Unforgettable

 UNFORGETTABLE 

I’ve seen you at your best. 

 And often at your worst. 

Have seen you at your happiest.

And then when you’ve been down. 

But the day I saw you hurt 

Almost run into the ground 

Was the day I still remember 

When the morning was fogbound

Your life was at a standstill.

 Tears flowed from your almond eyes. 

You talked of happier times

While remembering all his lies. 

You mulled over the future. 

You said all would be fine.

But deep down in that broken heart

I saw  some desperate signs 

And the snowflakes

Fell softly to the ground. 

And the earth became all white. 

And we talked and laughed 

And reminisced 

Through the long dark dreary night 

But morning came

As sure it would 

And the sun rose in the sky 

Then out of the blue 

Two shots rang out

They left me wondering why. 

 

The bullets hit where they were aimed 

They pierced your beating heart.

Then with your last breath

you whispered his name

And I woke up with a start. 

I woke and looked around the room

You were nowhere to be seen. 

I’ve had that dream

A million times 

And now it’s so surreal.

But life goes on 

And stories abound 

Of how you were shot and killed 

The seasons change 

And years go by 

But he was never grilled 

Now every year, on that sad day

To the cottage I retreat 

And reminisce on happier times 

While hanging the mourning wreath

I sing the songs 

You loved to hear 

I cook your favourite meal 

The incense burns 

Smoke fills the room 

And 

Your silhouette before the altar kneels

Am becoming an artist

 After a lot of soul searching (and an unhealthy amount of procrastination), I have finally decided to pursue a long-held passion — art. Stop giggling you who know me!

 Yes, art! I know, I know. You’re probably wondering, “But weren’t you the kid who said that you  couldn’t draw a straight line with a ruler in school?” Yes, that was me. My so-called “artistic talents” were legendary... in the sense that they were utterly non-existent. I was and am still colour blind as well and that's not synonymous with art- but that's another story. 

In reality, my destiny took a surprising turn when I visited Europe a few years ago.  It was during that grand trip to the continent, where we gallivanted through an absurd number of art galleries only to avoid the crazy rainy weather. From the Louvre in Paris to the Uffizi in Florence, I marveled at the works of the masters — names like Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Rembrandt, and Van Gogh danced in front of my eyes like old friends. And that's when it hit me. Art wasn't just something to admire; it was something to create - and I was going to do the unthinkable - become an artist.

On my return, armed with nothing but a new sense of inspiration and a brush (and perhaps a few too many cups of tea), I decided to give it a shot. 

To my utter amazement, something magical happened — I painted my first piece. And then, I painted another. And another. And... okay, so I’ve only completed about eight pieces so far. 

But here’s the twist — every single person who has seen my art has insisted that I host an exhibition. 'An exhibition',   they said. “You have a gift,” they said. (Which is a bit of an exaggeration, but I’ll take it.)

So, here I am. My decision is made. I’m going for it.

Much against the advice of my wife,  I’ve bought paints, canvases, brushes, and the promise of an 'undiscovered talent'that might just need a little more practice in the coming months.

Now, let’s talk about my plan going forward.

 I’ve spent money and  stocked up on high-quality oil paints in vibrant hues, ranging from rich reds to calm blues. The canvases are ready, primed, and waiting for me to bring my “masterpieces” to life. A couple of easels are now scattered around my tiny ' studio' , creating a slightly more “artsy” ambiance than my previous collection of dusty books, guitars  and mismatched furniture. 

But the real question is — where do I get my inspiration from now? Sure, the great masters are fine and all, but I need something new, something fresh. 

Maybe I’ll be inspired by the calm of my morning tea or a walk around the lake  (which has been known to unleash a wave of creativity in me) -   or perhaps, my inspiration will come from the mishmash of everyday life — that half-empty glass of water, a  bowl of fruit  or Chanel , my cat, lounging in the sun. Truly, art is in the eye of the beholder, and I plan to behold as much as I can.

I am not into the human form so please don't rush forward to volunteer.

For now, I’m just excited to take this leap into the unknown. Eight pieces may be a humble start, but I’m ready to turn my living room into the next big art gallery. So, grab your wine and don your best attire because it’s time to admire  masterpieces that probably won’t make it to the Louvre, but will definitely bring a smile to your face.

And may I ask in all humility - ' any buyers'? 

No harm in day dreaming is there ? 

I rest my case.

Dreaming on

 I dream frequently, and it’s fun! I lie down & am asleep in a jiffy. Not all the time- but usually. I am probably in the minority because I can sleep anywhere - on a sofa, on a bus, train, plane and am much the envy of many in the extended family.  I am wide awake in church-  before you snigger and ask!

 Are you one of those lucky ones like me, who close their eyes and, what feels like a blink, wake up to a brand-new day?

Sleeping is fine - my brain, it seems, refuses to shut down, even when I do.

Above all- I dream a lot. And not just the hazy, forgettable kind. My dreams are vivid, detailed, and sometimes eerily prophetic. Many nights, I find myself with my late mother and aunt—two incredible women who shaped my life. Those dreams feel more like visits than illusions, as if, for a few fleeting moments, they are truly there. I wake up feeling comforted yet slightly robbed that it wasn’t real.

Then there are the really  odd ones. 

I often dream of being stuck somewhere high, on a building – on a hilltop – some vague steps - completely unable to get down. Given my fear of heights (and my well-documented refusal to even glance over a high-rise balcony), this doesn’t surprise me. My subconscious seems to enjoy tormenting me, placing me on cliff edges, rooftops, or wobbling on a narrow bridge with no handrails. It's scary.

And what about the dreams where I find myself in places I’ve never been, surrounded by people I’ve never met? Who are these strangers that my imagination so effortlessly conjures? More importantly, if I’ve never seen them before, how do I know exactly what they look like? It’s one of life’s great mysteries—right up there with why so many of my  socks disappear in the washing machine! And not pairs- just one of each!

Science suggests that 65 percent of our dreams are linked to real-life experiences. That makes sense. But what about the remaining 35 percent? Are those memories from a past life? A glimpse into an alternate universe where I’ve made entirely different choices? Or is it just my brain throwing together a bizarre late-night movie, hoping I won’t ask too many questions?

Then, of course, there are the real nightmares. The kind where you want to scream, but your voice refuses to cooperate. No matter how much I try, the sound just won’t come out, leaving me to flail around helplessly while the dream-monster closes in. And on a few occasions, I’ve had a dream within a dream. Waking up, relieved it was all over—only to realize I’m still asleep.

But the strangest part? There are two specific types of dreams I’ve had that never fail to predict the future. 

One tells me something good is on the way—a happy surprise, a stroke of luck, money  or just an effortless, problem-free day. 

The other? A warning. A clear sign that something is about to go wrong. And they have been right every single time.

 Coincidence? Maybe. I often wonder.

So, what are dreams, really? Premonitions? The brain’s filing system, sorting out our thoughts and emotions? Or just our subconscious running wild, free from the limits of logic and reason? Whatever they are, I do know this—dreams make life a lot more interesting. And even when I’m fast asleep, it seems I’m never really off duty!

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.