I could have been maimed or killed.....

I could have been maimed or killed …. This happened when I was doing my Teacher’s training in Lucknow Christian College and it is an incident I will and can never forget. Lucknow Christian college, affiliated to Lucknow University, is situated in an area called Gola Gunj – and by what I had heard earlier – it was quite a notorious area back in the day. It was in the old part of the city so it had narrow winding roads, a few tree lined lanes, plenty of shops and was quite noisy and dusty due to the large volume of traffic. There was always a traffic jam at the intersection near the college. I arrived at Lucknow railway station early one Saturday morning, a few weeks after the Academic year had begun & proceeded to the hostel in a cycle rickshaw with my possessions, which comprised a large steel trunk , a small bag and a guitar without a case. I must tell you that I travelled overnight , without a ticket and reservation , in a passenger train from Allahabad, my hometown. The journey itself was rather uneventful, except for the fact that the bogey I travelled in was reserved for army soldiers and If one wanted to travel in this compartment , it was possible, by paying a small sum of money to those within – no ticket was issued or asked for and no one came to check either, so it was a small saving too ! I was a trifle apprehensive as it was the first time I was going to reside in a hostel and by what I had gathered , it had all types residing in it and although ragging was officially banned , that was on paper so to speak . There were two main hostels on campus – OC and C L Bare. OC was supposed to be the better of the two where the to be teachers were allotted most of the rooms. CL Bare on the other hand was supposed to be rather notorious & the rooms there were allotted to those doing courses in Physical education. I was allotted a sharing room in OC Hostel & I was to share the room with another young man from Allahabad. I was pleasantly surprised on arrival to see that I also knew a friend’s brother who was in the adjoining room. Rumour had it that the ragging in CL Bare Hostel was very bad and in the past boys had been suspended for the same. Introductions over, hot tea was prepared on the small electric stove (although this was banned) sleeping arrangements were sorted out, I unpacked my trunk and started to make the tiny hostel room feel like home! I had a two in one cassette player with a few old cassettes and se we put on some music – life was good! We had a one-year course ahead of us so there was excitement in the air. The three of us being together made us feel secure and gave me a little more confidence than when I entered a few hours ago. The toilets and bathing cubicles were at the end of the corridor and when I examined them, I was not thrilled, but they were not too bad either . What did strike me as odd was that firstly there were no geysers for hot water and secondly, rather that bathe inside the cubicles, boys were bathing outside and using the sink to fill water and substitute as a bucket! Now, to enable you to understand as how this incident happened let me attempt to enlighten you on the specifications of the building. There were two floors, with rooms in a rectangular building approximately fifty meters long and thirty metres wide. In the centre was an open courtyard which we had to cross to go out of the hostel for meals etc. An open corridor ran along the length and breadth of the building. Our room was on the first floor which was nice as it was bright, and airy & we could come out on to the open corridor and look down on the courtyard below. Not sure what we ate for lunch, but I remember sleeping in the afternoon and then waking and sitting with our mugs of tea in the corridor outside our room. As expected, I was asked to bring out the guitar and play. I loved doing that and needed no second prompting. The playing, the clapping along and the singing continued till around eight pm after which we decided to go for dinner. The restaurants or rather “dhabas” were just opposite the hostel gate, so locking the door, we proceeded for dinner. We crossed the courtyard, went through an archway of another building, exited the gate and were soon tucking into a yummy dinner comprising chunks of meat floating in thick red , spicy gravy , green salad and hot chapattis and pickle . Just for information- the meal, per person, cost two rupees and fifty paise – the gravy and the chapattis were unlimited! We ate our fill, planned what to do about breakfast as money was not plentiful but we nevertheless felt good about ourselves! We caught up on news about Allahabad and I told them how I had travelled ticketless and we decided to do that as often as possible. That done, we stood around beside the “dhabba” surveying the scene. Cars, scooters, cycles, buses, dogs, cows all jostled for place. It was the weekend and hence it seemed everyone was out. We then decided to get back to our hostel as we had planned to go to church early the next morning it being a Sunday We entered our building and rather than cross the courtyard, we strolled along the corridor passing all the rooms. Suddenly all hell broke loose and several things happened in very close succession. The doors to two or three rooms were suddenly flung open – about eight young men came rushing towards the three of us from within , shouting and abusing - my two friends ran off as fast as they could and I was dragged into one of the rooms followed by about seven or eight of these students . There was a bit of a scuffle, I was roughed up, someone smacked me, someone else kicked me and I was held down on a bed. Then from all angles there were questions flung at me. “Where was I from”? “When had I arrived “? “Did I live in this hostel”? “Which course was I doing”? “Why was I playing the guitar when I knew others were studying”? “Was I acting smart”? “Did I want to fight anyone and prove who I was”? “Why wasn’t I acting smart now”? To say I was terrified would have put it mildly. I was literally petrified and very shaken, but I kept my wits about me. With folded hands I begged for mercy & forgiveness, said I had made a huge mistake as I did not know that others were studying and I had disturbed them , said sorry in every way I possibly could – both in English and in Hindi and then added in for good measure and what it was worth , that I played in a band and was a part time musician ,guitarist and singer . Suddenly the whole atmosphere in the tiny room changed. The leader of these so-called goons ordered them to let me sit up and asked me if I could teach him to play the guitar. He was built like a wrestler, sported a thick beard, had beady eyes, and had a hockey stick in his hand which he banged menacingly on the ground! One or two others had hockey sticks as well. I did not see any ball ! On agreeing to do so, there were smiles and handshakes and a few of them apologised for what they said was a total misunderstanding. My ears were still stinging from the smacks I had received, and my left arm felt as if it was dislocated after being twisted. My backside felt sore as hell but I was not complaining – I was thankful as it could have been worse and oh yes – I was alive ! Just then there was a loud banging on the door. My friends had run to the house of the hostel warden to inform him of what had transpired, and he had arrived with two security guards. The hockey sticks were hurriedly hidden, and no one knew what to expect. The door was opened, and I saw the warden, two guards and my friends all standing outside. Quite a crowd of students had gathered as well. The warden who was a tall , tough looking , well-built gentleman then asked me what exactly had transpired – who all had threatened and beaten me and said that he was going to make a police case to get the students expelled from the hostel and the university. To everyone’s surprise and to the utter astonishment of my two friends I said that nothing had happened and the whole thing was one big misunderstanding. I added that these students had asked me to come into the room and we were talking about music. On being asked if they had roughed me up or beaten me, I answered with a vehement no! The warden looked disgusted as he knew I was lying but I stuck to my story despite all the interrogation and assurances that nothing would happen to me if I told the truth. I did not budge Everyone then dispersed and I went up to my room. My friends were there, and they told me how I had made them look so foolish. A few minutes later, the students who had attacked me entered. They apologised and thanked me profusely for not telling on them, and the leader asked me when I would start teaching him to play the guitar (That is another story but to be brief let me tell you that he was tone deaf and never learnt to pay a chord) However, that day onwards I was a mini celebrity in the hostel as the goons were now very respectful friends. Other boys looked at me, nodded and smiled. My friends enjoyed the same status too. I played my guitar as, when and wherever I pleased. While the general ragging was going at night, we would walk by with impunity knowing that we had the “backing” of the big dads as was the term used in the hostel. Like others, I bathed outside the cubicles and was always offered a space, never having to wait. It sure made me feel good. I guess at times one must swallow one’s pride, use common sense and live to fight another day. I am scared to even imagine what could have happened if I had been stupid and tattled that day. I must say the year went by very peacefully thereafter and in fact I enjoyed my stay. As they say – All’s well that ends well.

I could have been maimed or killed.....

I could have been maimed or killed …. This happened when I was doing my Teacher’s training in Lucknow Christian College and it is an incident I will and can never forget. Lucknow Christian college, affiliated to Lucknow University, is situated in an area called Gola Gunj – and by what I had heard earlier – it was quite a notorious area back in the day. It was in the old part of the city so it had narrow winding roads, a few tree lined lanes, plenty of shops and was quite noisy and dusty due to the large volume of traffic. There was always a traffic jam at the intersection near the college. I arrived at Lucknow railway station early one Saturday morning, a few weeks after the Academic year had begun & proceeded to the hostel in a cycle rickshaw with my possessions, which comprised a large steel trunk , a small bag and a guitar without a case. I must tell you that I travelled overnight , without a ticket and reservation , in a passenger train from Allahabad, my hometown. The journey itself was rather uneventful, except for the fact that the bogey I travelled in was reserved for army soldiers and If one wanted to travel in this compartment , it was possible, by paying a small sum of money to those within – no ticket was issued or asked for and no one came to check either, so it was a small saving too ! I was a trifle apprehensive as it was the first time I was going to reside in a hostel and by what I had gathered , it had all types residing in it and although ragging was officially banned , that was on paper so to speak . There were two main hostels on campus – OC and C L Bare. OC was supposed to be the better of the two where the to be teachers were allotted most of the rooms. CL Bare on the other hand was supposed to be rather notorious & the rooms there were allotted to those doing courses in Physical education. I was allotted a sharing room in OC Hostel & I was to share the room with another young man from Allahabad. I was pleasantly surprised on arrival to see that I also knew a friend’s brother who was in the adjoining room. Rumour had it that the ragging in CL Bare Hostel was very bad and in the past boys had been suspended for the same. Introductions over, hot tea was prepared on the small electric stove (although this was banned) sleeping arrangements were sorted out, I unpacked my trunk and started to make the tiny hostel room feel like home! I had a two in one cassette player with a few old cassettes and se we put on some music – life was good! We had a one-year course ahead of us so there was excitement in the air. The three of us being together made us feel secure and gave me a little more confidence than when I entered a few hours ago. The toilets and bathing cubicles were at the end of the corridor and when I examined them, I was not thrilled, but they were not too bad either . What did strike me as odd was that firstly there were no geysers for hot water and secondly, rather that bathe inside the cubicles, boys were bathing outside and using the sink to fill water and substitute as a bucket! Now, to enable you to understand as how this incident happened let me attempt to enlighten you on the specifications of the building. There were two floors, with rooms in a rectangular building approximately fifty meters long and thirty metres wide. In the centre was an open courtyard which we had to cross to go out of the hostel for meals etc. An open corridor ran along the length and breadth of the building. Our room was on the first floor which was nice as it was bright, and airy & we could come out on to the open corridor and look down on the courtyard below. Not sure what we ate for lunch, but I remember sleeping in the afternoon and then waking and sitting with our mugs of tea in the corridor outside our room. As expected, I was asked to bring out the guitar and play. I loved doing that and needed no second prompting. The playing, the clapping along and the singing continued till around eight pm after which we decided to go for dinner. The restaurants or rather “dhabas” were just opposite the hostel gate, so locking the door, we proceeded for dinner. We crossed the courtyard, went through an archway of another building, exited the gate and were soon tucking into a yummy dinner comprising chunks of meat floating in thick red , spicy gravy , green salad and hot chapattis and pickle . Just for information- the meal, per person, cost two rupees and fifty paise – the gravy and the chapattis were unlimited! We ate our fill, planned what to do about breakfast as money was not plentiful but we nevertheless felt good about ourselves! We caught up on news about Allahabad and I told them how I had travelled ticketless and we decided to do that as often as possible. That done, we stood around beside the “dhabba” surveying the scene. Cars, scooters, cycles, buses, dogs, cows all jostled for place. It was the weekend and hence it seemed everyone was out. We then decided to get back to our hostel as we had planned to go to church early the next morning it being a Sunday We entered our building and rather than cross the courtyard, we strolled along the corridor passing all the rooms. Suddenly all hell broke loose and several things happened in very close succession. The doors to two or three rooms were suddenly flung open – about eight young men came rushing towards the three of us from within , shouting and abusing - my two friends ran off as fast as they could and I was dragged into one of the rooms followed by about seven or eight of these students . There was a bit of a scuffle, I was roughed up, someone smacked me, someone else kicked me and I was held down on a bed. Then from all angles there were questions flung at me. “Where was I from”? “When had I arrived “? “Did I live in this hostel”? “Which course was I doing”? “Why was I playing the guitar when I knew others were studying”? “Was I acting smart”? “Did I want to fight anyone and prove who I was”? “Why wasn’t I acting smart now”? To say I was terrified would have put it mildly. I was literally petrified and very shaken, but I kept my wits about me. With folded hands I begged for mercy & forgiveness, said I had made a huge mistake as I did not know that others were studying and I had disturbed them , said sorry in every way I possibly could – both in English and in Hindi and then added in for good measure and what it was worth , that I played in a band and was a part time musician ,guitarist and singer . Suddenly the whole atmosphere in the tiny room changed. The leader of these so-called goons ordered them to let me sit up and asked me if I could teach him to play the guitar. He was built like a wrestler, sported a thick beard, had beady eyes, and had a hockey stick in his hand which he banged menacingly on the ground! One or two others had hockey sticks as well. I did not see any ball ! On agreeing to do so, there were smiles and handshakes and a few of them apologised for what they said was a total misunderstanding. My ears were still stinging from the smacks I had received, and my left arm felt as if it was dislocated after being twisted. My backside felt sore as hell but I was not complaining – I was thankful as it could have been worse and oh yes – I was alive ! Just then there was a loud banging on the door. My friends had run to the house of the hostel warden to inform him of what had transpired, and he had arrived with two security guards. The hockey sticks were hurriedly hidden, and no one knew what to expect. The door was opened, and I saw the warden, two guards and my friends all standing outside. Quite a crowd of students had gathered as well. The warden who was a tall , tough looking , well-built gentleman then asked me what exactly had transpired – who all had threatened and beaten me and said that he was going to make a police case to get the students expelled from the hostel and the university. To everyone’s surprise and to the utter astonishment of my two friends I said that nothing had happened and the whole thing was one big misunderstanding. I added that these students had asked me to come into the room and we were talking about music. On being asked if they had roughed me up or beaten me, I answered with a vehement no! The warden looked disgusted as he knew I was lying but I stuck to my story despite all the interrogation and assurances that nothing would happen to me if I told the truth. I did not budge Everyone then dispersed and I went up to my room. My friends were there, and they told me how I had made them look so foolish. A few minutes later, the students who had attacked me entered. They apologised and thanked me profusely for not telling on them, and the leader asked me when I would start teaching him to play the guitar (That is another story but to be brief let me tell you that he was tone deaf and never learnt to pay a chord) However, that day onwards I was a mini celebrity in the hostel as the goons were now very respectful friends. Other boys looked at me, nodded and smiled. My friends enjoyed the same status too. I played my guitar as, when and wherever I pleased. While the general ragging was going at night, we would walk by with impunity knowing that we had the “backing” of the big dads as was the term used in the hostel. Like others, I bathed outside the cubicles and was always offered a space, never having to wait. It sure made me feel good. I guess at times one must swallow one’s pride, use common sense and live to fight another day. I am scared to even imagine what could have happened if I had been stupid and tattled that day. I must say the year went by very peacefully thereafter and in fact I enjoyed my stay. As they say – All’s well that ends well.

BEING LATE IS NOT TRENDY

BEING LATE IS NOT TRENDY

Something happened the other day and it set me thinking.
I received a call from our Corporate office and the lady asked me if I could send her a copy of my Emirates ID as it was needed by the bank. As I was busy at the time and not sure if I had a copy of the ID in my mail , I immediately mailed a Senior Administrative manager in the school I have my office in  and simultaneously another lady who helps me with secretarial work and asked them if they had a copy of the same and if they did , could they please forward it to the lady in the Head office .
That done, I suddenly realised that I could have, just as easily, scanned the ID with my phone and sent it through myself without bothering anyone. So that is exactly what I did. All this within about five minutes of receiving the request.
In the span of a few minutes all three of us had duplicated the same task!
I gave this example, as I believe, like me, there are many in this world who when given a task to complete, do so at the earliest, as they value time- theirs and everyone else’s
 Time shows dependability and responsibility and is a character trait people should strive to cultivate.
Yes, time is a precious commodity but is sadly underestimated currently. The best proverb on time is definitely “Time and tide wait for no one.”
I have known people over the years who have been at both ends of the spectrum. Some who are fastidious about time, are never late and never keep anyone waiting – punctuality being their forte. There are others who can never be on time- they procrastinate and feel no sense of remorse about never being punctual.
Let me tell you about a few people, some whose names I will take and some that I will not so as not to embarrass them.
My earliest memory is of my mother who was never late for work , for church and for anything for that matter – I probably picked up that habit from her and I always thank her for instilling in me unknowingly, the value of time.
In the cathedral in Allahabad, when I was growing up, there was an extremely strict parish priest called Fr Alva. When young parishioners arrived late and tried to slip into the pews at the rear  of the church , he would make an example of them, stop the mass midway , and order them to come and sit in the front. It had the desirable effect – there were very few late comers. I guess if they did arrive late, they stayed outside rather that risk the wrath of the old priest!
Growing up I somehow felt that I was expected to be home by nine pm and so dot on the stroke of nine I was usually home! No one had told me to be home at that time but wherever I was, the self-imposed deadline beckoned me.

When I moved to teach in Pune, I worked under a gentleman called Derek Beaman who oversaw the large Boarding establishment.
Where there are boarders, there is a time schedule – even today, 20 years after leaving the school I remember the times for the rising bell, the various meals, studies etc – this includes weekend timings which varied!
If there was anyone who was fastidious about time it was him. At that time, we felt he was obsessed with hours, minutes and seconds and rather finicky too.  The Masters on Duty were tasked with running the activities for the day and ensuring the bell was rung on time. Often out of frustration, tiredness , boredom or just  plain laziness we would ask the Prefect to ring the bell a few minutes early – usually  for the boarders to break from study and go for a meal or  to end evening or night study .
Now let me tell you why that mattered so much to Mr Beaman. He led a very structured life so whether it was waking on the Race course tracks,  , eating , bathing , walking his dog ,listening to the BBC news or just  marking  exercise books – he did everything  according to a schedule and God forbid if any one spoilt the same by having the bell rung early ! I must add that the BBC was, metaphorically speaking,  his life and his radio was probably only tuned to that channel so he had memorized the programme timings
When the bell was rung early, Mr Beaman would know it instantly as his favourite radio programme had ben interrupted . He would then come charging down from his residence which was in one of the oldest buildings on the campus and literally chew up the irresponsible soul! He believed that there was a big difference between 7.28 pm and 7. 30 pm and he was right.  We all became so conditioned by his behaviour that soon everyone kept staring at their watch and the clock on the wall and ringing the bell on the dot!
This was an old school for those not from Bishops, let me tell you that it had quite a large campus comprising different buildings and in some of these buildings there were  old weather beaten clocks which needed to be wound every twenty-four hours.
No clues for guessing who oversaw winding of the clocks – Yes Mr Beaman. Every morning he religiously went to all the various buildings- setting & winding the clocks, much to the amusement of many of the staff and boys who stayed on campus.
Mr Bowland Roberts, the Principal at that time, had a different idea of time. Punctual by nature, he was somehow late for one thing at times and that was morning assembly. He would then breeze into the hall, rush on to the stage and stare at the Bible or the book of instructions for the day. If the chatter did not die down, he would look over the rims of his spectacles till there was pin drop silence.
When I took over as Headmaster in the late eighties, one thing I was very particular about was the period starting on time after breaks when most boys tried strolling into class. Hence, I would stand outside the main academic block as soon as the bell was rung.
 Teachers who were late themselves were soon running to class too. Then someone invented a new ploy which caught on soon. When they were late for class – rather than going straight to class looking guilty as hell in the bargain , they would walk towards me with a very determined, brisk stride and ask me some vague question in a very matter of fact manner . I believe that teachers, above all, must set an example by being punctual. Rushing into class late is something I really abhor till this date. Being  on time not only tells other people you are dependable, but teaches you that you can depend on yourself too .
For my part, time worries me – or let me rephrase that – being late worries me.  This often causes me to get into bad books with the family. If there is a flight to catch (earlier, it was a train) I am on pins and needles from the day before. Although I should be at the airport three hours prior to departure at the very least – I add on a half hour more just to be sure! That usually sees me sitting in the lounge for a few hours – not that I mind it.
I hate to keep people waiting – I think it is bad manners if you make it a habit. Hence whenever I conducted a meeting, people walking in late irritated me. They would often cause me to stop,look at them over the rims of my spectacles and then at my watch. You know who I learnt that from !
This would cause everyone to look around while the late comer prayed for a hole to open so they could dive for cover!
When my daughter got  married a few months ago I was adamant , that despite it being the trend , she was not going to be late so  much so that the poor girl  was on the church premises ten minutes before time and had to  wait in the car . The groom’s family were also requested a dozen times or more by me to ensure they were not late, and I had umpteen people monitoring all movement.
I guess they over did the ‘be on time part’ and were in church half an hour before the schedule start.  I thanked them profusely and they smiled- am sure some of them were probably irritated with me for stressing them out!   In fact – and this is the truth – the priest remarked that my daughter was the first bride he could remember who was on time! I wanted to take a bow! All I got for the effort however were a few sarcastic looks from my immediate family.
Then there was a colleague who was always late for our Corporate meetings – he was surely a chronic case. Wasn’t that dereliction of duty?  In fact, his arriving late became something of a joke, yet I do not think it bothered him much as he often joined in the laughter. For me, being late is certainly not stylish or quirky – I think it’s downright rude.
There are also those who, when invited for a party at nine, make a grand entrance at eleven without so much as a by your leave.
When senior colleagues and myself are invited to any function at the residence of  the boss ,  we are usually waiting, fifteen minutes prior to the given time , in our cars on an adjoining lane . Then on the stroke of the appointed hour we enter –this has  just become a habit over the years and I feel, a good one at that.
You would have noticed that when people are late for anything, they blame the traffic, the faulty alarm clock, others for delaying them and everyone and everything else but the main culprit- themselves. Being punctual shows your humility. I once saw a bumper sticker while on holiday which read: “Always late, but worth the wait” That sure is presumptuous isn’t it? .
I guess it is Murphy’s law but if you start getting late for an appointment, things keep going wrong and you get more delayed. On the very  rare occasions I happen to be running  late and trying to hurry to make up time , I  suddenly   can’t find my car keys or my spectacles , – the lift takes ages to come up and stops at every floor  and once in the car , I get stopped at every red light .
Let me tell you that I detest clinics, hospitals and others who make such a fuss about making an appointment. I understand the necessity of the same, so I do so religiously. However, being given a ten am appointment and reminded that morning to make sure I am on time- then being called in at ten forty-five or eleven is just not on.
I have many in laws and punctuality is certainly not among their many virtues. However, despite me moaning about the same it has not remedied the situation. I could write a book on this part of my story, but I need to live to fight another day, so I will not!
Many of you know that I have a cat at home.  She does not wear a watch and cannot read the time but come 4. 30 am and she is beside my face, purring and trying to wake me up.
She sure knows something about time!

BEING LATE IS NOT TRENDY

BEING LATE IS NOT TRENDY

Something happened the other day and it set me thinking.
I received a call from our Corporate office and the lady asked me if I could send her a copy of my Emirates ID as it was needed by the bank. As I was busy at the time and not sure if I had a copy of the ID in my mail , I immediately mailed a Senior Administrative manager in the school I have my office in  and simultaneously another lady who helps me with secretarial work and asked them if they had a copy of the same and if they did , could they please forward it to the lady in the Head office .
That done, I suddenly realised that I could have, just as easily, scanned the ID with my phone and sent it through myself without bothering anyone. So that is exactly what I did. All this within about five minutes of receiving the request.
In the span of a few minutes all three of us had duplicated the same task!
I gave this example, as I believe, like me, there are many in this world who when given a task to complete, do so at the earliest, as they value time- theirs and everyone else’s
 Time shows dependability and responsibility and is a character trait people should strive to cultivate.
Yes, time is a precious commodity but is sadly underestimated currently. The best proverb on time is definitely “Time and tide wait for no one.”
I have known people over the years who have been at both ends of the spectrum. Some who are fastidious about time, are never late and never keep anyone waiting – punctuality being their forte. There are others who can never be on time- they procrastinate and feel no sense of remorse about never being punctual.
Let me tell you about a few people, some whose names I will take and some that I will not so as not to embarrass them.
My earliest memory is of my mother who was never late for work , for church and for anything for that matter – I probably picked up that habit from her and I always thank her for instilling in me unknowingly, the value of time.
In the cathedral in Allahabad, when I was growing up, there was an extremely strict parish priest called Fr Alva. When young parishioners arrived late and tried to slip into the pews at the rear  of the church , he would make an example of them, stop the mass midway , and order them to come and sit in the front. It had the desirable effect – there were very few late comers. I guess if they did arrive late, they stayed outside rather that risk the wrath of the old priest!
Growing up I somehow felt that I was expected to be home by nine pm and so dot on the stroke of nine I was usually home! No one had told me to be home at that time but wherever I was, the self-imposed deadline beckoned me.

When I moved to teach in Pune, I worked under a gentleman called Derek Beaman who oversaw the large Boarding establishment.
Where there are boarders, there is a time schedule – even today, 20 years after leaving the school I remember the times for the rising bell, the various meals, studies etc – this includes weekend timings which varied!
If there was anyone who was fastidious about time it was him. At that time, we felt he was obsessed with hours, minutes and seconds and rather finicky too.  The Masters on Duty were tasked with running the activities for the day and ensuring the bell was rung on time. Often out of frustration, tiredness , boredom or just  plain laziness we would ask the Prefect to ring the bell a few minutes early – usually  for the boarders to break from study and go for a meal or  to end evening or night study .
Now let me tell you why that mattered so much to Mr Beaman. He led a very structured life so whether it was waking on the Race course tracks,  , eating , bathing , walking his dog ,listening to the BBC news or just  marking  exercise books – he did everything  according to a schedule and God forbid if any one spoilt the same by having the bell rung early ! I must add that the BBC was, metaphorically speaking,  his life and his radio was probably only tuned to that channel so he had memorized the programme timings
When the bell was rung early, Mr Beaman would know it instantly as his favourite radio programme had ben interrupted . He would then come charging down from his residence which was in one of the oldest buildings on the campus and literally chew up the irresponsible soul! He believed that there was a big difference between 7.28 pm and 7. 30 pm and he was right.  We all became so conditioned by his behaviour that soon everyone kept staring at their watch and the clock on the wall and ringing the bell on the dot!
This was an old school for those not from Bishops, let me tell you that it had quite a large campus comprising different buildings and in some of these buildings there were  old weather beaten clocks which needed to be wound every twenty-four hours.
No clues for guessing who oversaw winding of the clocks – Yes Mr Beaman. Every morning he religiously went to all the various buildings- setting & winding the clocks, much to the amusement of many of the staff and boys who stayed on campus.
Mr Bowland Roberts, the Principal at that time, had a different idea of time. Punctual by nature, he was somehow late for one thing at times and that was morning assembly. He would then breeze into the hall, rush on to the stage and stare at the Bible or the book of instructions for the day. If the chatter did not die down, he would look over the rims of his spectacles till there was pin drop silence.
When I took over as Headmaster in the late eighties, one thing I was very particular about was the period starting on time after breaks when most boys tried strolling into class. Hence, I would stand outside the main academic block as soon as the bell was rung.
 Teachers who were late themselves were soon running to class too. Then someone invented a new ploy which caught on soon. When they were late for class – rather than going straight to class looking guilty as hell in the bargain , they would walk towards me with a very determined, brisk stride and ask me some vague question in a very matter of fact manner . I believe that teachers, above all, must set an example by being punctual. Rushing into class late is something I really abhor till this date. Being  on time not only tells other people you are dependable, but teaches you that you can depend on yourself too .
For my part, time worries me – or let me rephrase that – being late worries me.  This often causes me to get into bad books with the family. If there is a flight to catch (earlier, it was a train) I am on pins and needles from the day before. Although I should be at the airport three hours prior to departure at the very least – I add on a half hour more just to be sure! That usually sees me sitting in the lounge for a few hours – not that I mind it.
I hate to keep people waiting – I think it is bad manners if you make it a habit. Hence whenever I conducted a meeting, people walking in late irritated me. They would often cause me to stop,look at them over the rims of my spectacles and then at my watch. You know who I learnt that from !
This would cause everyone to look around while the late comer prayed for a hole to open so they could dive for cover!
When my daughter got  married a few months ago I was adamant , that despite it being the trend , she was not going to be late so  much so that the poor girl  was on the church premises ten minutes before time and had to  wait in the car . The groom’s family were also requested a dozen times or more by me to ensure they were not late, and I had umpteen people monitoring all movement.
I guess they over did the ‘be on time part’ and were in church half an hour before the schedule start.  I thanked them profusely and they smiled- am sure some of them were probably irritated with me for stressing them out!   In fact – and this is the truth – the priest remarked that my daughter was the first bride he could remember who was on time! I wanted to take a bow! All I got for the effort however were a few sarcastic looks from my immediate family.
Then there was a colleague who was always late for our Corporate meetings – he was surely a chronic case. Wasn’t that dereliction of duty?  In fact, his arriving late became something of a joke, yet I do not think it bothered him much as he often joined in the laughter. For me, being late is certainly not stylish or quirky – I think it’s downright rude.
There are also those who, when invited for a party at nine, make a grand entrance at eleven without so much as a by your leave.
When senior colleagues and myself are invited to any function at the residence of  the boss ,  we are usually waiting, fifteen minutes prior to the given time , in our cars on an adjoining lane . Then on the stroke of the appointed hour we enter –this has  just become a habit over the years and I feel, a good one at that.
You would have noticed that when people are late for anything, they blame the traffic, the faulty alarm clock, others for delaying them and everyone and everything else but the main culprit- themselves. Being punctual shows your humility. I once saw a bumper sticker while on holiday which read: “Always late, but worth the wait” That sure is presumptuous isn’t it? .
I guess it is Murphy’s law but if you start getting late for an appointment, things keep going wrong and you get more delayed. On the very  rare occasions I happen to be running  late and trying to hurry to make up time , I  suddenly   can’t find my car keys or my spectacles , – the lift takes ages to come up and stops at every floor  and once in the car , I get stopped at every red light .
Let me tell you that I detest clinics, hospitals and others who make such a fuss about making an appointment. I understand the necessity of the same, so I do so religiously. However, being given a ten am appointment and reminded that morning to make sure I am on time- then being called in at ten forty-five or eleven is just not on.
I have many in laws and punctuality is certainly not among their many virtues. However, despite me moaning about the same it has not remedied the situation. I could write a book on this part of my story, but I need to live to fight another day, so I will not!
Many of you know that I have a cat at home.  She does not wear a watch and cannot read the time but come 4. 30 am and she is beside my face, purring and trying to wake me up.
She sure knows something about time!

It takes different types to make up the world

Do you have a friend, colleague, or acquaintance who, at times you would prefer to avoid? Have you suddenly met someone for the first time in your life and after the first few minutes of the conversation, you are saying to yourself “why me Lord”? I guess all of us have had our fair share of these types in our lives at some time or the other. I certainly have. So, what does one do when they suddenly appear, seemingly out of nowhere and seem to literally be coming in your direction? Here are some the things I have done to avoid the agony – Turned and walked purposefully in the opposite direction while appearing deep in thought or whipped out my phone and started an imaginary conversation with a ghost on the other end of the line. Depending on the location, I have immediately started a heated discussion with someone else, entered another office or have begun typing furiously on my computer as if my life depended on that mail. I have also, often put my hand on the land line phone and requested to be excused as I was waiting for an extremely urgent call. Scribbling furiously on a pad has also worked for me ! Call me devious if you will but desperate times call for desperate measures! I have had to do all the above and more because there are some people in this world who have attempted to suck the energy out of me. Often, they have left me drained and extremely jaded. The look on their faces, the tone of their voice , the phrases they use and the remarks they pass are enough to make a soldier fall ill, a flower to wilt , a cat to refuse milk or a dog to ignore his bone- okay that may be a bit of an exaggeration and a trifle over the top but I am sure by now you get the drift . You may not believe, this but research has proven that it is their low vibrational emotions that can leave you feeling exhausted, irritated, frustrated, and if I may add - totally overwhelmed. These energy vampires are everywhere. They pop up at the least expected place and time and can ruin your day. You bump into them at the mall, suddenly see them outside church, at the cinema, at a party or God forbid in a plane – and that too in the seat beside you! Such people can be divided into two types – the exuberant and the sad. The exuberant will come up to you, bouncing and beaming with energy and here are some of the things they will say with ‘syrupy empathy’ if I may coin a phrase . “All well? You do not look too good. Anything I should know?” “You look pretty pulled down – you better get a check-up” “Don’t play the fool with your health – please go to the doctor” “You’ve lost a lot of weight Boss – I almost didn’t recognize you” “You’re looking so sad – what’s upsetting you” “You’re not your usual self today” As if that were not enough to make you feel ill and debilitated, they dissect parts of you – starting from the head and moving downwards. “What’s with your hair – no life at all in it / don’t tell me you are losing your hair” “Your eyes are so sunk in / you have dark circles under your eyes / the whites of your eyes have a yellowish tinge / you’re looking so sleepy and tired out” “Please don’t tell me you are coming down with Jaundice” “What’s with your skin- its so dry/ looking patchy / why the sallow look/ you look so pale” “Are you not eating well – you’re all skin and bones” “Your lips have turned so dark/ what is with the dry chapped lips- they are a sign of poor health” “Straighten your shoulders, you’re looking so old” “Is that a paunch I see – better get your BP checked”- not good for the heart” “All okay on the home front?’’ Then there are the self-pitying, melancholy, sombre souls, who seemingly carry the sorrows of the world on their shoulders. With them, the conversation if you can call it that, goes somewhat like this Me “So what’s happening”? They “nothing much – just feeling so depressed” Me “Why don’t you go out somewhere” They “Where to go- nothing exciting” Me at a get together, “Come on dance/ join in the games – it’s fun” They- “Our days are over- no more dancing and games for us” Me- “We are going to so and so place in the evening – Coming?” They – “Not sure / Let’s see how we feel/so much to do at home” You are also very likely to meet or be called upon to deal with, despondent individuals at the workplace as well. At times they use their well-known, dispirited nature, to their advantage, at times to play hooky as well. Always subdued, rather wistful and with a bleak outlook to life they are agonisingly slow in speech and manner & rather annoying in everything they say and do. Whining and complaining, they always make out that they are either the victim or the martyr and look for validation. Any project you ask them to lead or any team you ask them to join will be met with either a half-hearted yes coupled with a dozen reasons why the project might not work or a downright no – the reason often given “ its so difficult to get others to work” or “people don’t appreciate my ideas”. Mind you, it is not that these manipulative individuals are incompetent – they are just ineffective, melodramatic and at times even downright devious. On the other hand, I have a relative. Definitely my role model, he is young at heart , pragmatic, enthusiastic, energetic, entertaining and the life of any party. Happy go lucky & charming he is a happy individual - always brimming with positive energy. Ask him how the day is going or how life is treating him, and his characteristic answer is “SIMPLY MARVELLOUS’’ I guess it takes all types of people to make up the world!

It takes different types to make up the world

Do you have a friend, colleague, or acquaintance who, at times you would prefer to avoid? Have you suddenly met someone for the first time in your life and after the first few minutes of the conversation, you are saying to yourself “why me Lord”? I guess all of us have had our fair share of these types in our lives at some time or the other. I certainly have. So, what does one do when they suddenly appear, seemingly out of nowhere and seem to literally be coming in your direction? Here are some the things I have done to avoid the agony – Turned and walked purposefully in the opposite direction while appearing deep in thought or whipped out my phone and started an imaginary conversation with a ghost on the other end of the line. Depending on the location, I have immediately started a heated discussion with someone else, entered another office or have begun typing furiously on my computer as if my life depended on that mail. I have also, often put my hand on the land line phone and requested to be excused as I was waiting for an extremely urgent call. Scribbling furiously on a pad has also worked for me ! Call me devious if you will but desperate times call for desperate measures! I have had to do all the above and more because there are some people in this world who have attempted to suck the energy out of me. Often, they have left me drained and extremely jaded. The look on their faces, the tone of their voice , the phrases they use and the remarks they pass are enough to make a soldier fall ill, a flower to wilt , a cat to refuse milk or a dog to ignore his bone- okay that may be a bit of an exaggeration and a trifle over the top but I am sure by now you get the drift . You may not believe, this but research has proven that it is their low vibrational emotions that can leave you feeling exhausted, irritated, frustrated, and if I may add - totally overwhelmed. These energy vampires are everywhere. They pop up at the least expected place and time and can ruin your day. You bump into them at the mall, suddenly see them outside church, at the cinema, at a party or God forbid in a plane – and that too in the seat beside you! Such people can be divided into two types – the exuberant and the sad. The exuberant will come up to you, bouncing and beaming with energy and here are some of the things they will say with ‘syrupy empathy’ if I may coin a phrase . “All well? You do not look too good. Anything I should know?” “You look pretty pulled down – you better get a check-up” “Don’t play the fool with your health – please go to the doctor” “You’ve lost a lot of weight Boss – I almost didn’t recognize you” “You’re looking so sad – what’s upsetting you” “You’re not your usual self today” As if that were not enough to make you feel ill and debilitated, they dissect parts of you – starting from the head and moving downwards. “What’s with your hair – no life at all in it / don’t tell me you are losing your hair” “Your eyes are so sunk in / you have dark circles under your eyes / the whites of your eyes have a yellowish tinge / you’re looking so sleepy and tired out” “Please don’t tell me you are coming down with Jaundice” “What’s with your skin- its so dry/ looking patchy / why the sallow look/ you look so pale” “Are you not eating well – you’re all skin and bones” “Your lips have turned so dark/ what is with the dry chapped lips- they are a sign of poor health” “Straighten your shoulders, you’re looking so old” “Is that a paunch I see – better get your BP checked”- not good for the heart” “All okay on the home front?’’ Then there are the self-pitying, melancholy, sombre souls, who seemingly carry the sorrows of the world on their shoulders. With them, the conversation if you can call it that, goes somewhat like this Me “So what’s happening”? They “nothing much – just feeling so depressed” Me “Why don’t you go out somewhere” They “Where to go- nothing exciting” Me at a get together, “Come on dance/ join in the games – it’s fun” They- “Our days are over- no more dancing and games for us” Me- “We are going to so and so place in the evening – Coming?” They – “Not sure / Let’s see how we feel/so much to do at home” You are also very likely to meet or be called upon to deal with, despondent individuals at the workplace as well. At times they use their well-known, dispirited nature, to their advantage, at times to play hooky as well. Always subdued, rather wistful and with a bleak outlook to life they are agonisingly slow in speech and manner & rather annoying in everything they say and do. Whining and complaining, they always make out that they are either the victim or the martyr and look for validation. Any project you ask them to lead or any team you ask them to join will be met with either a half-hearted yes coupled with a dozen reasons why the project might not work or a downright no – the reason often given “ its so difficult to get others to work” or “people don’t appreciate my ideas”. Mind you, it is not that these manipulative individuals are incompetent – they are just ineffective, melodramatic and at times even downright devious. On the other hand, I have a relative. Definitely my role model, he is young at heart , pragmatic, enthusiastic, energetic, entertaining and the life of any party. Happy go lucky & charming he is a happy individual - always brimming with positive energy. Ask him how the day is going or how life is treating him, and his characteristic answer is “SIMPLY MARVELLOUS’’ I guess it takes all types of people to make up the world!

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. Names like John Raphael,  an amazing guitarist, Benny Fernanded, Tony Jonathan,  Joe Rodericks and Mr Pandey also ring a bell.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. 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.