when I was caught fighting behind the moveable black board – also in the KG class – incidentally my mother had come to the class to see how I was getting on! St Joseph’s had amazing buildings (still has and newer ones too) and the addition of the Junior wing with its massive hall built at that time added to the grandeur. I most definitely remember the four disciplinarians SJC employed over the years – the first was Mr Sullivan who I once got the cane from. He was a tall, wiry, balding man with a hooked nose. He seemed to have an office full of files and canes! Now thinking back, he resembled an eagle. He was incharge of the boarders – now thinking back I pity them . Another was a shortish, very fair, older gentleman – also extremely strict – Mr Carver . Then there was Mr Hendricus- darkish in complexion with silvery, wavy hair who also wielded the cane with aplomb. And the last was a tough guy- we heard he was ex-army - whose name I do not recollect but he was a terror and truly the devil incarnate ,if ever there was one! One morning, when I arrived at school at around eight – I was in grade 6 or 7 then – there was some sort of a commotion. The bell had just been rung and boys were running “helter skelter”. Charging around like a mad man and caning any and everyone in sight, was the new Disciplinarian. If you were one minute late you had better either avoid him or dig a hole and hide inside lest he catch you. For the few months he was in charge, the whole school was a like a monastery. I do not think he lasted very long. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when he left. St Joseph’s always had great teachers – I cannot and will not name them all, but those that I interacted with or had an impression on me, I will. Mrs Doyle my first teacher – fair, tall and elegant I can picture her walking into class, teaching us and writing on the board . I got a pink report card at the end of the year from her – that meant I had done extremely well. Blue was the second best and a Red card meant you had failed! Mrs Macwan who was also in KG/ Primary was someone who I knew – she had light eyes and was very pretty. Miss Pen Anthony I am sure that was her name ) taught me math in grade four and I was forced to go and study with in the afternoon( tuition ) – she often hit me with her umbrella for forgetting my tables .I just couldn’t memorize the sixteen times tables- poor me. ! She had large bulging eyes and was quite fat and I feared her for sure. Marina Dsouza was our class teacher in grade three – much kinder and sweet natured, we loved her. Mrs Shepherd taught Math as well and was great. Mrs Veronica Gomes taught me in grade five – also a terrific Math teacher (and now related to me) . Mrs McGowan in the junior school was a well-loved teacher and she served the school loyally for decades. Her son Aubrey – a friend of mine also worked there for over thirty years – I hear he is still there, as a senior administrator and of course there was Mrs French – also in the junior school and a family friend. Ms Audrey Dcruz- nee Moore was another who I remember in the junior school – she never taught me but was there for many years thereafter and a good friend of my mother. Teachers like John Rapheal who was also an amazing guitarist , Benny Fernandes , Tony Jonathan, Joe Rodericks and Mr Pandey also ring a bell - all stalwarts ., Mr Happy Carver- we were under him in Grade six was quite a good looker and very sharp . Then there was Mr Joe Shankar – a jewel of a man and oh so kind. We went to him for tuition in Math early every morning during the summer vacation – no charges either! He was a bachelor & had an extremely untidy room. He loved reading, so there were plenty of newspapers and magazines strewn all over the room. However, Joe Shankar also had a cane and used it on those who did not complete their homework- he named it PERCY. Before caning anyone he always said the words “PERCY HAS NO MERCY”. Luckily, I never had the benefit of meeting good old Percy! Who can forget the awe inspiring and rather intimidating Mr Carl Dcruze ? He taught us Math in grade seven or eight – Tall and with a very straight back, the boys were quite scared of him, but he was a real master of the subject. Like Joe Shankar – once he taught you a concept, you never forgot it. Whenever he stood behind me and looked over my shoulder at me working out a sum,I would freeze. There was Mrs Daniels who taught us Geography and her husband taught (probably Math or Science ) in the senior school . Of course the senior school had many stalwarts who helped the boys bring accolades to the school , some of whom I must mention although they never taught me – They were the pillars of the school – Mr Trevor Bunting ( I did go to him one summer holiday for private tuition and he was excellent ) , Mr Francis Moore who went on to be the Anglo Indian MLA , Mrs Gandhi who taught English , & Mr Kazmi who was a tough gentleman but loved by the boys. Some boarders may also remember Mrs Bunting who was such a sweet lady- not sure if she was a matron in the boarding. Yes there was a boarding in SJC – I guess it closed down somewhere in the late 70’s or early 80’s . The dormitories were upstairs and a few of us would creep up at times just to have a look. When one thinks of St Joseph’s, the name of Fr Aloysius Rego the Headmaster pops into one’s mind before anyone else. Short, a billy goat beard (Billy Goat was his pet name too) , a cassock which was not very clean ( !) a master of the English Language and very strict – that’s how I remember him. Fr Rego as he was called, was also the editor of the Teenager – a monthly magazine we all bought. I still have his “Aids to English Composition” and over the years have often referred to them! There were five books in the series. Under his tutelage, the academics of the school was at an all-time high. He believed that the cane worked when all else failed – you can imagine the rest! Near the school main office there was a large drinking water tank, with about fifteen taps right around. Some were often broken, and no one bothered to replace them. As soon as the bell rang after the break, there was a mad rush to drink water, as everyone had been running wild in the sun – there was pushing and shoving galore and once, while drinking , someone pushed from behind, I banged my mouth on the tap and ended with a cut lip . During the summer months the water was hot and horrible to drink but there was no other alternative. The large school bell must surely have been as old as the school. I would often see senior boys, who had been put in charge, ringing it to signal the change of periods or the breaks. Often during the breaks some naughty and rather brave junior boys would ring the bell and run – something I wanted to attempt but never did. There were also two jungle gyms – one was square and high and the other just had two low bars on which you could swing. The high jungle gym was where we played – some of us were quite fast while moving, climbing, hanging out wards and avoiding being caught. We played with one boy attempting to catch the others and in teams as well – it built strength and agility - surprisingly, no one fell off. I am sure SJC boys would remember three games we played which were very popular. Steps, Marbles and another one on the soft mud with a divider or a compass- not sure what it was called. Steps was the most popular – as there were many steps all over the campus,one could see groups of boys deeply engrossed in this game. Climbing up and down the steps while bouncing the ball was the intention. It also required good aim and the ability to catch the ball well. Rushing to “bag” steps to play on was key to enjoying a good lunch break and if one possessed a Tennis ball – all the better, as rubber balls did not bounce as well as the tennis ones did. Marbles was something I was crazy about – and walking around jangling the marbles in the pocket was quite a craze. On a few occasions, monitors confiscated the marbles for no apparent reason. The last game was some sort of a land acquisition! A rough world map was drawn in the soft mud and then you threw the divider or compass from about six feet away and sort of WON or ACQUIRED LAND for yourself depending on where your divider or compass pierced the mud . You then put your initials in that area .Quite a nice game! And yes, once again I remember monitors rushing in and grabbing hundreds of the playing instruments away from us. No clue as to what they did with them after that. We sure cursed them as soon as that happened. Sports days were big occasions – I was no sportsman and was only in the march past and PE display . However, the race that drew the most cheering was the cycle race where three brothers named O’Connor usually won most of the prizes as they had a good racing cycle between them. The Wilma brothers were all outstanding sportsmen and somehow the name rings a bell – great boxers too. In fact, most of the boarders were great sportsmen. One sports day stands out – while doing gymnastics which was one of the highlights, a boy by the name of Akhil ( Was that the name? ) vaulted over the horse , fell awkwardly and was seriously injured . He was the son of a contractor . No sports day was complete without the school brass band – the drummers , the bugle players and the boy playing the cymbals always received a thunderous applause as they came on to the field . Dressed in white with red stripes down the side of their trousers , they looked smart . Some would remember the following incident for sure – the Allahabad university boys went on a flash strike – all of a sudden hundreds of university boys charged into school after jumping over the wall near the Alfred Park side – smashed a few windows, threw stones and demanded that the school close immediately .Yes the police came charging in behind them and chased them away. We then had a holiday. We also had rainy day holidays – unforgettable and longed for! You came halfway to school and you saw boys going home shouting ‘’ Rainy Day”. Who does not remember crossing the field and going to buy snacks from vendors across the wall – crushed ice with sweet coloured syrup on it , freshly squeezed sugar cane juice, guavas which were cut into four with a rusted knife and black salt applied , plums , some of which were hard while the others quite gooey and the tasty “churan” were all so lovely . While some of this ‘’churan” was sweet and made with crushed fruit seeds etc , there was one very acidic type, on which , if asked and paid extra for, you could get more acid poured . It stung the mouth and left the tongue feeling sore – yet we purchased it often. I could go on – I have realized that when you sit and just think, the memories come flooding back and it seems almost like yesterday. Try it and surprise yourself! St Joseph’s has, over the years, produced gentlemen of the highest calibre- Businessmen , judges, lawyers, teachers, professors , musicians , shop keepers , CEO’s , Doctors , priests , men in the forces – you name it and a SJC boy is there – leading from the front The motto, “Semper Sursum” which translates to EVER ONWARD says it all. God bless all those who passed out from the portals of this amazing institution – our school - St Joseph’s, Allahabad.

St. Joseph's, Allahabad

 St Joseph’s School and College – Allahabad At the very outset I must mention something – I am no historian – not by a mile - and I am certainly not writing a history of the school or any other place in Allahabad for that matter. These are just memories – mostly wonderful ones so read on …….. Yes, it is about St Joseph’s, Allahabad. It was and still is, one of the premier educational institutes in the city. I studied there from the Kindergarten till grade eight and then transferred to the Boy’s High School. Before you ask why, here is the reason – I failed in Hindi and rather than repeat the class I decided to change schools. (Not that I did any better in Hindi there but that is a different story altogether!) St Joseph’s is very close to my heart because not only did I study there, but my mother worked in the school office, as secretary to the Principal for several years and I am sure many of you will remember her - for some time she also dispensed simple medicines and looked after minor first aid ! I have two very vivid memories to begin the narrative. The first was while I was in Kindergarten, standing near the hedge beside the Principal’s office gate and bawling my heart out as I had lost my school bag . It was, in all probability, my first day in school. Fr Cyril George was the Principal. He was extremely genial, rather short and a trifle podgy. He came out of the office with my mother behind him and when he asked me why I was crying, I replied “I have lost my bag near Fr George’s hedge” You see that was where I had been told to wait for the rickshaw man to take me home, so I remembered the name & the place well – I did not however recognize Fr George ! The other, was when I was caught fighting behind the moveable black board – also in the KG class – incidentally my mother had come to the class to see how I was getting on! St Joseph’s had amazing buildings (still has and newer ones too) and the addition of the Junior wing with its massive hall built at that time added to the grandeur. I most definitely remember the four disciplinarians SJC employed over the years – the first was Mr Sullivan who I once got the cane from. He was a tall, wiry, balding man with a hooked nose. He seemed to have an office full of files and canes! Now thinking back, he resembled an eagle. He was incharge of the boarders – now thinking back I pity them . Another was a shortish, very fair, older gentleman – also extremely strict – Mr Carver . Then there was Mr Hendricus- darkish in complexion with silvery, wavy hair who also wielded the cane with aplomb. And the last was a tough guy- we heard he was ex-army - whose name I do not recollect but he was a terror and truly the devil incarnate ,if ever there was one! One morning, when I arrived at school at around eight – I was in grade 6 or 7 then – there was some sort of a commotion. The bell had just been rung and boys were running “helter skelter”. Charging around like a mad man and caning any and everyone in sight, was the new Disciplinarian. If you were one minute late you had better either avoid him or dig a hole and hide inside lest he catch you. For the few months he was in charge, the whole school was a like a monastery. I do not think he lasted very long. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when he left. St Joseph’s always had great teachers – I cannot and will not name them all, but those that I interacted with or had an impression on me, I will. Mrs Doyle my first teacher – fair, tall and elegant I can picture her walking into class, teaching us and writing on the board . I got a pink report card at the end of the year from her – that meant I had done extremely well. Blue was the second best and a Red card meant you had failed! Mrs Macwan who was also in KG/ Primary was someone who I knew – she had light eyes and was very pretty. Miss Pen Anthony I am sure that was her name ) taught me math in grade four and I was forced to go and study with in the afternoon( tuition ) – she often hit me with her umbrella for forgetting my tables .I just couldn’t memorize the sixteen times tables- poor me. ! She had large bulging eyes and was quite fat and I feared her for sure. Marina Dsouza was our class teacher in grade three – much kinder and sweet natured, we loved her. Mrs Shepherd taught Math as well and was great. Mrs Veronica Gomes taught me in grade five – also a terrific Math teacher (and now related to me) . Mrs McGowan in the junior school was a well-loved teacher and she served the school loyally for decades. Her son Aubrey – a friend of mine also worked there for over thirty years – I hear he is still there, as a senior administrator and of course there was Mrs French – also in the junior school and a family friend. Ms Audrey Dcruz- nee Moore was another who I remember in the junior school – she never taught me but was there for many years thereafter and a good friend of my mother. Teachers like John Rapheal who was also an amazing guitarist , Benny Fernandes , Tony Jonathan, Joe Rodericks and Mr Pandey also ring a bell - all stalwarts ., Mr Happy Carver- we were under him in Grade six was quite a good looker and very sharp . Then there was Mr Joe Shankar – a jewel of a man and oh so kind. We went to him for tuition in Math early every morning during the summer vacation – no charges either! He was a bachelor & had an extremely untidy room. He loved reading, so there were plenty of newspapers and magazines strewn all over the room. However, Joe Shankar also had a cane and used it on those who did not complete their homework- he named it PERCY. Before caning anyone he always said the words “PERCY HAS NO MERCY”. Luckily, I never had the benefit of meeting good old Percy! Who can forget the awe inspiring and rather intimidating Mr Carl Dcruze ? He taught us Math in grade seven or eight – Tall and with a very straight back, the boys were quite scared of him, but he was a real master of the subject. Like Joe Shankar – once he taught you a concept, you never forgot it. Whenever he stood behind me and looked over my shoulder at me working out a sum,I would freeze. There was Mrs Daniels who taught us Geography and her husband taught (probably Math or Science ) in the senior school . Of course the senior school had many stalwarts who helped the boys bring accolades to the school , some of whom I must mention although they never taught me – They were the pillars of the school – Mr Trevor Bunting ( I did go to him one summer holiday for private tuition and he was excellent ) , Mr Francis Moore who went on to be the Anglo Indian MLA , Mrs Gandhi who taught English , & Mr Kazmi who was a tough gentleman but loved by the boys. Some boarders may also remember Mrs Bunting who was such a sweet lady- not sure if she was a matron in the boarding. Yes there was a boarding in SJC – I guess it closed down somewhere in the late 70’s or early 80’s . The dormitories were upstairs and a few of us would creep up at times just to have a look. When one thinks of St Joseph’s, the name of Fr Aloysius Rego the Headmaster pops into one’s mind before anyone else. Short, a billy goat beard (Billy Goat was his pet name too) , a cassock which was not very clean ( !) a master of the English Language and very strict – that’s how I remember him. Fr Rego as he was called, was also the editor of the Teenager – a monthly magazine we all bought. I still have his “Aids to English Composition” and over the years have often referred to them! There were five books in the series. Under his tutelage, the academics of the school was at an all-time high. He believed that the cane worked when all else failed – you can imagine the rest! Near the school main office there was a large drinking water tank, with about fifteen taps right around. Some were often broken, and no one bothered to replace them. As soon as the bell rang after the break, there was a mad rush to drink water, as everyone had been running wild in the sun – there was pushing and shoving galore and once, while drinking , someone pushed from behind, I banged my mouth on the tap and ended with a cut lip . During the summer months the water was hot and horrible to drink but there was no other alternative. The large school bell must surely have been as old as the school. I would often see senior boys, who had been put in charge, ringing it to signal the change of periods or the breaks. Often during the breaks some naughty and rather brave junior boys would ring the bell and run – something I wanted to attempt but never did. There were also two jungle gyms – one was square and high and the other just had two low bars on which you could swing. The high jungle gym was where we played – some of us were quite fast while moving, climbing, hanging out wards and avoiding being caught. We played with one boy attempting to catch the others and in teams as well – it built strength and agility - surprisingly, no one fell off. I am sure SJC boys would remember three games we played which were very popular. Steps, Marbles and another one on the soft mud with a divider or a compass- not sure what it was called. Steps was the most popular – as there were many steps all over the campus,one could see groups of boys deeply engrossed in this game. Climbing up and down the steps while bouncing the ball was the intention. It also required good aim and the ability to catch the ball well. Rushing to “bag” steps to play on was key to enjoying a good lunch break and if one possessed a Tennis ball – all the better, as rubber balls did not bounce as well as the tennis ones did. Marbles was something I was crazy about – and walking around jangling the marbles in the pocket was quite a craze. On a few occasions, monitors confiscated the marbles for no apparent reason. The last game was some sort of a land acquisition! A rough world map was drawn in the soft mud and then you threw the divider or compass from about six feet away and sort of WON or ACQUIRED LAND for yourself depending on where your divider or compass pierced the mud . You then put your initials in that area .Quite a nice game! And yes, once again I remember monitors rushing in and grabbing hundreds of the playing instruments away from us. No clue as to what they did with them after that. We sure cursed them as soon as that happened. Sports days were big occasions – I was no sportsman and was only in the march past and PE display . However, the race that drew the most cheering was the cycle race where three brothers named O’Connor usually won most of the prizes as they had a good racing cycle between them. The Wilma brothers were all outstanding sportsmen and somehow the name rings a bell – great boxers too. In fact, most of the boarders were great sportsmen. One sports day stands out – while doing gymnastics which was one of the highlights, a boy by the name of Akhil ( Was that the name? ) vaulted over the horse , fell awkwardly and was seriously injured . He was the son of a contractor . No sports day was complete without the school brass band – the drummers , the bugle players and the boy playing the cymbals always received a thunderous applause as they came on to the field . Dressed in white with red stripes down the side of their trousers , they looked smart . Some would remember the following incident for sure – the Allahabad university boys went on a flash strike – all of a sudden hundreds of university boys charged into school after jumping over the wall near the Alfred Park side – smashed a few windows, threw stones and demanded that the school close immediately .Yes the police came charging in behind them and chased them away. We then had a holiday. We also had rainy day holidays – unforgettable and longed for! You came halfway to school and you saw boys going home shouting ‘’ Rainy Day”. Who does not remember crossing the field and going to buy snacks from vendors across the wall – crushed ice with sweet coloured syrup on it , freshly squeezed sugar cane juice, guavas which were cut into four with a rusted knife and black salt applied , plums , some of which were hard while the others quite gooey and the tasty “churan” were all so lovely . While some of this ‘’churan” was sweet and made with crushed fruit seeds etc , there was one very acidic type, on which , if asked and paid extra for, you could get more acid poured . It stung the mouth and left the tongue feeling sore – yet we purchased it often. I could go on – I have realized that when you sit and just think, the memories come flooding back and it seems almost like yesterday. Try it and surprise yourself! St Joseph’s has, over the years, produced gentlemen of the highest calibre- Businessmen , judges, lawyers, teachers, professors , musicians , shop keepers , CEO’s , Doctors , priests , men in the forces – you name it and a SJC boy is there – leading from the front The motto, “Semper Sursum” which translates to EVER ONWARD says it all. God bless all those who passed out from the portals of this amazing institution – our school - St Joseph’s, Allahabad.

The Anglo Indian Colony , Allahabad

 I grew up in the Anglo-Indian Colony in Allahabad and it was a warm, homely sort of place. Spacious and airy, people often joked that it looked like a scene out of the wild west – some sort of a ranch minus the horses and guns! There were a few dogs and at times cows and buffaloes were left to graze by their owners but that added to the rustic charm. Encompassing an area of aproximately one square kilometre, there were around thirty-five Anglo Indian families residing there and any number of servants who worked for them. It was known as the Thornhill Club – the colloquial name was the Bandhwa club! Not sure about the origin of both names. This property comprised a large compound within which were a number of spacious, red colonial type buildings with large gardens and a few other smaller cottages with manicured lawns and potted plants. An unpaved, winding road ran through the centre, large neem trees proved plenty of shade on either side , a lot of greenery and innumerable flowering plants and bushes added colour to every compound and right in the centre was a large hall with ante rooms , wooden flooring , badminton court etc. There were also a few tennis courts, but I never saw anyone play tennis on them. Towards the back of this property and at the end of a steep rugged slope was the “dhobi ghat” where the ‘dhobis’ from all over the town came to wash clothes. They came with their donkeys laden with dirty clothes and then let them out to graze while they toiled on for a few hours daily. Although they were over one hundred meters away, I vividly remember hearing them washing those clothes at the crack of dawn, shouting, and grunting each time they banged the clothes on to the sloping stone washing stands. They even did so unflinchingly during the very chilly Allahabad winters while we were all tucked into bed under tons of warm bedding – not sure if they are still there but they sure slogged on manfully. The Anglo-Indian families in the colony were all easy going, God fearing people who knew each other well. Most had lived there for over twenty-five years or more. At times I felt they knew too much about each other and always tried to learn more. As a young boy I often overheard adult conversations about who was divorcing who , of someone who had got engaged and not invited so and so as the families were not on good terms or of someone else who had stopped going to church as she did not like the new parish priest . No one was rich and no one was poor, and I guess that kept everyone peaceful. There was the usual jealousy and back biting but then no one even today is above reproach on that front. It was quite common to hear a knock on the door at eight am on a Saturday or Sunday morning when a neighbour had just decided to drop in for a cup of tea and a chat (read gossip) .We were not yet fully awake but such was the closeness of the families that no appointments were needed and almost all visits were un announced and without invitation! These visits could last anywhere from half an hour to two hours and at times a makeshift breakfast was rustled up as well and the guest stayed on for some more time. It is pertinent at this juncture to inform you that this entire property had no boundary wall, no fence, no watchman and the one winding road had no lights. At night one navigated the road with the help of a torch or managed with the lights from the houses and compounds which incidentally were switched off by around eleven. Nevertheless, I never heard of any robberies or break ins. Once during the Christmas season , after a few drinks, two hens were stolen by someone and sold to someone else in the same colony but nothing more of note . I have so many vivid memories of those wonderful days – they leave me with a fuzzy feeling even today The hall in the centre of the property was used for weddings, dances, parties, badminton and some miscellaneous meetings. If you knew the families, you were usually invited to the wedding and you just had to walk across. If on the other hand you did not know them, then you sat on your veranda and watched the wedding unfold fifty meters away. It was a nice way to pass the evening. Comments were passed on the number of guests, the quality of music, the aroma from the outdoor cooking, the decoration and even the gowns of the bride and bridesmaids. Some were good while others were rather uncharitable! There were a large number of servants living in the out houses and they usually invited themselves to all weddings with the excuse of helping out .They thus managed to get a free meal which no one begrudged them. If they were lucky, someone gave them a drink too. The dances during Easter, Christmas and New year were big affairs. Over two hundred couples and families bought tickets in advance – some bought them at the door at a premium , the best bands in the town were in attendance , guests dressed in all their finery, and dancing till the wee hours of the morning. Snacks and Liquor were on sale during the show and some people carried their own – no questions were asked. There were the occasional arguments & skirmishes , when undesirable, uninvited, lone, drunk guys tried to force their way into the hall or when someone tried to dance with someone else’s girlfriend or wife ! Needless to add, these gate crashers were fisted and literally shoved out by some of the very tough Anglo Indian gents who manned the door and knew how to use their fists to their advantage when needed. Everything carried on peacefully thereafter. I once saw a chair being thrown across the hall at two young chaps who were trying to force their way in! At times, those who had been refused admission waited for the dance to end and passed uncalled for remarks at those leaving and another fight ensued. On a few occasions the police from the nearby police station were called in but then again – things usually died down pretty soon I too played in the band for many years- first on the drums and then the rhythm guitar – was the lead singer as well. Did if for the thrill and the high, the little fame we presumed was coming our way and of course the money which helped in those difficult days! As a band I must say we were pretty good and quite in demand all over the town. That we were all in our early twenties added to the charm, I guess. Christmas in the club was quite the highlight of the year. Everyone decorated their houses which had been “whitewashed and painted” a few weeks before. Coloured lights, Christmas trees, fancy curtains and blaring music wafting through the air all added to the festive feeling. Carol singers made sure they visited all the houses in the compound in the weeks before Christmas and were welcomed in with snacks and drinks. If it was late, some people hid from them and refused to open the doors much to the chagrin of the poor singers out in the cold! The chilly winters during the vacations saw everyone sitting outside almost all day – wearing layers of clothes to keep themselves warm. Breakfast, lunch & tea were all had outdoors. As soon as the sun began going down, which was around four pm, the chairs were taken in, the doors shut and small coal fires lit. There was no television back then and no internet either, yet no one got bored. There were books to read, board games to play and other games like “I spy and kick the can” – which were quite a hit. Christmas does remind me of one old gentleman – whenever he visited, everyone was on guard because if you offered him snacks and left him alone for a minute , he would empty them into his bag and say Bye before anyone had time to react . But then again – no one was going to tell him to give the items back – it was quite a dirty looking cloth bag in the first place! Visitors during the festive season were aplenty. Every family made Christmas cakes and if you asked for the recipe, they usually told it to you but left out one key ingredient! There were innumerable other goodies all made at home and each family usually had their own speciality. I remember my mother making cakes, yummy fudge and a sweet we called stick jaw – well that is exactly what it did. Made of cooked sugar or jaggery, you could take one ball, put it in your mouth and chew it for hours. The Christmas tree for the kids was another fun evening. Around fifty kids and their parents turned up at around three in the afternoon. Santa Claus arrived by four. The hall was well decorated with balloons, buntings, streamers and coloured lights. A large Christmas tree took centre stage. There were games, dancing, music and snacks. Santa was usually someone from the colony. He arrived by means of the transport available at the time - on a motorcycle or scooter , in a rickshaw, once in a tonga or he just came walking up the slope and ringing his bell from behind the building . He threw sweets for the kids to keep them as far as possible as they tugged at his cape and that often caused quite a stampeded with children rolling in the mud . I was once requested to be Santa Claus but I refused point blank as the year before, some naughty boys had tugged at Santa’s beard and tried to partially disrobe him in the bargain . ! Boys will be boys and they were all of ten years old so you can imagine, wickedness was in their bones. The girls were usually sober and dignified and they simpered and giggled when he arrived or during the gift giving time. The smaller kids howled, cried and were literally dragged by their doting parents to receive their gift from Santa. When they refused to go to Santa or kiss him they were roughed up as well - I thought the whole things was rather sadistic at times. Once the gifts were given out there was gift wrapping paper strewn all over , there were bugles and whistles being blown , drums being beaten , cars being rolled , children running wild in excitement – it was mayhem galore. If we were lucky, a few photographs were taken if someone had a camera – don’t forget this was the pre mobile age – it was the seventies and eighties! Anyway, while the ladies were busy entertaining the kids and seeing to the snacks and games , a few gents would always slip off to have a Chota or two ( If you don’t know what that is you can find out ) . They would then re-enter the hall looking pretty sheepish, especially when their wives asked then where they had been! They also did a lot of smiling and talking when they returned and it was obvious they were all pretty high and happy for it! Rounders and kick the can during the day were other games that the youth indulged in so also seven tiles and a game with a ball called Kings! Boys and girls from other parts of Allahabad would come to play too and those were days of plenty of merriment and general good clean fun Some youth also conducted a badminton tournament every ear – it was a Tin a Bottle tournament – ie you paid a small entry fee of five rupees and you donated a tin or bottle of something edible – that would go towards the prize hampers. Many a lovely evening was spent battling it out on the badminton court in the hall – the wooden flooring is still as good as ever I am told. There was also the occasional Housie but that did not catch on. The compound of the club was quite dark & deserted at night & I was often quite scared when, having played for a dance somewhere in the town , I was dropped at the entrance gate to the large property well past midnight and had to walk about one hundred meters down the winding road to my house. When those dropping me home would ask me if it would be ok to drop me there , I would always say “yes” – then as their vehicle would depart I would walk as fast as possible while singing at the top of my voice . I once remember seeing a few jackals scurrying along quite close in the dip beside the road . I was startled out of my wits and took off at top speed not looking back till I reached my doorstep panting like a racehorse. Now you can either believe this or say to yourself that it did not happen but walk on a dark road with jackals beside you and you will know what I mean! I once also saw a ghost of someone who had died in the colony a few years prior to that day – a very nice friendly old man . Those who had lived there at that time would recognize the man from one simple description – he was quite old when he died & he wore a patch over one eye. Nothing major- I was as usual returning from a dance and I saw him cross over in the direction of the house he lived in which was quite close to ours. At this moment I am putting my hand on my heart and swearing that this is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. While on the topic of ghosts let me tell you another incident that happened when we lived in another house adjoining the main hall. It was summer and I was sleeping in the open varandah. It must have been around three in the morning and I was fast asleep on my back. Suddenly I felt a presence and my eyes opened. Standing at the back of the bed and looking over my face at about two feet was a man. My hair stands on end even today so many years later as I key this in so you can be sure this is no exaggeration. He was an old, gaunt looking man, had long hair, a long white beard and moustache but believe it or not – he had the face of a baby . I looked, I froze and shut my eyes. I opened them a millisecond later and he was gone. There was a very famous sweet shop just outside the mail gate of the Thornhill club – the name of the shop was “Hira Halwai”- obviously, the owner’s name was Hira! He sold the tastiest sweets, jalebis and samosas along with a green chutney.He also made Puris and a vegetable – it was nick named Puri Tak. It was chili hot, but the taste was to die for. The milk and curd were the best in Allahabad and during the summer months he sold Lassi as well with a thick layer of cream on the top. Hira’s snacks and sweets were the staple of innumerable parties all over the town. By the way some of the best parties were held in houses in the premises – Anglo Indians know how to party. Most were pound parties where everyone brought a pound of something to eat – this was then put on the table and everyone tucked in all evening – there was always food left over. Many of those I grew up with are still there –some with their children and grandchildren. A large number have migrated to foreign shores and are doing very well for themselves My mother and I had a house there for about forty years – for me that’s a lifetime!

The Anglo Indian Colony , Allahabad

 I grew up in the Anglo-Indian Colony in Allahabad and it was a warm, homely sort of place. Spacious and airy, people often joked that it looked like a scene out of the wild west – some sort of a ranch minus the horses and guns! There were a few dogs and at times cows and buffaloes were left to graze by their owners but that added to the rustic charm. Encompassing an area of aproximately one square kilometre, there were around thirty-five Anglo Indian families residing there and any number of servants who worked for them. It was known as the Thornhill Club – the colloquial name was the Bandhwa club! Not sure about the origin of both names. This property comprised a large compound within which were a number of spacious, red colonial type buildings with large gardens and a few other smaller cottages with manicured lawns and potted plants. An unpaved, winding road ran through the centre, large neem trees proved plenty of shade on either side , a lot of greenery and innumerable flowering plants and bushes added colour to every compound and right in the centre was a large hall with ante rooms , wooden flooring , badminton court etc. There were also a few tennis courts, but I never saw anyone play tennis on them. Towards the back of this property and at the end of a steep rugged slope was the “dhobi ghat” where the ‘dhobis’ from all over the town came to wash clothes. They came with their donkeys laden with dirty clothes and then let them out to graze while they toiled on for a few hours daily. Although they were over one hundred meters away, I vividly remember hearing them washing those clothes at the crack of dawn, shouting, and grunting each time they banged the clothes on to the sloping stone washing stands. They even did so unflinchingly during the very chilly Allahabad winters while we were all tucked into bed under tons of warm bedding – not sure if they are still there but they sure slogged on manfully. The Anglo-Indian families in the colony were all easy going, God fearing people who knew each other well. Most had lived there for over twenty-five years or more. At times I felt they knew too much about each other and always tried to learn more. As a young boy I often overheard adult conversations about who was divorcing who , of someone who had got engaged and not invited so and so as the families were not on good terms or of someone else who had stopped going to church as she did not like the new parish priest . No one was rich and no one was poor, and I guess that kept everyone peaceful. There was the usual jealousy and back biting but then no one even today is above reproach on that front. It was quite common to hear a knock on the door at eight am on a Saturday or Sunday morning when a neighbour had just decided to drop in for a cup of tea and a chat (read gossip) .We were not yet fully awake but such was the closeness of the families that no appointments were needed and almost all visits were un announced and without invitation! These visits could last anywhere from half an hour to two hours and at times a makeshift breakfast was rustled up as well and the guest stayed on for some more time. It is pertinent at this juncture to inform you that this entire property had no boundary wall, no fence, no watchman and the one winding road had no lights. At night one navigated the road with the help of a torch or managed with the lights from the houses and compounds which incidentally were switched off by around eleven. Nevertheless, I never heard of any robberies or break ins. Once during the Christmas season , after a few drinks, two hens were stolen by someone and sold to someone else in the same colony but nothing more of note . I have so many vivid memories of those wonderful days – they leave me with a fuzzy feeling even today The hall in the centre of the property was used for weddings, dances, parties, badminton and some miscellaneous meetings. If you knew the families, you were usually invited to the wedding and you just had to walk across. If on the other hand you did not know them, then you sat on your veranda and watched the wedding unfold fifty meters away. It was a nice way to pass the evening. Comments were passed on the number of guests, the quality of music, the aroma from the outdoor cooking, the decoration and even the gowns of the bride and bridesmaids. Some were good while others were rather uncharitable! There were a large number of servants living in the out houses and they usually invited themselves to all weddings with the excuse of helping out .They thus managed to get a free meal which no one begrudged them. If they were lucky, someone gave them a drink too. The dances during Easter, Christmas and New year were big affairs. Over two hundred couples and families bought tickets in advance – some bought them at the door at a premium , the best bands in the town were in attendance , guests dressed in all their finery, and dancing till the wee hours of the morning. Snacks and Liquor were on sale during the show and some people carried their own – no questions were asked. There were the occasional arguments & skirmishes , when undesirable, uninvited, lone, drunk guys tried to force their way into the hall or when someone tried to dance with someone else’s girlfriend or wife ! Needless to add, these gate crashers were fisted and literally shoved out by some of the very tough Anglo Indian gents who manned the door and knew how to use their fists to their advantage when needed. Everything carried on peacefully thereafter. I once saw a chair being thrown across the hall at two young chaps who were trying to force their way in! At times, those who had been refused admission waited for the dance to end and passed uncalled for remarks at those leaving and another fight ensued. On a few occasions the police from the nearby police station were called in but then again – things usually died down pretty soon I too played in the band for many years- first on the drums and then the rhythm guitar – was the lead singer as well. Did if for the thrill and the high, the little fame we presumed was coming our way and of course the money which helped in those difficult days! As a band I must say we were pretty good and quite in demand all over the town. That we were all in our early twenties added to the charm, I guess. Christmas in the club was quite the highlight of the year. Everyone decorated their houses which had been “whitewashed and painted” a few weeks before. Coloured lights, Christmas trees, fancy curtains and blaring music wafting through the air all added to the festive feeling. Carol singers made sure they visited all the houses in the compound in the weeks before Christmas and were welcomed in with snacks and drinks. If it was late, some people hid from them and refused to open the doors much to the chagrin of the poor singers out in the cold! The chilly winters during the vacations saw everyone sitting outside almost all day – wearing layers of clothes to keep themselves warm. Breakfast, lunch & tea were all had outdoors. As soon as the sun began going down, which was around four pm, the chairs were taken in, the doors shut and small coal fires lit. There was no television back then and no internet either, yet no one got bored. There were books to read, board games to play and other games like “I spy and kick the can” – which were quite a hit. Christmas does remind me of one old gentleman – whenever he visited, everyone was on guard because if you offered him snacks and left him alone for a minute , he would empty them into his bag and say Bye before anyone had time to react . But then again – no one was going to tell him to give the items back – it was quite a dirty looking cloth bag in the first place! Visitors during the festive season were aplenty. Every family made Christmas cakes and if you asked for the recipe, they usually told it to you but left out one key ingredient! There were innumerable other goodies all made at home and each family usually had their own speciality. I remember my mother making cakes, yummy fudge and a sweet we called stick jaw – well that is exactly what it did. Made of cooked sugar or jaggery, you could take one ball, put it in your mouth and chew it for hours. The Christmas tree for the kids was another fun evening. Around fifty kids and their parents turned up at around three in the afternoon. Santa Claus arrived by four. The hall was well decorated with balloons, buntings, streamers and coloured lights. A large Christmas tree took centre stage. There were games, dancing, music and snacks. Santa was usually someone from the colony. He arrived by means of the transport available at the time - on a motorcycle or scooter , in a rickshaw, once in a tonga or he just came walking up the slope and ringing his bell from behind the building . He threw sweets for the kids to keep them as far as possible as they tugged at his cape and that often caused quite a stampeded with children rolling in the mud . I was once requested to be Santa Claus but I refused point blank as the year before, some naughty boys had tugged at Santa’s beard and tried to partially disrobe him in the bargain . ! Boys will be boys and they were all of ten years old so you can imagine, wickedness was in their bones. The girls were usually sober and dignified and they simpered and giggled when he arrived or during the gift giving time. The smaller kids howled, cried and were literally dragged by their doting parents to receive their gift from Santa. When they refused to go to Santa or kiss him they were roughed up as well - I thought the whole things was rather sadistic at times. Once the gifts were given out there was gift wrapping paper strewn all over , there were bugles and whistles being blown , drums being beaten , cars being rolled , children running wild in excitement – it was mayhem galore. If we were lucky, a few photographs were taken if someone had a camera – don’t forget this was the pre mobile age – it was the seventies and eighties! Anyway, while the ladies were busy entertaining the kids and seeing to the snacks and games , a few gents would always slip off to have a Chota or two ( If you don’t know what that is you can find out ) . They would then re-enter the hall looking pretty sheepish, especially when their wives asked then where they had been! They also did a lot of smiling and talking when they returned and it was obvious they were all pretty high and happy for it! Rounders and kick the can during the day were other games that the youth indulged in so also seven tiles and a game with a ball called Kings! Boys and girls from other parts of Allahabad would come to play too and those were days of plenty of merriment and general good clean fun Some youth also conducted a badminton tournament every ear – it was a Tin a Bottle tournament – ie you paid a small entry fee of five rupees and you donated a tin or bottle of something edible – that would go towards the prize hampers. Many a lovely evening was spent battling it out on the badminton court in the hall – the wooden flooring is still as good as ever I am told. There was also the occasional Housie but that did not catch on. The compound of the club was quite dark & deserted at night & I was often quite scared when, having played for a dance somewhere in the town , I was dropped at the entrance gate to the large property well past midnight and had to walk about one hundred meters down the winding road to my house. When those dropping me home would ask me if it would be ok to drop me there , I would always say “yes” – then as their vehicle would depart I would walk as fast as possible while singing at the top of my voice . I once remember seeing a few jackals scurrying along quite close in the dip beside the road . I was startled out of my wits and took off at top speed not looking back till I reached my doorstep panting like a racehorse. Now you can either believe this or say to yourself that it did not happen but walk on a dark road with jackals beside you and you will know what I mean! I once also saw a ghost of someone who had died in the colony a few years prior to that day – a very nice friendly old man . Those who had lived there at that time would recognize the man from one simple description – he was quite old when he died & he wore a patch over one eye. Nothing major- I was as usual returning from a dance and I saw him cross over in the direction of the house he lived in which was quite close to ours. At this moment I am putting my hand on my heart and swearing that this is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. While on the topic of ghosts let me tell you another incident that happened when we lived in another house adjoining the main hall. It was summer and I was sleeping in the open varandah. It must have been around three in the morning and I was fast asleep on my back. Suddenly I felt a presence and my eyes opened. Standing at the back of the bed and looking over my face at about two feet was a man. My hair stands on end even today so many years later as I key this in so you can be sure this is no exaggeration. He was an old, gaunt looking man, had long hair, a long white beard and moustache but believe it or not – he had the face of a baby . I looked, I froze and shut my eyes. I opened them a millisecond later and he was gone. There was a very famous sweet shop just outside the mail gate of the Thornhill club – the name of the shop was “Hira Halwai”- obviously, the owner’s name was Hira! He sold the tastiest sweets, jalebis and samosas along with a green chutney.He also made Puris and a vegetable – it was nick named Puri Tak. It was chili hot, but the taste was to die for. The milk and curd were the best in Allahabad and during the summer months he sold Lassi as well with a thick layer of cream on the top. Hira’s snacks and sweets were the staple of innumerable parties all over the town. By the way some of the best parties were held in houses in the premises – Anglo Indians know how to party. Most were pound parties where everyone brought a pound of something to eat – this was then put on the table and everyone tucked in all evening – there was always food left over. Many of those I grew up with are still there –some with their children and grandchildren. A large number have migrated to foreign shores and are doing very well for themselves My mother and I had a house there for about forty years – for me that’s a lifetime!

Not the ordinary flu

 Covid is not just an 'ordinary flu ' It's not only' others' who will get it - any of us can. It cares not for rich or poor, religion, caste, creed or nationality . By taking your vitamins and booster meals and exercising you do not become immune . You can be 20, 40 or 80 and still get infected. Your gender is of no consequence. By staying indoors you are a trifle safer but still not immune . Finally, by taking the vaccine you won't die, catch the disease, get crippled, become a vegetable or start talking another language . It's just another layer of protection till the so called herd immunity kicks in. Forget about efficacy, make and how strong you think you are . Covid mocks such silly stuff. Use common sense, a little intelligence and protect yourself and your loved ones. Do not fall prey to rumour mongering or conspiracy theorists. Lastly , if you are frightened or apprehensive for any reason , keep that within your four walls. That is your right and no one can take it from you. Spreading negativity however is wrong and utterly toxic. It does no good for anyone so refraining from doing so is good for society at large.

Not the ordinary flu

 Covid is not just an 'ordinary flu ' It's not only' others' who will get it - any of us can. It cares not for rich or poor, religion, caste, creed or nationality . By taking your vitamins and booster meals and exercising you do not become immune . You can be 20, 40 or 80 and still get infected. Your gender is of no consequence. By staying indoors you are a trifle safer but still not immune . Finally, by taking the vaccine you won't die, catch the disease, get crippled, become a vegetable or start talking another language . It's just another layer of protection till the so called herd immunity kicks in. Forget about efficacy, make and how strong you think you are . Covid mocks such silly stuff. Use common sense, a little intelligence and protect yourself and your loved ones. Do not fall prey to rumour mongering or conspiracy theorists. Lastly , if you are frightened or apprehensive for any reason , keep that within your four walls. That is your right and no one can take it from you. Spreading negativity however is wrong and utterly toxic. It does no good for anyone so refraining from doing so is good for society at large.

I was often wound up

 

It kicks off when you are barley a few months old – People wind you up for no reason. At times they do not know they are doing it, while at others, it is just plain absurdity.

Imagine this scenario.

You are a gurgling infant - just a few months old – in swaddling clothes, feeling all hot and bothered- at times you have a stomachache. Your nappy is wet or often, probably soiled- there are all sorts of fancy items hanging all round your bassinet and there is your uncle or aunt , smiling into your face, waving a noisy rattle, and saying, “clap hands for mama’’, while other relatives look on, and try to fathom out if you are deaf, blind or just plain dumb.

Now if that is not winding you up, then what is?

It may be slightly exaggerated, but you get the point, don’t you?

As a kid and then as a young adult, I have had my fair share of winding up.

Here is the next.

We lived in a sort of joint family so there were a few adults at home, besides my two cousins.

 Am sitting at home, minding my business, and getting on with my life- then friends arrive – theirs not mine!

I suppose, after the adults got bored and had nothing more to discuss, and no one else to gossip about (and who doesn’t gossip) the topic of the kids came up. I had two female cousins and that complicated the equation.

“Where are the kids – everything is so quiet. Get them to say a poem or something for us- they are so sweet”.

Hearing something to that effect was enough to charge me up.

I would try and slip out of the house unannounced, before the ‘call came’, in vain.

 Now my cousins, who I always felt were rather vain, loved to entertain, and being the pretty little girls that they were, they were often the centre of attraction. So, we would be lined up, which for me was like facing a firing squad - and then the poems would begin. I was usually the last, but I would recite a poem just to get the wretched thing over and done with.  The two girls would bow, smile  and curtesy cutely, before and after reciting, and were hugged,  kissed and clapped for, while I would get a “that was nice Michael ” comment.

Just as I would surmise that the ordeal was over, I would hear “what about a song”. “come on- give us a song”

Now I had a good voice, and I knew it, but by then my mood would be off,- singing and entertaining others, would be the last thing on my mind. I would rather be playing outside with my friends who I could hear, were enjoying themselves . However, that was not to be.

Now here is something I just remembered, and pardon the diversion.

 I had got my mid- term report card that very day and had not yet shown it to my mother as the results were not flattering – in fact, they were far from satisfactory. It was a “Red card”,which signified that I had failed! I had tucked it away, and was avoiding any conversation of school, studies, homework, books, tests, or results, till I fathomed out what to do with it.

 I will tell you that story someday.  

So back to my original story- the guests, and one of them was a teacher who taught me, were not satisfied with the poem & were in the mood to hear us sing. As was expected to happen, after the tea, snacks and chatting was over, the entertainment industry at home went into overdrive.

“Get the kids to sing” was what I heard.

Without so much as a ‘by your leave’, I vamoosed into the compound, but before I could make my hurried escape, I was called back.

Now imagine the scenario and my plight.

 I had been trying to keep a low profile all day – in fact, I had spent more time out of the house than in, and had been on my best behaviour- running errands, making the beds, helping tidy up, washing cups, making the tea etc. Now- not only was there was a teacher seated in the hall, but he taught me Mathematics, and was also my class teacher. That is not all- I had flunked in Math and Hindi, and he had signed the report card. As such, he had all the details at his fingertips. Now do not get me wrong – he was a very nice man,all gentle and unassuming ,but sometimes, even nice men speak when not actually asked to and I had a premonition tat would happen.  

So, once again, let me get back to the original story.

The three of us lined up and each sang a song. My cousins, as usual, sang before me. The also danced while singing, swayed to the rhythm and also did a duet without being asked to, as they were often over excited.

I still remember the name of the song – it was “Sisters” .

The words went something like this.

 “Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters”.

Whenever they sang that song, I would stand at the back of the room , and make funny faces and actions to mock them! They hated me doing that and complained bitterly. It made no difference to me.

Then, finally it was my turn. I sang a song and imagined that was the end, but it was not to be.  Here were some of the comments.

‘’ Why didn’t you smile Michael’’?

‘’You’re so stiff my boy ‘’

‘’See how nicely your cousins danced while singing’’?

“Sing again for aunty and uncle and Sir”.

I felt like pulling my cousins’ hair out for overdoing their part, but it was now their turn to laugh, tease and giggle. So, I had to sing another song, smile, and sway along to the best of my ability.  It was unadulterated torture.

By now I was really wound up and wished that a hole opened up in the ground before me, and swallowed me whole.

Then Murphy’s law kicked in, and it was the icing on the cake. The teacher in all his wisdom looked at me and said, “So Michael, what did mummy and aunty think  of your report card this time ? ”.

He added some more pearls of wisdom, “You must study hard during this summer vacation,if not you will fail at the end of the year”

 Needless to add, all hell broke loose thereafter, and the evening did not end well but that is another story.

As I grew into my teen years, I remember accompanying the adults in the family to parties and dances. Now I was rather shy and would have preferred to stay at home and listen to the radio or read. Yes, there were no mobile phones, computers, or television sets back then! But no – I had to dress up and tag along much to my annoyance.

Then came the usual comments from silly adults at the show as they danced past me –

‘’ Come on Mike - Get up and dance”.

“There are so many pretty girls sitting down – don’t be a stick in the mud”.

“Don’t let good music go to waste young man”.

“Stop behaving so badly- so many people are asking you to dance”( from my mother )

To say that adults wound me up often would be putting it mildly.

However, thinking back now, decades later, I presume that unintentional winding up (which I believe it was) stood me in good stead as an adult .

People have tried to wind me up and failed miserably in the attempt- for that I must thank all those who irritated me over the years!

God bless their good souls.

I was often wound up

 

It kicks off when you are barley a few months old – People wind you up for no reason. At times they do not know they are doing it, while at others, it is just plain absurdity.

Imagine this scenario.

You are a gurgling infant - just a few months old – in swaddling clothes, feeling all hot and bothered- at times you have a stomachache. Your nappy is wet or often, probably soiled- there are all sorts of fancy items hanging all round your bassinet and there is your uncle or aunt , smiling into your face, waving a noisy rattle, and saying, “clap hands for mama’’, while other relatives look on, and try to fathom out if you are deaf, blind or just plain dumb.

Now if that is not winding you up, then what is?

It may be slightly exaggerated, but you get the point, don’t you?

As a kid and then as a young adult, I have had my fair share of winding up.

Here is the next.

We lived in a sort of joint family so there were a few adults at home, besides my two cousins.

 Am sitting at home, minding my business, and getting on with my life- then friends arrive – theirs not mine!

I suppose, after the adults got bored and had nothing more to discuss, and no one else to gossip about (and who doesn’t gossip) the topic of the kids came up. I had two female cousins and that complicated the equation.

“Where are the kids – everything is so quiet. Get them to say a poem or something for us- they are so sweet”.

Hearing something to that effect was enough to charge me up.

I would try and slip out of the house unannounced, before the ‘call came’, in vain.

 Now my cousins, who I always felt were rather vain, loved to entertain, and being the pretty little girls that they were, they were often the centre of attraction. So, we would be lined up, which for me was like facing a firing squad - and then the poems would begin. I was usually the last, but I would recite a poem just to get the wretched thing over and done with.  The two girls would bow, smile  and curtesy cutely, before and after reciting, and were hugged,  kissed and clapped for, while I would get a “that was nice Michael ” comment.

Just as I would surmise that the ordeal was over, I would hear “what about a song”. “come on- give us a song”

Now I had a good voice, and I knew it, but by then my mood would be off,- singing and entertaining others, would be the last thing on my mind. I would rather be playing outside with my friends who I could hear, were enjoying themselves . However, that was not to be.

Now here is something I just remembered, and pardon the diversion.

 I had got my mid- term report card that very day and had not yet shown it to my mother as the results were not flattering – in fact, they were far from satisfactory. It was a “Red card”,which signified that I had failed! I had tucked it away, and was avoiding any conversation of school, studies, homework, books, tests, or results, till I fathomed out what to do with it.

 I will tell you that story someday.  

So back to my original story- the guests, and one of them was a teacher who taught me, were not satisfied with the poem & were in the mood to hear us sing. As was expected to happen, after the tea, snacks and chatting was over, the entertainment industry at home went into overdrive.

“Get the kids to sing” was what I heard.

Without so much as a ‘by your leave’, I vamoosed into the compound, but before I could make my hurried escape, I was called back.

Now imagine the scenario and my plight.

 I had been trying to keep a low profile all day – in fact, I had spent more time out of the house than in, and had been on my best behaviour- running errands, making the beds, helping tidy up, washing cups, making the tea etc. Now- not only was there was a teacher seated in the hall, but he taught me Mathematics, and was also my class teacher. That is not all- I had flunked in Math and Hindi, and he had signed the report card. As such, he had all the details at his fingertips. Now do not get me wrong – he was a very nice man,all gentle and unassuming ,but sometimes, even nice men speak when not actually asked to and I had a premonition tat would happen.  

So, once again, let me get back to the original story.

The three of us lined up and each sang a song. My cousins, as usual, sang before me. The also danced while singing, swayed to the rhythm and also did a duet without being asked to, as they were often over excited.

I still remember the name of the song – it was “Sisters” .

The words went something like this.

 “Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters”.

Whenever they sang that song, I would stand at the back of the room , and make funny faces and actions to mock them! They hated me doing that and complained bitterly. It made no difference to me.

Then, finally it was my turn. I sang a song and imagined that was the end, but it was not to be.  Here were some of the comments.

‘’ Why didn’t you smile Michael’’?

‘’You’re so stiff my boy ‘’

‘’See how nicely your cousins danced while singing’’?

“Sing again for aunty and uncle and Sir”.

I felt like pulling my cousins’ hair out for overdoing their part, but it was now their turn to laugh, tease and giggle. So, I had to sing another song, smile, and sway along to the best of my ability.  It was unadulterated torture.

By now I was really wound up and wished that a hole opened up in the ground before me, and swallowed me whole.

Then Murphy’s law kicked in, and it was the icing on the cake. The teacher in all his wisdom looked at me and said, “So Michael, what did mummy and aunty think  of your report card this time ? ”.

He added some more pearls of wisdom, “You must study hard during this summer vacation,if not you will fail at the end of the year”

 Needless to add, all hell broke loose thereafter, and the evening did not end well but that is another story.

As I grew into my teen years, I remember accompanying the adults in the family to parties and dances. Now I was rather shy and would have preferred to stay at home and listen to the radio or read. Yes, there were no mobile phones, computers, or television sets back then! But no – I had to dress up and tag along much to my annoyance.

Then came the usual comments from silly adults at the show as they danced past me –

‘’ Come on Mike - Get up and dance”.

“There are so many pretty girls sitting down – don’t be a stick in the mud”.

“Don’t let good music go to waste young man”.

“Stop behaving so badly- so many people are asking you to dance”( from my mother )

To say that adults wound me up often would be putting it mildly.

However, thinking back now, decades later, I presume that unintentional winding up (which I believe it was) stood me in good stead as an adult .

People have tried to wind me up and failed miserably in the attempt- for that I must thank all those who irritated me over the years!

God bless their good souls.

My man cave

 

So, all my life I have been surrounded by women.

Now wait – that may give you the wrong impression- I am no Don Juan- please let me explain.

As a young boy it was my mother –who had many lady friends who often visited - then there was my aunt and her friends – then two female cousins who lived with us - and yes there were a few neighbourhood girls thrown in for good measure. There were boys in the colony too but that is a different story for another time.

Then I got married – one wife (obviously) and two daughters – good young women now and nothing wrong with that. The next thing I knew was, that a kitten had been brought into the household. I was not sure how to differentiate between a male and a female kitten, so I did the next best thing – I asked. You got it right – It is a female and I am crazy about her.

Lastly, I am in the teaching profession – have been so all my life. Now as you know, teachers and even Principals these days are mostly female. Hence even at work, its mostly women. Now don’t get me wrong once again – am not complaining as such, but it has just been and still is women, women, WOMEN!

However, to come to the point – I finally, I got up this morning and said it loud and clear to myself – I WANT A MAN CAVE and I WANT IT NOW!

We have a three bedroom flat and as there is one spare bedroom – this was a brilliant idea & why not? I need a sanctuary to think, to write, to read and in general to have some ME time! I have also read that it improves emotional health.

So here was the plan, made at around 5 am when I do all my planning!

I would first need to get rid of the junk in the room – the double bed, the bedside lamps, the dressing table, the boxes packed with stuff that was bought and never used, the packing cases with old clothes to be given away. The next was to decide what needed to go into “my man cave’’.

Now before executing any plan – however simple – it is always a wise proposition to pass it by the ladies in the house – all married men know this.

So, I did that as they woke – I think I got the timing slightly wrong.

So here is what my wife and younger daughter had to say.

Wife

1.       Why do you suddenly need a man cave?

2.        We cannot waste a room.

3.       Take the washing machine room (You can’t swing a cat in there)

4.       You are too old for a man cave.

5.       Stop it.

6.       OK go make one – better for us. It is good.  

Daughter

1.       Please have it – you have your own TV there and we can watch our programmes in peace.

2.       More peace for us too.

I was ecstatic!

So, this was the well thought out plan.

I will have my own room – MY MAN CAVE. I will have my TV, (have seen one that has caught my fancy), my Lazy boy recliner, my working table with my laptop, printer, scanner etc, my guitars and my bar and a small fridge.  I plan to add in some exercise equipment too. I suggested buying a dart board some weeks ago but that was shot down as being too dangerous (not sure for who). I will have a shelf with some books and a cupboard with my clothes and a couple of bean bags.

 As you see- all simple pleasures.

Someone once joked and suggested I purchase an expensive toolbox. However, I have said this before, and I am saying it again for the record  – I am NOT a handy man. So, putting nails into the wall, mending fuses, servicing the air conditioner or the gas cooker, screwing in nuts and bolts, repairing electronic equipment, repairing broken furniture etc is not up my street – in fact, it is nowhere on my horizon. I recently disconnected the TV for a stupid experiment and then tried to connect it back – I could not & we had nothing to see for two days till I got someone to fix it.

So, there will be no toolbox, no box with nuts, nails, screws, washers and bolts, no power drill, no working bench - nothing of that sort.   Everything was moving well- My list was ready – I had bathed & dressed, had a healthy breakfast, done the grocery shopping, brought all the items the family needed, and was ready to go & purchase my new television.

Then my elder daughter and her husband walked in. This was unexpected as it was rather early. The first thing my wife told them was about my plan for the man cave. Women can’t keep anything in, and they must blurt it out at the first instance. In my wife’s family they have perfected the art of sharing news with each other !

My daughter listened and there was no expression on her face. Then here is what my daughter said, and I will quote verbatim.

“That’s such a nice idea daddy, but once I have my baby we will be staying here over night quite often, at least during the first six months , so the room will not be empty .

I smiled as all good dads do and said, “are you having a girl”?

“Wait and see’’, was her answer.

Grandad to be will just have to wait.

My man cave will have to wait too.