The Bishop’s day scholars. Revised

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One story stands out like a lightning flash.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Play up, Bishops. Never let your colours fall.

A letter to mum

 A Letter to Mum

"Those we love don't go away; they walk beside us every day."

I miss you, Mum — more than words can say.

Every single day, you’re in my thoughts and prayers.

When I dream of you, somehow, good things seem to follow. Maybe it’s true what they say — that where you are now, it’s a place of peace, light, and endless love. I hope it’s just as beautiful as we imagine: no pain, no sadness — only joy, and the quiet happiness you always deserved.

I find myself going back often to the early days, when life was simple but full.

The rickshaw rides to school — you bustling around, making sure I was ready: my uniform neat, my shoes polished, my books packed. You would remind me, "Do your homework well," "Have a bath and look clean and tidy," "Don’t be late."

Simple words, but packed with care and belief.

You taught me by your example — to be kind, to mind my words, to respect others.

"Speak no bad words," you said, and you lived it.

Character, you showed me, was far more important than anything else.

Helping with the housework was never an option; it was simply what we did. You believed in hard work and dignity — whether it was sweeping floors, folding laundry, or running small errands. I learned early that no task was beneath us, and no effort was ever wasted.

You worked so hard, Mum.

Sometimes taking up two jobs at once — managing the house, providing for me.

Not too much, never wasteful — but always enough, always just right.

Now I see what a sacrifice that truly was — and how silently you bore it all.

And then the day came when I left home to work in Pune.

Those long-distance phone calls feel so vivid even now — your voice, anxious and loving, cutting through the static.

"Can you hear me?" you would say again and again, until finally we could talk properly.

Each call was a reminder that no matter the distance, you were always with me.

Your visits to Pune, and later to Dubai, were gifts.

You brought the spirit of home with you — the familiar cooking, your laughter, your gentle chiding.

You stepped into my world with such grace, and I could see the pride in your eyes.

You were there at my wedding — radiant, proud, happy for me.

And when my daughters were born, you adored them.

You loved spending time with them — telling them stories, singing to them, gently fussing over their clothes and hair just like you once did for me.

They loved you just as deeply — their Nana, their safe place, their bundle of hugs and laughter.

I still see you with them — holding them close, laughing with them, teaching them little lessons in your soft, patient way.

Those memories are treasures now — precious, irreplaceable.

I remember the last time you left — sitting in a wheelchair at the airport, smiling and waving bravely, even though we both felt the weight of that goodbye.

Then came the fall, the hip injury, and the slow decline that no love or care could stop.

The end came too soon, and too hard.

You were irreplaceable — and you always will be.

But even now, you are with me.

In every act of kindness, in every effort to do better, in every quiet prayer whispered at the end of a long day — you are there.

You gave me a foundation built not on material things, but on love, values, strength, and humility.

I live by it every day.

And through me — and through your granddaughters — your spirit lives on.

You are, and always will be, right here with us.

With all my love, always,

Your son

Michael

Grandkids

 Grandkids are special.

In the wizardry of life, where time unwinds its tale, 

Grandchildren caper, love's boundless ship they sail.

 Their infectious laughter, echoes through time,

 As age surrenders, to their youthful climb.

Their high jinks wild, their hearts so pure,

Their comments are vague, yet love's allure. 

They mock with glee, yet in their eyes, 

A love so deep, a bond that ties.

On a pedestal, oh yes- they place you there, 

In their baby world, you're beyond compare. 

They don't see your wrinkles, just joy unfurled,

 In their tender embrace, you feel re-whirled.

"In hearts joy, we gauge" the saying goes,

Grandkids keep you young- this everyone knows.

We adore them - be they girls or boys.

Grandparents’ cherished, pristine toys.

 

In tales spun 'round, by firelights' glow,

 Grandparents’ voices, like rivers flow.

 In these moments, true magic is found,

 With grandchildren around, happiness is crowned.

So let them dance, let them explore, 

In their eyes, find youth's encore. 

Their joy becomes our cherished song, 

In grandkids' love, we eternally belong.

Loyalty cards

 Loyalty   - a strong feeling of support or allegiance.

Loyal- giving or showing firm and constant support.

Now that I have the meaning out of the way let me tell you what this is about.

It is about ‘Loyalty cards’ and I have never felt supported by having them!

It is believed that the early roots of customer loyalty programs started with “premium marketing” in the late 18th century. At this time, retailers began to give customers copper tokens with purchases that could be later redeemed for products, on future purchases. Loyalty and rewards programs have now become commonplace in our society.

As a young lad, which now seems like eons ago, we collected bottle tops, opened cans to see if the word, “Lucky winner” was engraved on the inside flap and bought various types of snacks and chewing gums  etc in an attempt to get lucky .

 No such luck ever dawned on me or on anyone I know. 

Now a days, in every part   of the world, every corner store, grocery, supermarket, hotel chain, gymnasium and the like have their own version of loyalty programmes. Me, being a sucker for loyalty, have any number of cards in my wallet – so much for privacy and all that hogwash. 

Let me relate three short instances that actually enlightened me about these ‘Loyalty cards’ and how they work. By the way, all told me made me believe that  I was a very special and valued customer! 

The first was when I was on a business trip a few years ago & checking into a well-known five-star hotel in Mumbai. On this occasion they were giving me a room with ‘no view’ whatsoever. With a certain amount of elan and oodles of confidence, I pulled out their loyalty card and asked them whether it stood for anything at all. The pretty young lady at the counter smiled & said “Sir, all our customers have these cards”. I never quite understood why I was carrying their card around in the first place.

The second was the Loyalty card of a very large mall. I was given the black and gold edged card after shopping one evening and was congratulated on joining the special programme for valued customers. I gathered points for many months, every time I made a purchase and was regularly intimated by mail about how many points were in my kitty. I often saw people redeeming their points while clearing their bill, but I felt that I would rather gather more points and redeem them once and for all. Silly, stupid me. 

Then for some obscure reason, we stopped going to that mall as we found one closer to home. A few months later we happened to be at that same mall , and it dawned on me that I may as well ‘cash in’. So, I walked up to the ‘Customer Care counter’ and produced my card. I had a few thousand points and was pleased as punch as finally I was going to pay my bill with my ‘loyalty card’. You have guessed what happened- The programme had been cancelled! They asked me if I wanted to join a New and Revised Loyalty Programme !

No, was my vehement answer. Obviously. 

 

This morning I completed the grocery shopping at the Hyper market next door and produced my ‘Loyalty card’ to pay my bill. 

After two people stared at the card long and hard, logged into a computer to confirm details, talked to a superior in under tones on a phone, asked me my name and mobile number & confirmed that I was the rightful owner of the card and no impersonator, they told me very politely that I had already used my points. It was almost like an inquisition. 

They smiled, with a certain degree of satisfaction while doing so, and I felt rather stupid. I could swear that the couple behind me were sniggering, but I could be wrong.  

That is when I almost lost it! I was vehement that the points had never been redeemed. By now there were about six or seven people in the line behind me and I was being given dirty looks as they were getting delayed. So, I did what was right – I paid my bill with cash but was still determined to find out about the so-called card, and why I could not redeem it. 

Finally, after much humming and hawing and checking their app on my mobile phone, I was assured that the next time I shopped there, they would redeem my card. To their credit they offered me some sanitizer and a tissue to clean my phone.  I smiled and looked around to see if anyone was listening – all those who were behind me had paid and left . 

Knowing my luck and the way these cards function, I will not be surprised that the programme gets canceled and a new one starts mid- week

Keeping my fingers crossed!

I must add, that filling in the forms for these cards is quite painful as well. They need their ‘valued customers’ to fill in their name, father’s name, date of birth, mobile number, address, weight, height, income, birth mark and what have you ( okay that may be a bit exaggerated) but I guess you get the drift   – so much for privacy ! 

Not sure why, but I always seem to  fall for these ‘Loyalty programmes’ 

They are fun – aren’t they?

St Joseph,' Allahabad

 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.  MissPen 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. 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!

Teachers like John Rapheal who was also an amazing guitarist , Benny Fernandes, Tony Jonathan  ,Joe Rodericks and Mr Pandey also ring a bell - all stalwarts .

 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.

ALLAHABAD AGAIN

 As a kid (read under ten years old) I enjoyed going shopping with my mother and aunt in Allahabad. We went by cycle rickshaw with me perched on one of their laps.  My job was to hold the empty shopping bags and make sure I did not “dream” and leave them anywhere. Incidentally, we had a rickshaw man named Jumman who lived near bye so that helped. As items were bought, they were handed over to Jumman to put in the rickshaw and keep watch. He followed us faithfully from shop to shop. 

Looking back, there were two main shopping areas - The Civil Lines on Canning Road - later Mahatma Gandhi Marg was the sort of upmarket area & the other was the bigger market known as “Chowk”. There was another busy market called “Katra” but we never went there for some obscure reason. Katra and chowk were on opposite sides of the city. 

I was rarely taken to Chowk but on the few occasions I was, it thrilled and confused me .I was also a trifle perturbed about getting  lost or left behind as I had no clue how to get home . 

We usually set out for the market just after lunch.

 Chowk was dirty, dusty, very congested and a trifle smelly. Various odors pervaded the atmosphere, and some were downright nauseating.  Heaps of garbage were strewn all over - some of it rotting. Strangely I often saw people carrying garbage till the dump and then throwing it on the road. The roads themselves were narrow and filled with potholes – there were overflowing drains as well. Cars, scooters, cyclists, motor bikes, rickshaws , ekkas, tongas , trucks, vans and even large roadways buses all fought for right of way & to move forward . Everyone was obviously going somewhere, and everyone was in a tearing hurry. The noise of the vehicles was bad enough and then with everyone hooting and sounding their horns it was enough to wake the dead. 

Despite all the flies and the filth, roadside food stalls and juice vendors plied their trade with gusto & did a roaring business. I vaguely remember trying my luck, by once asking for a glass of sugar cane juice. I was told point blank that I would get cholera or typhoid. My argument that others were having it was countered with – “they have guts of steel” or “their parents are not bothered about them ‘’

I never asked again.

Most of the roads had no partitions  or dividers and so you could  travel  in any direction you so desired  -  you were also permitted to park anywhere , do a U turn , and even stop and chat with someone coming in the opposite direction . This was definitely not permitted but no one checked anyone and so I guess that was the crux of the problem. 

I did see the odd  traffic police man  in his  white uniform  and some others  in khaki but they were invariably busy trying to coerce  some poor soul to bribe them for some minor traffic offence or the other - quite a paradox if you ask me !

 To add to the general pandemonium,  there were dogs, goats, buffaloes, and cows moving around, butting people and frightening others who often either drove into ditches beside the road or were forced to jump over mucky drains, to avoid them.  The cows and buffaloes often squatted  in the middle of the road and dozed off or just sat chewing the cud while glancing nonchalantly around - this usually happened  at the busiest areas as if they knew  the  chaos they would cause and then all the traffic had to maneuver round them. There were accidents galore and those led to arguments, threats  and fights . 

 To top all that, Chowk seemed to be a paradise for "paan chewers". Not only did they enjoy the best varieties of paan available but  they spat the betel juice all over - on the walls , on the road, on to passing vehicles , out of windows of houses and vehicles and if one was not lucky then you could be spat on as well -  in general it was a free for all – let’s all be happy kind of atmosphere! 

Most of the shop keepers lived in houses above their shops. I often wondered what those dilapidated houses were like from the inside. From outside they looked as if they were about to collapse any moment - had not seen a coat of paint for decades and were probably extremely old. Clothes put out to dry on lines of plastic rope , mops, brooms , long poles, broken old furniture , birds cages etc. were all visible on the minuscule balconies - at times you would see someone's toothless grandmother or grandfather sunning themselves or just standing and surveying the scene - some would smile and wave when I looked up.  Mind you, I am sure that a number of these were well to do individuals so please don’t get me wrong. That was just their lifestyle and they seemed to enjoy it .

Each area of chowk sold different items – so you had the utensils, brass ware, electrical goods, cloth, readymade garments , sarees, Knick knacks , toys , wood and carpentry items, paint shops etc . Then there was another area called ‘’Lok Nath’’ where one purchased all sorts of pickles, dried fruit and other eatables. We always came here, especially before Christmas to purchase items to put in the Christmas cakes.  Tasting before purchasing was what everyone did and I loved tasting an item called Petha !

 What struck me as strange was when my mother or aunt would ask the shopkeeper if the item, they were buying was fresh! I never heard anyone reply in the negative. In fact, that is my pet peeve when I go out shopping with anyone even today. Asking a vegetable vendor or a man selling meat or fish whether the items he is selling are fresh is so silly and quite unnecessary. For that matter asking a man selling shoes if the shoes will last is as funny.

Anyway, we would return around six pm. I always believed that if we returned after sunset we would be mugged or attacked by goons or whatever. Not sure where these ridiculous ideas entered my head from but they were there !

On the other hand, going to Civil Lines was easy, less stressful and I knew my way back! Everything was in a square. The roads were wider, they had no potholes and there were pavements to walk on. Large trees provided sufficient  shade .  Above all it was clean, there was plenty of parking for those who had cars and the clientele was better. Those who chewed pan visited Civil lines as well but they   spat the betel juice in the corners of corridors and roads and were a little more careful. And oh yes , the cows – they were there as well !

Nevertheless, although the Civil Lines was walking distance from our house in the Railway quarters , we never walked but went by rickshaw – now it need not be “our regular man” as we paid the guy off as soon as we reached the first shop and then strolled around – this was usually on  a Saturday morning .

I guess we humans are creatures of habit and so we invariably visited the same shops and often in the same order.

So, it was Ladies Corner to start with – powder, make up, biscuits, gift items etc. were always purchased here. I would hover   round the jars with sweets and the kind shopkeeper would always ask me which one I wanted and then give me two! Then we would buy two hundred and fifty grams of butter scotch paper sweets – I love them even now . Across the road, on the other side was a shop called Boxman – so it was buttons, needles, thread, ribbons, clips, pins, combs etc from there.

If shoes were needed it was always Fitwell.  The owner was a very jolly man and he talked nonstop. From a little square opening in the ceiling, boxes of shoes were thrown down and those below held them without even looking up – it was all one fluid motion and I was often bewildered at their dexterity. The shoes for school boys back then had very round toes and If I remember correctly they were referred to as Ball tossers ! What a vague name! At times I would run around the corner to Bata shoe shop  to see the shoes there, but old Fitwell was such a glib talker that by the time I got back he had packed the shoes , thrown in an extra  pair of laces, or a tin of polish for good measure  and the payment had already been made . So much for choice.

There were two other shoe shops – both owned by Chinese – Wanson and Fookson. For Christmas many people flocked to those two shops &  I got my  Christmas shoes from there too . They were definitely more fashionable! . Fooksons was then bought over by Chopra Shoes and I became a regular there.  Mr Chopra was a great salesman too, so he attracted a lot of regular customers.  

Occasionally, we picked up some sweets from Lucky Sweet mart – a Bengali owner - great tasting sweets and savories. They also sold creamy cold lassi and sweet curd – both were in high demand.

 For Medicines it was always Kohinoor Chemist – there were two gents at the counter there One was a Parsee Gentleman called Nanavati and the other was a Mr Tandon.  Mr Nanavati loved to talk and crack jokes and I found him quite funny. He would often ruffle my hair & was one of those who would always say I looked thin and then proceed to sell us a bottle or two of Feradol! Apparently it would fatten me up- it never did !

I do remember some other shops as well – B N Rama was a big, posh shop at the corner near Fitwell  – I am not sure  what we bought there – a gift or two for sure at times – but every time I passed by I inserted a coin in the weighing machine at the entrance . I was a feather weight for years. There were two brothers – one ran B N Rama and the other El Chico. They were the Roy brothers.

Who can forget Universal book stall where we got our books from – it was a very congested shop but any book one needed was available. Another of my favourites was a Pen store at the entrance to that same compound. I do not recollect the name but do remember being a regular to that shop to buy Pens, pencils and rubbers, chart paper and even my first China pen &  Geometry set ! Scented rubbers were a craze and I bought quite a few.

Then there was Samsons for readymade garments  – we always went there  – bush shirts , vests, underwear, socks , thermal wear etc – he had the best and was very reasonable .Close to Samson and on the same side of the road was Flashlight the Photographer . In those days there were no mobile phones in any case – not sure whether James Bond had one back then either. Flashlight was always in demand to develop the film rolls – some rolls had just eight photos and some twelve – out of those, one or two were invariably spoilt . You got the negatives as well in case you needed copies later. 

I must not forget Beni Prasad – that was a shop like no other. A large shop with shelves upon shelves of items – all rather untidy and overflowing. There were goods all over – on the floor and on the counters as well and nothing seemed to be sorted or labeled. It was one untidy mess.  Even the large fans had seen better days and they looked tired- quite like the owner.

However, jokes aside, it must be noted that if you could not procure an item anywhere in Civil Lines- Beni Prasad had it . He did not specialize in any particular item but had everything under the sun. He would shout out the order to one of his workers and miraculously, what you had ordered would appear within the minute. If it were a rare item, it would be covered in dust, but he would wipe it and hand it to you, beaming. At Beni’s, unlike in other shops, you could try and beat him down for the price and indulge in a little bargaining. He did not seem to mind. 

I was usually told to pick up an item or two from Beni after I had a hair cut at the barber near by ( in the Palace Cinema building . He was called Bulaki (I hope I got the name and location right) . 

El Chico was the most sought-after and up market restaurant in Civil Lines, and we did not go there very often as it was costly. However, we did go once or twice on special occasions. The ambience, the food and whole atmosphere was a wonderful experience. I vividly remember that my mother loved the pastries and so pastries were often purchased for tea from there. 

I often went to St Paul’s book stall when I was a little older to purchase Holy Pictures – I had a collection of them and spent the little pocket money I received on adding to my collection every month.

Sehgal stores was also a well-known grocery store and the shop was always well stocked. 

I cannot end without mentioning two shops - the barber I patronized as a teen and even later – He was called Up To Date. A friend introduced me to him, and he was my barber for years. I remember he had Leukoderma on his face, but he was a lovely man and we chatted a lot.

The other was GUZDERS ICE CREAM- this large ice cream parlour cum Departmental store was owned by the family for years. I remember being taken there on many an evening and we sat out in the spacious lawn and were served by bearers in spotlessly white uniforms and fancy head gear .The funny thing was that I suffered with Tonsillitis and so could not enjoy  the different varieties of  ice cream ! I often had pastries! 

I have tried not to digress, but Allahabad has wonderful memories for me.

Allahabad of yore

 I grew up in the Anglo-Indian Colony in Allahabad and it was a warm, homely sort of place. Spacious and airy, people often joked that it looked like a scene out of the wild west – some sort of a ranch minus the horses and guns! There were a few dogs and at times cows and buffaloes were left to graze by their owners but that added to the rustic charm. 

Encompassing an area of approximately one square kilometre, there were around thirty-five Anglo Indian families residing there and any number of servants who worked for them.  It was known as the Thornhill Club – the colloquial name was the Bandhwa club! Not sure about the origin of both names.

This property comprised a large compound within which were a number of spacious, red colonial type buildings with large gardens and a few other smaller cottages with manicured lawns and potted plants. An unpaved, winding road ran  through the centre, large neem trees proved plenty of shade on either side , a lot  of greenery and innumerable  flowering plants and bushes added colour to  every compound  and right in the centre was a large hall with ante rooms , wooden flooring , badminton court etc. There were also a few tennis courts, but I never saw anyone play tennis on them. Towards the back of this property and at the end of a steep rugged slope was the “dhobi ghat” where the ‘dhobis’ from all over the town came to wash clothes.  They came with their donkeys laden with dirty clothes and then let them out to graze while they toiled on for a few hours daily.

 Although they were over one hundred meters away, I vividly remember hearing them washing those clothes at the crack of dawn, shouting, and grunting each time they banged the clothes on to the sloping stone washing stands. They even did so unflinchingly during the very chilly Allahabad winters while we were all tucked into bed under tons of warm bedding – not sure if they are still there but they sure slogged on manfully. 

The Anglo-Indian families in the colony were all easy going, God fearing people who knew each other well. Most had lived there for over twenty-five years or more. At times I felt they knew too much about each other and always tried to learn more. As a young boy I often overheard adult conversations about who was divorcing who , of someone who had got engaged and not invited so and so as the families were not on good terms or  of someone else who had stopped going to church as she did not like the new parish priest . No one was rich and no one was poor, and I guess that kept everyone peaceful. There was the usual jealousy and back biting but then no one even today is above reproach on that front. 

 It was quite common to hear a knock on the door at eight am on a Saturday or Sunday morning when a neighbour had just decided to drop in for a cup of tea and a chat (read gossip) .We were not yet fully awake but such was the closeness of the families that no appointments were needed and almost all visits were un announced and without invitation! These visits could last anywhere from half an hour to two hours and at times a makeshift breakfast was rustled up as well and the guest stayed on for some more time.

It is pertinent at this juncture to inform you that this entire property had no boundary wall, no fence, no watchman  and the one winding road had  no lights.  At night one navigated the road with the help of a torch or managed with the lights from the houses and compounds which incidentally were switched off by around eleven. Nevertheless, I never heard of any robberies or break ins. Once during the Christmas season , after a few drinks, two hens were stolen by someone and sold to someone else in the same colony but nothing more of note . 

I have so many vivid memories of those wonderful days – they leave me with a fuzzy feeling even today 

The hall in the centre of the property was used for weddings, dances, parties, badminton and some miscellaneous meetings. If you knew the families, you were usually  invited to the wedding and you just had to walk across. If on the other hand you did not know them, then you sat on your veranda and watched the wedding unfold fifty meters away. It was a nice way to pass the evening.  Comments were passed on the number of guests, the quality of music, the aroma from the outdoor cooking, the decoration and even the gowns of the bride and bridesmaids. Some were good while others were rather uncharitable!  There were a large number of servants living in the out houses and they usually invited themselves to all weddings  with the excuse of helping out .They thus  managed to get a free meal which no one begrudged them. If they were lucky, someone gave them a drink too.

The dances during Easter, Christmas and New year were big affairs. Over two hundred couples and families bought tickets in advance – some bought  them at the door at a premium , the best bands in the town were in attendance , guests dressed in all their finery, and dancing till the wee hours of the morning. Snacks and Liquor were on sale during the show and some people carried their own – no questions were asked. There were the occasional arguments &  skirmishes , when undesirable, uninvited, lone, drunk guys tried to force their way into the hall or when someone tried to dance with someone else’s girlfriend or wife !

Needless to add, these gate crashers were fisted and literally shoved out by some of the very tough Anglo Indian gents who manned the door and knew how to use their fists to their advantage when needed. Everything carried on peacefully thereafter. I once saw a chair being thrown across the hall at two young chaps who were trying to force their way in!  At times, those who had been refused admission waited for the dance to end and passed uncalled for remarks at those leaving and another fight ensued. On a few occasions the police from the nearby police station were called in  but then again – things usually died down pretty soon

I too played in the band for many years- first on the drums and then the rhythm guitar – was the lead singer as well. Did if for the thrill and the high, the little fame we presumed was coming our way and of course the money which helped in those difficult days! As a band I must say we were pretty good and quite in demand all over the town. That we were all in our early twenties added to the charm, I guess.

Christmas in the club was quite the highlight of the year. Everyone decorated their houses which had been “whitewashed and painted” a few weeks before. Coloured lights, Christmas trees, fancy curtains and blaring music wafting through the air all added to the festive feeling. Carol singers made sure they visited all the houses in the compound in the weeks before Christmas and were welcomed in with snacks and drinks.  If it was late, some people hid from them and refused to open the doors much to the chagrin of the poor singers out in the cold! The chilly winters during the vacations saw everyone sitting outside almost all day – wearing layers of clothes to keep themselves warm. Breakfast, lunch & tea were all had outdoors. As soon as the sun began going down, which was around four pm, the chairs were taken in, the doors shut and small coal fires lit. There was no television back then and no internet either, yet no one got bored. There were books to read, board games to play  and others like  “I spy and kick the can”  –  which were  quite a hit.

Christmas  does remind me of one old gentleman – whenever he visited,   everyone was on guard because if you offered him snacks and left him alone for a minute , he would empty them into his bag and say Bye before anyone had time to react . But then again – no one was going to tell him to give the items back – it was quite a dirty looking cloth bag in the first place! 

Visitors during the festive season were aplenty. Every family made Christmas cakes and if you asked for the recipe, they usually told it to you but left out one key ingredient! There were innumerable other goodies all made at home  and each family usually had their own speciality. I remember my mother making cakes, yummy fudge and a sweet we called stick jaw – well that is exactly what it did. Made of cooked sugar or jaggery, you could take one ball, put it in your mouth and chew it for hours.

The Christmas tree for the kids was another fun evening. Around fifty kids and their parents turned up at  around three in the afternoon. Santa Claus arrived by four. The hall was well decorated with balloons, buntings, streamers and coloured lights. A large Christmas tree took centre stage.  There were games, dancing, music and snacks. 

Santa was usually someone from the colony.  He arrived by means of the  transport  available at the time -  on a motorcycle or scooter  , in a rickshaw, once in a tonga  or he just came walking up the slope  and ringing his bell from behind the building . He threw sweets for the kids to keep them as far as possible as they tugged at his cape and that often caused quite a stampeded with children rolling in the mud . 

 I was once requested to be Santa Claus but I refused point blank as the year before, some naughty boys had tugged at Santa’s beard and tried to partially disrobe him in the bargain .  ! Boys will be boys and they were all of ten years old so you can imagine, wickedness was in their bones. The girls were usually sober and dignified and they simpered and giggled when he arrived or during the gift giving time.  The smaller kids howled, cried and were literally dragged by their doting parents to receive their gift from Santa. When they refused to go to Santa or kiss him they were roughed up as well - I thought the whole things was rather sadistic at times. 

Once the gifts were given out there was gift wrapping paper strewn all over , there were bugles and whistles being blown , drums being beaten , cars being rolled , children running wild in excitement – it was mayhem galore. If we were lucky, a few photographs were taken if someone had a camera – don’t forget this was the pre mobile age – it was the seventies and eighties!

Anyway, while the ladies were busy entertaining the kids and seeing to the snacks and games , a few gents would always slip off to have a Chota or two  ( If you don’t know what that is you can  find out ) . They would then re-enter the hall looking pretty sheepish, especially when their wives asked then where they had been! They also did a lot of smiling and talking when they returned and it was obvious they were all pretty high and happy for it!

Rounders and kick the can during the day were other games that the youth indulged in so also seven tiles and a game with a ball called Kings! Boys and girls from other parts of Allahabad would come to play too and those were days of plenty of merriment and general good clean fun

Some youth also conducted a badminton tournament every ear – it was a Tin a Bottle tournament – ie you paid a small entry fee of five rupees and you donated a tin or bottle of something edible – that would go towards the prize hampers. Many a lovely evening was spent battling it out on the badminton court in the hall – the wooden flooring is still as good as ever I am told. There was also the occasional Housie but that did not catch on. 

The compound of the  club was  quite dark &  deserted at night &  I was often quite scared when,  having played for a dance somewhere in the town , I was dropped at the entrance gate to the large property  well past midnight and had to walk about one hundred meters down the winding road to my house.

When those dropping me home would ask me if it would be ok to drop me there  , I would  always say “yes” – then as their  vehicle would depart I would walk as fast as possible while singing at the top of my voice . I once remember seeing a few jackals scurrying along quite close in the dip beside the road . I was startled out of my wits and took off at top speed not looking back till I reached my doorstep panting like a racehorse. Now you can either believe this or say to yourself that it did not happen but walk on a dark road with jackals beside you and you will know what I mean!

I once also saw a ghost of someone who had died in the colony a few years prior to that day – a very nice friendly old man . Those who had lived there at that time would recognize the man from one simple description – he was quite old when he died & he wore a patch over one eye. 

Nothing major- I was as usual returning from a dance and I saw him cross over in the direction of the house he lived in which was quite close to ours. At this moment I am putting my hand on my heart and swearing that this is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

While on the topic of ghosts let me tell you another incident that happened when we lived in another house adjoining the main hall.

It was summer and I was sleeping in the open varandah. It must have been around three in the morning and I was fast asleep on my back. Suddenly I felt a presence and my eyes opened. Standing at the back of the bed and looking over my face at about two feet was a man. My hair stands on end even today so many years later as I key this in so you can be sure this is no exaggeration. He was an old, gaunt looking man, had long hair, a long white beard and moustache but believe it or not – he had the face of a baby . I looked, I froze and shut my eyes. I opened them a millisecond later and he was gone. 

There was a very famous sweet shop just outside the mail gate of the Thornhill club – the name of the shop was “Hira Halwai”- obviously, the owner’s name was  Hira! He sold the tastiest sweets, jalebis and samosas along with a green chutney.He also made Puris and a vegetable – it was nick named Puri Tak. It was chili hot, but the taste was to die for. The milk and curd were the best in Allahabad and during the summer months he sold Lassi as well with a thick layer of cream on the top.   Hira’s snacks and sweets were the staple of innumerable parties all over the town. By the way some of the best parties were held in houses in the premises – Anglo Indians know how to party. Most were pound parties where everyone brought a pound of something to eat – this was then put on the table and everyone tucked in all evening – there was always food left over. 

 Many of those I grew up with are still there –some 

 with their children and grandchildren. A large number have migrated to foreign shores and are doing very well for themselves 

My mother and I had a house there for about forty years – for me that’s a lifetime!