The Bishop’s day scholars. Revised

 More Snippets – A Salute to the Day Scholars of Bishops, Pune

(After my earlier reflections on the boarders, I was promptly flooded with messages—some affectionate, others aggrieved, all quite persistent! One bold day scholar even threatened to travel to Dubai, family in tow, if I didn’t pay homage to his tribe. Well, my dear day scholar gentleman, this one’s for you. Cheers!)

Let me begin with a heartfelt apology. Dear Sirs—so many of you I remember, though not all by name. Age and memory are in a complex relationship now—not quite dementia, I assure you, but certainly a soft blur at the edges! Still, so many of your faces, voices, and mischiefs remain vivid in my mind.

I joined The Bishop’s School, Pune, in 1981 as Class Teacher of 5A. I was young, new to the rhythm of this remarkable school, and quickly discovered that in every class, there were always a few bright sparks who quietly ran the show. These were the day scholars—11-year-olds with startling maturity—who took charge of the attendance register, managed the monthly tallies, cleaned the blackboard, maintained classroom decorum, and even helped compile marksheets and report cards. Their efficiency often put adults to shame.

While the boarders, in all their rugged glory, ruled the sports fields with sweat and spirit, it was usually the day scholars who reigned supreme in the classroom. On the morning of the dreaded mark-reading, the boarders would shuffle into school, anxious and sleep-deprived, while the day scholars strode in, confident and cheerful, knowing they had little to fear.

I cannot mention the day scholars without recalling Khushru Minocherhomji, who returned to school as a football coach and gave back so much to the game and the boys. His presence uplifted the teams, and his passion was infectious.

In my many years overseeing Debating, Dramatics, and Elocution, I was astounded by the sheer talent the school housed—and much of it came from the day scholars. That said, let me also honour one unforgettable boarder who shone in the arts: Ken Ghosh—now a celebrated film director, producer, and scriptwriter. Even back then, his flair was evident.

The talent pool led me to form the Literary Club, selecting just 25 boys after a rigorous screening. Unsurprisingly, this elite group too was dominated by day scholars. Names flood my mind: Vidur Malhotra, Gopal Patwardhan, Nazir Tyrewala, Joydeep and Srideep Ganguly, Riyaz Bharucha, Youhan Doctor, Sajjid Chinoy, Zubin Patel, Vijay Menon, Umeed Kothawala, Krupal Shah, and the late Kurush Aga—each one a gem. With their brilliance, Bishops consistently triumphed at inter-school events. The Literary Club, held on Friday evenings, was pure joy—brimming with word games, wit, and laughter. That era felt golden.

It was Gopal Patwardhan and I who envisioned and launched the Patwardhan Debating Trophy, which, I’m told, continues to this day—still run by the Patwardhan family, and still regularly claimed by Bishops.

I could name many more day scholars who added so much to the life of the school—but then, this article would become a book! Still, two names spring readily to mind: Mark Choudhari and Govind Kanhere—very clever boys who consistently topped their respective classes.

Then came the Socials with St. Helena’s—our charming sister school. For many boys, it was the highlight of the year. Day scholars turned up in their smart new clothes, often looking positively swanky compared to the slightly more creased and frayed boarders. Some taught boarders how to dance, others learned themselves—awkwardly, clumsily, wonderfully. After the event, the day scholars lingered, hanging about with their boarder friends, chatting animatedly about which girls they fancied and who might’ve smiled at whom. I’ve heard whispers that a few of those innocent teenage crushes blossomed into proper romances, and even marriage. Who knows?

Now here's a detail that boarders will fondly—and perhaps hungrily—recall: day scholars almost always had more pocket money. They were, in many ways, the benevolent bankers of the school. Generous to a fault, many of them routinely treated their boarder friends to delights such as ‘India Ice Cream’—a culinary legend in its own right—Manji’s samosas, and all sorts of mysterious yet delicious fare from the school canteen, run with military efficiency by Terence Donahue, and occasionally assisted by Rudy Fox and the ever-reliable Mr. Torne. Whether it was a sticky kulfi, a packet of potato wafers, or a sweet bun that had clearly seen better days, everything tasted better when shared. And many boarders will agree—those treats weren't just snacks; they were acts of friendship, kindness, and quiet camaraderie.

Some of the boys’ parents were doctors at the nearby Command Hospital. Thanks to them, a number of us staff received free and generous medical care—consultations, medicines, even procedures. Dr. Deepankar Ganguly, father to two fine boys at Bishops, was one such benefactor.

Several families owned prominent businesses: The Serum Institute, Thermax, Weikfield, Eagle Flasks, and Sudarshan Chemicals. But what struck me most was their humility—parents treated faculty with warmth and respect, and the boys themselves blended into the school community like any other, never seeking special status.

Getting to school, though, was a theatre in itself. Some cycled in. Some were ferried by car, others by rickshaw—fifteen boys squeezed into a single auto, bags dangling, elbows out, laughter bubbling. Army and Air Force buses dropped off clusters of uniformed lads. And then came the monsoons—torrential, unpredictable. I remember days when school was cancelled abruptly. Yet, without messages, emails, or fuss, the day scholars simply turned around, drenched to the skin, and found their way home. No complaints. No drama. Just resilience.

One story stands out like a lightning flash.

It was Founders Day, and the PE Display was scheduled for 2 p.m. The skies were ominous—thick black clouds, rumbling thunder, newspaper warnings of precipitation. We advised caution. Mr. Roberts, our indomitable Principal, scoffed. “It will not rain,” he declared. That word cancel did not exist in his dictionary.

At 1:45 p.m., the stadium was a vision—flags fluttering, children in full whites, tiny tots in paper costumes ready for their drills, bands assembled, captains at attention. At 2:00 p.m. sharp, the command was given: “School! By the left, Quick March!”

Right then, the skies split open. The downpour was biblical. In minutes, the field was a giant puddle. Boys ran helter-skelter. Tiny ones cried as their crepe costumes disintegrated. Parents tried desperately to find their children amid chaos. Teachers became traffic marshals, counsellors, lifeguards. Umbrellas turned inside out, colours ran down cheeks, paper hats drooped. Yet, somehow, all the day scholars got home safely. And the next day? Not a single complaint. That, my friends, was the spirit of Bishops.

The school was a microcosm of India—boys of every religion, caste, and background. And what harmony we saw! Take Founders Week, which began with a solemn service at St. Mary’s Church next door. For over a century, the church stood proud—but the annual cleaning? That was Bishops' domain. Day scholars volunteered in droves—scrubbing pews, polishing brass, sweeping floors. Hindu, Muslim, Christian—it didn’t matter. It was their church, their school, their moment of pride.

Then came SUPW (Socially Useful Productive Work)—a cornerstone of the ICSE curriculum. Pulling down old sheds, clearing thorny fields, repairing furniture, cooking meals. Most day scholars chose to cook—and what feasts they created! Dishes laid out with tablecloths, cutlery, even garnishes. The boarders waited like hawks, swooping in the second the marks were awarded—often leaving the young chefs hungry but proud.

I left Bishops in 2001, but the bond has never broken. Whenever I visit Pune, I am met with open arms by old boys—now men with families, responsibilities, and memories. We laugh, we reminisce, we become boys again. Facebook and social media have made staying connected easier, but truth be told, the ties were never really severed.

Bishop’s  wasn’t just a school. It was, and remains, a living, breathing family.

Play up, Bishops. Never let your colours fall.