Did i have a favourite pupil in Bishops

 Did I Have a Favourite Pupil in Bishops? Well…

Some weeks ago, I was online when an old boy and his visiting friend struck up a conversation with me. They had a question about Bishops—one of my all-time favorite topics—so, of course, I agreed without hesitation.

“Sir, did you have a favourite pupil?” they asked. “And who was he?”

Now, that was a bold and rather unexpected question and a tricky one too .

Having spent twenty years at Bishops as a teacher, Boarding Superintendent, House Master of Bishops House, Dormitory In charge, and eventually as Headmaster, I had met countless boys— in class, on the games field, on the volleyball courts, in the English Club, and through dramatics, debating, and elocution. Choosing a favorite? That was like asking a parent to pick a favorite child. Had I ever thought about it – yes!

But rather than answer outright, I decided to have a little fun. “Go on then,” I said. “Take a guess.”

What followed was an impressive display of research and deduction. They threw out names with remarkable confidence- let me tell you – both were rascals in school but smart in the classroom as well!

Scholars who had topped the school, and others who had consistently topped their class (undoubtedly good guesses).

Some rounders

Two athletes who had broken records (I had probably chased them down for skipping prep at some point).

Three boxers who had gone down in Bishops folklore (some for their punches in the ring, others for their mischief outside it).

Some sons of farmers.

Boys who had acted in school plays—one of whom is now a famous director (perhaps he could dramatize this guessing game someday).

A day scholar who became quite a  well-known  cricketer out of India , two or three very naughty boys who somehow got along very well with me (though I won’t admit if they ever got away with anything), some Head Boys, and three Bishops House Captains.

A selection of boarders, four or five debaters (who probably tried to argue their way out of trouble more than once), two or three leading public figures from Pune, a criminal lawyer , a builder or two in Pune , and two brothers whose father was a heart specialist.

Five teachers’ sons (some of whom inherited their fathers’ wisdom, others… well, let’s just say they had spirit).

And a few other “miscellaneous” boys—a category that made me wonder whether they were legends or just unforgettable characters.

Hats off to them! They had clearly done their research.

So, did I have a favourite?

Well, I must admit… yes. But will I reveal his name? Absolutely not. There were simply too many remarkable boys I had the pleasure of teaching, coaching, and mentoring over the years. A very large number are in touch with me, and I have met old Bishopites all over the world

Still, if asked in confidence, in a quiet room, over a cup of coffee or a glass of whatever —well, let’s just say, I could name a favourite.

But where’s the fun in that? Have decided to let you keep guessing

The Bishop's School, Pune 

The Bishop's School Alumni 

Bishopites

Wake up moms

 MY  SON

He pinched a little girl in Primary school 

“He’s my little baby”, said his mother

He teased girls when in senior school 

“He’s a young lad”, said his mother

He was pulled up for eve teasing in college 

“He is a growing boy”, said his mother

He passed lewd comments at a female employee 

“He only using his charms”, said his mother

His secretary said he touched her inappropriately

“She probably led him on”, said his mother

He molested his neighbor

“A cheap woman”, said his mother

He smacked his wife

He beat up his in laws

“They are an arrogant family”, said his mother

He led the gang rape of the teenager who lived next door 

He was jailed for life 

He was given the death penalty

“He was so misunderstood”, said his mother

Michael Guzder

Grandchildren

 I have always been particular about my phone being mishandled by anyone but myself.! 

Yes i am a trifle careless and I drop it and  need to be more careful. 

However that's easier said than done. I am now a grandfather to two granddaughters. One is 4. The other is two. However that's not the point. 

As soon as I enter their home or they mine , they dart for my phone . I protested, try and look and sound strict, and also raise my voice.

They couldn't care less.

If they want the phone- they take the phone and who am I to protest.

Soon YouTube is on and they are dancing to ' Barbie Girl'. 

Now tell me - when that's happening can I even start to take my phone back ? 

However I plan from today to turn more strict and get some more order and discipline going .!

The deafening sound of silence

 THE DEAFENING SOUND OF SILENCE 

From the moment we are born, we are surrounded by noise. A baby’s first cry is met with soothing voices, lullabies, and the constant hum of life. As we grow, noise becomes second nature—crying, screaming, chatter, music, honking, ringing phones, and the endless buzz of modern life. Silence, by contrast, is rare and often unsettling.

I remember growing up in the railway quarters in Allahabad, where the sound of trains hooting often woke me in the morning. Even at night, I would hear them rumbling past, their distant whistles piercing the quiet, setting off a train of thought that sometimes kept me awake. Thinking back now, that background noise was so familiar that its absence would have been unnerving. Perhaps that’s why people struggle with silence, we are conditioned to expect sound.

You often hear people say, “Why is everyone so quiet? Liven up, guys!” Silence, for many, is awkward. In meetings, the loud and assertive ones often dominate, making sure they are heard, while the quieter ones are overlooked. Noise is frequently mistaken for intelligence and authority, though true wisdom often resides in silence.

But why do we avoid silence? For many, it forces introspection, bringing up thoughts and emotions they might prefer to avoid. Silence can feel isolating, making people uncomfortable with their own company. In social settings, it is often misunderstood as disinterest or boredom, leading to the fear of being judged negatively. People equate noise with engagement, mistaking constant conversation for connection.

Yet, silence has its own presence. I think of cloistered nuns who take vows of silence, seeking peace in quiet contemplation. I remember detention classes in school, where pupils were sternly told to BE SILENT, as if silence itself was a punishment. The ominous silence at funerals, broken only by the sound of sobs, carries its own weight of emotion. And then, there is the beautiful silence one encounters in an empty church or chapel—where the stillness is almost sacred, untouched by the outside world.

As I have aged, I have come to appreciate silence more. Mornings have become special—those first quiet moments with a cup of tea, listening to the world stir gently, rather than rushing to fill the void. Silence has given me time to reflect, to appreciate stillness, and to understand that not every moment needs to be drowned in sound.

On a humorous note, people fear silence so much that they even talk in their sleep! Studies show that about 5% of adults regularly do. And when awake, they hoot horns unnecessarily, raise their voices when a simple word would suffice, and ring doorbells longer than needed. The global decibel level is ever on the rise, making silence an endangered experience.

Maybe it’s time to pause, listen, and embrace the quiet—not just around us, but within us too.

Money and me

I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and in hindsight, that was a blessing. It made me wiser, more resourceful, and, dare I say, quite good at stretching a rupee! I learnt from my mother too about wasteful expenditure and saving for the future. I remember having an empty Ponds powder tin, with a slit underneath into which I put in any coins given to me and at times, I could find few at home! I guess that’s how I began my journey with money. (We Indians call it a Gullak! but I am not sure if any kids save these days ! ) Growing up, I never received a weekly or monthly allowance like many of my peers, but I never really missed it. Instead, I’d get a rupee or two now and then, and I distinctly remember the excitement of receiving five rupees for a school fete. That was a fair sum back in the day! Of course, some of my schoolmates were getting 25, even 50 rupees—practically a king’s ransom in comparison! Thinking back, I did manage to get a few annas for ice cream, marbles, guavas and lemon sweets. My journey with money truly began when I started working at a young age at GEEP Flashlight Industries in Allahabad, India. My first salary? A princely 480 rupees. I felt on top of the world! I gave my mother 200 rupees, saved about 150, and spent the rest—modestly, of course. That small saving proved invaluable when I pursued my B.Ed. Short on funds, I borrowed from a priest and paid him back in installments—a lesson in responsibility that stayed with me. Then came my time at The Bishop’s School, Pune, where the salary wasn’t much more, but the perks were great—accommodation, food, and the opportunity to earn a little extra through private tuitions. I saw boys getting pocket money—two to five rupees a week—some even had extra funds banked with their dormitory in-charge. But here’s the catch: they had to justify why they needed more! That memory still makes me smile. The richer boys, of course, had secret stashes courtesy of their parents. Some even had running tabs at Main Street shops, the school canteen, the ice cream vendor, and the ever-popular Manji, who sold snacks from his cart. It was a different world altogether! My first few large purchases after getting married were on installments that I paid without fail on the first day of the month – a fridge and a scooter! Even today , I never let any bills pile up and I am proud to say that I have never taken a loan ! At 18, I started playing part-time in a band, adding another income stream. I won’t say I became a rock star, but it certainly helped! When I moved to Dubai, things improved financially, but my habits never changed. Five-star hotels, lavish parties, exotic holidays and extravagant outings were never my style. I live well, but I’ve always believed in saving for the future rather than squandering money on fleeting pleasures. Even now, although I can certainly afford to, I never go in for wasteful expenditure. I still bargain to the best of my ability and watch my spending. After all, why pay more when you don’t have to? The only things I don’t mind spending too much on are clothes and shoes—and that too, not designers wear by any chance! I have brought up my two daughters the same way, teaching them the value of money and how to spend and invest prudently. Thankfully, they have learned well. Schools, too, can and must do more. Rather than spending so much time on subjects and topics that have little or no bearing on real life, money management is a life skill that should be compulsory. After all, isn’t financial stability a key part of overall well-being? I firmly believe children must be taught about money and savings in school. Understanding finances early can shape a person’s entire outlook on life. As a boy, I earned pocket change running errands, but one of my earliest "jobs" still makes me chuckle—my aunt would pay me one pice per grey hair I plucked from her head! If nothing else, that taught me the value of hard work and earning money —one grey hair at a time!

Skinny me - chubby me

Growing up in Allahabad as a scrawny thirteen-year-old was, in a word, tragic. I was thin—so thin that whenever we had visitors I was one of the topics discussed and that too in my presence - “Michael - Your arms like knitting needles, look at those shoulders – they’re like hangers. Your legs are so skinny” were the delightful descriptions showered upon me. It was humiliating and infuriating in equal measure. My mother and my aunt then decided that my skeletal existence was a problem they could solve. The plan? Gallons of milk and entire tins of ‘Bournvita’. When ‘Bournvita’ failed to work its magic, my aunt suggested ‘Horlicks’. Unfortunately, Horlicks tasted like chalk dissolved in misery. I protested, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. So, I did the next best thing—I began secretly disposing of my Horlicks. Some went down the drain, some got flung out of the window in teaspoon-sized projectiles. My cousins often reported me, but I fought them off manfully! Eventually, my mother and aunt realized I was a hopeless case and abandoned the mission. In hindsight, I now know why the milky diet failed—it was a well-documented fact that every milkman in Allahabad diluted their milk with water, so I was essentially drinking flavored liquid with a vague memory of milk. To add to my suffering, I was also force-fed spinach, vegetable stew, vegetable soup, and vegetables in all forms. I detested them. They were disposed of in the same way as the Bournvita—one minute on my plate, the next among the canna plants in the garden. We often ate dinner outside, which made my vegetable disposal tactics far easier and more effective. We had a dog as well- so that was extra help with unwanted food. But I was still desperate to grow—if not in width, then at least in height. Friends assured me that cycling with the seat raised to its highest position would make me taller. It seemed ridiculous, but I gave it a shot, wobbling dangerously around the neighborhood on an old ladies cycle with a raised seat. I was skinny as hell but intent and confident that I was looking good. And I wasn’t alone—there were many like me, gliding around on our absurdly high-seated cycles, convinced that every pedal stroke was adding inches to our height. Surprisingly, I did grow a bit. Not a towering giant, but at least I wasn’t a certified dwarf anymore. Then came the muscle obsession. Like most boys, I was convinced that bulging biceps and triceps and a thick neck were essential for impressing, well, everyone, especially the girls. Muscular seniors in school were living proof. When I saw ‘Bullworker’ ads featuring men with necks like oxen, I was sold. My neighbor, David Shepherd, had one lying around. I borrowed it, studied the manual like holy scripture, and embarked on an intense regimen. Early mornings saw me straining against the ‘Bullworker’, pulling and pushing its unforgiving resistance bands, convinced that pain equaled gain. I jogged with a neighbor, did push-ups, sit-ups, and everything else people advised. The muscles didn’t appear to be interested in making an appearance. Eating jaggery was supposed to help, so I chewed on it religiously. Rice and bananas? I stuffed myself. And yet, the weight stubbornly refused to appear. By the time I got married, I was still only 49 kg. Now, decades later, I find myself about 30 kg heavier, looking at fitness programs and diet plans, wondering how to shed the excess. Ironically, the same boy who once did everything to gain weight is now doing everything to lose it. Perhaps that’s just life—a cycle of wanting what we don’t have, chasing it endlessly, only to realize later that we may not have needed it after all.

Is free will actually free

 Does Free Will Truly Exist ?

It’s 4:45 am and the world lingers between night and dawn. Dubai is cold today - wintery crisp, carrying the faint promise of mornings that will soon turn warm. Outside, the darkness is beginning to soften, and a lone crow who we feed dares to break the silence ! 

I cradle a steaming cup of tea, its warmth seeping into my hands, my beautiful cat curled beside me in quiet companionship. I step out to bring in the morning newspaper.  The chill awakens me, and with it, my mind stirs. Suddenly dormant thoughts come rushing in, spilling over like ink on a blank page, demanding to be written.

I have thought of this before and have often wondered: Do we truly control our lives, or is everything laid out before us? Is there such a thing as fate, a path already carved, making our efforts irrelevant?

And then what about destiny?  It allows us to believe that whatever happens was meant to be. But if that’s true, then what is the point of effort, of struggle, of preparing ourselves for life? Can we challenge fate and shape a different future, or are we merely playing out a role we were always meant to fulfill? And who prepared this role for us in the first place?

I have seen people at close quarters blaming life for dealing them a bad hand. They fail, and instead of reflecting on their mistakes, they claim otherwise. I have also seen those who had wealth, thriving businesses, only to squander it through extravagance, lethargy, or poor decisions—yet they insist they weren’t ‘fated to succeed’.

I think back to times in my own life, when things didn’t go as planned, when there was no silver spoon or gilded platter - when circumstances felt unfair, but was it really fate? Or were there moments where I could have made a different choice, taken a different road? I still don’t know and probably never will. Was I dealt with a bad hand or was it the best hand ever?  I am more inclined to think it was the latter.

Like everyone else I have failed, and I have succeeded and had my fair share of both. I have had doors slammed in my face, only to have better ones open wide before me. Today I feel I am sufficiently successful in my profession. Was it fate that led me here, or was it the choices I made along the way? Thoughts like these often haunt me

Science suggests that many of our choices are influenced by forces beyond our control—our genetics and our upbringing?

At times, it does feel as if life has a momentum of its own, carrying us forward regardless of our intentions. Yet, in moments of decision, don’t we feel something deeper – a pull, or an urge to take control? I have felt it myself, the weight of a decision, the moment where one step forward could change everything. And I have seen others hesitate, trapped by the belief that their destiny is already written. I often counsel people to take that first step – however scarry it may seem at first – I did.

And then there’s luck. Why do some people always seem to win, even in games of chance, while others lose time and time again? Where does the phrase "gambling streak" fit in? I have known people who seem to have fortune smiling upon them, always at the right place at the right time, while others struggle endlessly despite their best efforts. If everything is predetermined, why does luck favor a few? Are they fated to be ‘lucky’?

Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between.

Maybe fate sets the stage, but our choices determine how the story unfolds. Maybe luck exists, but what we do with it matters more. Or maybe, at this quiet hour, the answer is unknowable—and all that’s left is to keep moving forward, whether by fate or by will.