Loyola

Yesterday, I had the good fortune of “running into” Shirish Subramanian (Chiru to us Loyolites). I didn’t actually meet him but I added him on G-Chat and we caught up on life like good old times. Consequently, massive nostalgia followed and it still continued today. The last time I thought for so long about school was for my college essays. Mind you, I am fiercely proud of my school and I respect and adore it more than anything else. At the risk of sounding like a snob I will say the following – what with today’s packed schedules and crazy work routines, it is difficult to find time for yourself and recount on the paths which have brought you where you are. But I am very glad for this extremely lazy evening post a delicious lunch of Misal which let my thoughts wander away. On the day of my college applications, thinking about Loyola was the necessity of the hour. Today, it is the desire of the heart.
Fr. Anil Soares interviewed the five-year old brat that was me. “What do you like to do when you are not doing homework or not in school?” he asked. I nonchalantly and promptly replied, “I play hide-and-seek.” (it seemed a trivial question coming from the headmaster of the school). “So”, he breathed, “describe it.” My parents probably felt like this was game over since I had been known to flounder at such instances previously. I still remember Fr. Soares’ smiling face when I did the explaining reasonably well and he asked me jokingly if he could join in to play – my very first memory of Loyola. I also have a few others ones, prominent amongst them Shreyas crying as he went from one room to another for short interviews with different teachers and continuing his drama on his way home.
Primary school will be remembered for Aai-Baba taking time off from work to bring me my PT shorts so that I could avoid remarks in the Calendar. As a result, Mrs. Rosy once told Aai off for pampering me and then gave me a talking to as well. After that, the shorts – smelly and dirty as they were – never came out of the bag before the end of the year. Loyola was leaving its mark on me. Then there was the whole Ronu & Ved vs Hardik war complete with flying overgrown nails and steel rulers that always led to me getting beaten up. Standing outside Ms. Tellis’ office and blaming each other for it – such brats. Of course, none of this compared with the adventures of being in Ms. Nazareth’s class in 2nd standard. She was the renowned Nazi of the school who would not spare a single kid in her class. Not to mention the insane amounts of powder on her face which gave her a freakish appearance and strong perfumes you could smell while kneeling down next to her chair (Dear Ms. Nazareth, if you are reading this, there is absolutely no offense meant – we all love you). I was, still, one of the least naughty kids. Playing cricket on the side of the main ground with a handkerchief ball, (where Ronu and I amassed a partnership of 500+ runs that went on for a month because we managed to convince everyone that we were not out whenever a controversy arose) being happy on the first Friday since school started late after mass, 3-legged races, Radiant Reader and Balbharthi, my first remark from Mrs. Pacheco for forgetting a Grammar book in 4th, the ‘whoa-ness’ of swimming and random, unexplained flutter of hearts as we turned a tad sideways from our school. Ronu left for the states after 4th but Jinx, JDP, Roku, Aditya etc continued to remain the “Kothrud gang” with the addition of Chhiggis (Ronu’s dear friend with whom he played chess under the table) and coy Bhanda.
5th standard. Middle school. Enter douchebag phase in life. I recall being ridiculously unreasonable and requesting Baba to get me a Math notebook when class was scheduled for the 7th period. Like primary school, this time Mrs. Samant did the honors and told Baba to stop renewed pampering. It is safe to say we were pretty arrogant idiots who did not care even if “Father Palli was hiding in the next class (thank you, Mrs. Sarfare)”. Punishments and being shouted at in class was cool (how can it not be cool?). Mrs. Apte, Mrs. Dini and Mrs. Monteiro were probably the only two teachers who were not exasperated with us kids and this showed in the feedback cheering they got on Teachers’ Day. Fights over marks, class monitor positions, row monitors et al. Bifurcation of science, math and the social sciences into 2 parts was both a headache (to have 3 extra tests) and a joy (ability and freedom to enjoy a particular subject fully and hate another fully). Then there was finishing as much homework in the class as possible followed by a realization of its incompleteness only near the University circle on our way back to school and scurrying to finish it. Annoying but consolidated bouts of Shuddhalekhan every 5 months before the notebook was checked in the sprawliest of hand-writings was the order of the day (or the order of every 5 months). Momin Sir asked me, “Kay, zala ka shuddhalekhan?” Clearly the answer was nahi. However, I confidently proclaimed “Zalay!” with hopes of it not being checked. Rohan (Kulkarni) did the same. We discussed after class and both knew neither had done it. 70 pages with 10 lines/day of shuddhalekhan followed. In a day. FTW. And yes, the 10th line mysteriously had only 1 word. Trips to Splash Mountain and Go Karting at Manas resorts were times of extreme mirth. “Vanda Vanda” by Fr. Thorat, “You boy with the specs. Yes you! Please! Please come here!”, thanks to Father Ovid. Exams and their annoying existence shall conveniently be omitted since it wasn’t the most interesting part of school.
With time came maturity, but only slightly so. The hormones raged, and the necks turned sideways even more. The ball ran down the slope suspiciously more times. Stupid acronyms and mysterious inclusion of a girl’s name in a particular word was followed up with lots of giggles and snickers and one young man extremely red in the face. This happened to every young man in class. Concerts, dances and plays were times for much furor and excitement as we could skip class and watch rehearsals. Quizzes, debates, elocution – it was all there. And of course, the division of the school in 4 parts based on color. Of course, not racial discrimination but the proud Green, Gold, Blue and Red houses. Cross country, athletics and other such activities – we have the sweetest memories of these. An ex-Loyolite had recently written the following lunch break “schedule”:
12:50 pm – Run down the main stairs tearing at each other’s t-shirts.
12:52 pm – Grab your tiffin and start masticating food irrespective of what it is.
12:55 pm – The urge to play football would be too much to resist. Proceed on to the field with the lunch in one hand.
1:40 pm – The bell rang but at least half the school kept playing on and returned to class with soiled clothes, bloody elbows and legs at 1:50.
Few Loyolites would argue against this one.
9th and 10th standard were probably the most enjoyable years with teachers, parents, peons and a whole bunch of other unrelated people concerned about us. Centrafest for our batch in particular was an absolute rage where every kid had time of his life booing Vikhe and obviously uniting with the Josephites. Aditya’s memorable Marathi play that won the first prize is fresh in memory. Skipping classes, not paying attention in class because “you had done it before” and the monotonous practice for the Passing-out Parade. The passing out parade was an emotional high. As was said, “You are no longer fledgings. Birds ready to fly in to the world and look at what is in store for you. But never forgetting and never failing the motto of the school – Men for Others”.
School ended a while ago. To be precise, five years ago. The memories and emotions still crawl back and tug lovingly though. The most beautiful experience that we all shared. My memories cover only a small part of the vast Pensieve of events that occurred in those glorious ten years. They are probably not even complete and well documented since they have been written in a pretty large burst of nostalgia. But they are what I have. I refuse to say they are all that I have since I know a million more are buried somewhere deeper in my heart and will come back at a time in the future. Loyola, I love you.