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. 

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. 

Of Teachers , Monitors and The Bishops School, Pune

 

When I was a school boy , which seems like about a hundred odd ago now, there was one person who I always looked forward to knowing about, before all others, at the start of the school year – that person was the class teacher!

The subject teachers always came second, and they too had a pecking order.

 Looking back, for me it was always in the same order – English, Math, Science, Hindi – History, Geography, Art, PE etc all followed. For me Hindi was a bug bear- I was usually, not very fond of the Hindi teacher, and I presume, the feeling was mutual.

Looking back, I can surprisingly remember most of my class teachers, starting from Grade one. Over the years, if I knew the class teacher or had interacted with her / him before, it gave me a sense of comfort and security. I loved it when the class teacher had taught me a subject the year before. In that way it was a known entity. I do remember some of the subject teachers, but only because I was either very good, or very week in their subject- or else they had been a terror and someone who I had been mortally scared of.

If one heard that the class teacher was someone who had not taught them before, then enquires were made to find out “details”. Were they strict was usually the first question. Were they extra particular about haircuts, turn out, punctuality came next? For all teachers, irrespective of the subject they taught, there was always the “are they strict or lenient in marking test and exam scripts/ can you cheat”!

Somehow, many of my class teachers either taught English or Math – I was very good in one and rather weak in the other, so it was either a good year or a not so good one for me!

On the first day of school, one usually had a chance to meet most of the teachers. The known entities were greeted warmly and there was a sort of “hail fellow well met” atmosphere from the start. They would talk to the ones they were close to. They would look at the known troublemakers and use phrases like “not you again” or, OMG we meet again”. Often you would hear a teacher say, “how the hell did you manage to pass”. Then of course, there were their favourites, who would be greeted with “Good to see you – how is your mother / father”. Or “at least I have the same monitor”.

It was always fun when the known lenient ones entered the classroom on the first day- there was clapping, hooting &  cheering while they tried their best to bring some sort of order to the chaos – one could almost hear a combined sigh of relief from the entire class, as we looked forward to a year of fun, at least in one period.

The strict teachers usually started with a lecture which went something like this: -

“You may have heard of me – I don’t fool around. I can be very good or very bad so do not try to play games with me as you will regret it. No noise in my class if not you will be out. Make sure my homework is completed and I do not want any excuses. If you do not study, you are sure to fail”.

Now, if they were old teachers in the school, this lecture was usually skipped as their reputation had preceded them. This was usually said by the newer lot or someone who had been told by other staff that this was a so called “wild class”.

Of course, there were the known “excellent teachers” and most boys hoped they would teach them – they were greeted warmly and with a lot of respect – parents too knew who these people were, and often requested the Principal to put their ward in that teachers’ class.

Next came the business of Monitors!

Being made  a monitor in the Primary and middle school was something of an achievement and a Monitor was a coveted post. There was the class Monitor – Usually a tall, big made, tough guy who other boys feared, and who could keep the class in control when the teacher was not present. There was usually an assistant monitor too – equally big built – both were often friends.

I was short, thin and you could have referred to me as puny, so I was never made the class monitor. On a few occasions, I was made the Cupboard monitor, the Attendance Register monitor, or the Staffroom monitor.

The cupboard monitor kept the keys of the small class cupboard. In it were the various registers and above all, exercise books in which boys did the Subject tests. One was always warned never to lose or misplace the keys.  The Attendance Register monitor handled the Attendance for the class, while the staff room monitor went to and from the staff room carrying books for the teacher. I forgot to mention the blackboard monitor- usually a tall boy who could reach the top of the blackboard which he had to clean after every period. He also kept the chalk and duster in his desk. If he chanced to leave his desk open, sticks of chalk were stolen within minutes, and a chalk fight ensued as soon as the teacher had left the class. Some brave lads popped pieces of chalk at each other during a lesson – a few tried their aim at the teacher and God forbid they got caught. A few enterprising teachers had Fan and Light monitors and Display board monitors too but they were not very coveted posts. I remember a boy was once punished for the whole day outside the class – He was the Fan and light monitor and he had not switched the fans and lights off after school the previous day.

When I joined Bishops in 1981, nothing much seemed to have changed from when I was in school.

 Boys still waited to see who the class teacher was and who the various subjects’ teachers were. The lenient teachers were still welcomed with howling, cheering, and clapping and being a monitor was still much coveted. The strict teachers were given time to settle down and they hardly smiled – at least not during the first few weeks. Their lessons also began on day one.  A brave boy or two would try and crack a wise joke or ask a stupid question but the retort would be crisp &  everyone soon knew how far they could go.

I started as a Class teacher in 5A and surprise of surprises I still remember my two monitors – Mangnani and Vivek Sood. They were intelligent chaps and assisted me with various tasks.

I would like to add – being a monitor of any sort was usually a first lesson in Leadership, and innumerable boys have told me how it helped them build confidence, become reliable, focussed and task oriented.

Many monitors held similar posts in various classes throughout their school years  and usually ended up as School Prefects and Captains – I never did.

I distinctly remember a master telling me that I lacked Leadership qualities!  He was right at that time!   

Were you ever a monitor or a Prefect? Would love to hear your story.