Mini

This short fiction was written very long time ago, as a teen. I dusted it out and have added it here among my other school entries. Its a narration of my experience in school as a new comer and how I sailed along.

The first sight that came to me, were the eaves of the stone buildings partly hidden in the dense evergreens. As I neared the bright, well-kept, placid property, my imagination anticipated new friends, a new world yet to unfold. However, my emotions were in an uncomfortable flutter to think of the embarrassment of being a stranger among old friends. A stranger in a color dress.

Unaccustomed to convent life, I became an easy prey on the first day of a new school. I felt awkward when a delighted giggle ran among the girls, as the class teacher a tall dark lady in a cotton sari, introduced me to them. I was an alien in their world.

I was too proud, too timid and too shy to talk to the neatly ironed uniformed little girl next to my chair. She had plump rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes." Hi, my name is Mini", she told and started talking to me. Soon we became friends. It was all happening as if predefined. I inclined towards Mini for all my needs. I ate lunch with her, played with her and did home work with her. I slowly realized that other girls in the class viewed Mini as a rude short tempered 'minding her business' girl. But to me she was the warmest, the most genuine and vital of all persons I ever knew.

Summer was the most memorable part of the year. And each year added a tougher adhesive between our friendship. We sat on the green banks of the small gushing stream, with a song of its own, down the hillside near Mini's farmhouse, talking about all things under our innocent world. The stream threw off sparkling diamonds of light as we used to wonder quietly what tomorrow would bring.

Our teen years were the sunniest days of our life. We journeyed with fantasies, surprises, shocks and mood swings as each day dawned differently. We enjoyed life together. Mini and I shared many likes and dislikes. We loved the Enid Blyton's, the Nancy Drew's, and the Readers Digest. We were mad of Anil Kumble. We painted, watched horror movies, roamed the dusty streets on our bicycles and hated boys who passed nasty comments!! We loved animals and started a little blue cross of our own. We wanted to be future Maneka Gandhis. We felt personally responsible for all the animals around our home.

Of course, we studied. Mini was a good student and would never miss the first rank of the class. And I would mange a rank from the seventh to the twelfth. I learnt a lot from her. Self-dependence was the foremost of all things I learnt from her. One fine day with so many hopes and dreams, needs and aspirations, we graduated from school. Her marks paved way for her to enter a prestigious medical college and I, to an engineering college. We couldn't hold back the tears, the painful thoughts of getting separated. We promised to write letters and keep in touch.

Soon my father got transferred and I was miles away from everything dear and familiar. A few months later, I got a letter from her, 'Dear, how are you? I am fine. Miss u much.. With love Mini'

The most poignant day of my life dawned with the sun shining brightly. Everything seemed unusual to me that day, the church bells, the twittering birds, the rustling leaves, the crowing cock, all these everyday activities caused a faraway sickness inside me. I knew not then why. Later that day the fateful news came.
'My little friend Mini died on spot struck by a speeding lorry.'

My family went to comfort Mini's.

I ran across the familiar lane,

The wind pulling my hair astray,

Sharp thoughts stinging my heart,

Time seemed to come to a halt,

When I saw the limp body of my friend.

I gathered Mini in my arms, and looked haplessly around. The picture of Mini and I, taken inside our school garden hung on the wall next to her bed. Our cheerful looks were lime lighted against the subdued colors of the evening shadows of the garden. The photo - a telling reminder of a wonderful friendship, of a shimmering person who had a great zest for life.

Before I left, I went to have a last look at the brimming stream where we shared our thoughts. I felt every contour of the surrounding hills personally weeping with me. I was grief stricken and numb. No one could ever comprehend this loss. I stood looking at the bright sun, shedding bitter tears, thinking,

" My Mini is dead".

I murmured a silent goodbye..............

Remembering Yasmin

A little angel flew by HA,
Stopped by to stay;
Playful and charming she spent her day,
When disaster struck his sway!
Her essence squelched by flames
She battled to live or not.
As our prayers met silence
Death won the day,
Not without etching little hearts forever.
Here is an eulogy for a girl who would have conquered worlds
If only fate had smiled on hers’;
For those God loves die young
Thus we consoled
As we bid our farewell to our beloved brown eyed dove!

As I tried to recollect old school days, I suddenly remembered a very painful incident during the mid nineties. This is about a girl who walked the grounds of HA as a beautiful angel and was taken away from all of us too soon.

Yasmin a couple of years my school senior was a bubbly ever smiling beautiful girl. She was always noticed very frequently in the school campus as a house leader and also as one of the school monitors to oversee punctuality and cleanliness among junior schoolmates. I had noticed her many times standing by the side and observing us for any disorderliness as we marched back, after the morning prayers to classrooms. She was prompt in picking out girls with ‘extra long’ skirts, dirty socks and shoes, uncombed hair, dirty ribbons - anything deviating from the orderliness that was imposed on us by the convent.

Many times she was noticed sitting among her class group during the group study period trying to voice her thoughts, explaining stuff to people. Her demeanor was very noticeable. May be because of her bubbly attitude or may be because of her charm or may be fate wanted us to notice her charm before she was to be taken away from us: Whatever may be the reason she haunted us all after her death with her fascinating smiling face and big brown eyes.

Though she was my senoir, I had little acquaintance with Yasmin as she was part of our cycling group. The cycle group comprised students who cycled to school. Everyone in the cycle group knew everyone else. There was a friendly air about us as we discussed about our cycles and routes. Just wishing adieus once in a while helped us in getting to know each other. Yasmin cycled north with her friends and my group went south.

It was just another casual day at school and the school corridors were soon empty after the evening school bell. Anticipating the evening loaded with assignments we departed on our cycles never knowing how each one of us would change forever after that poignant evening.

Later that evening, news leaked out in the small town of ours about a fire accident of a girl from HA and that she was admitted in hospital with burns. No one suspected anything severe. Next morning, it was out in the local papers. Yasmin after reaching home had run into her mother’s kitchen and surprised her with a hug from behind. That very act of love turned disastrous, as the can her mom was holding toppled over. And it all happened within seconds. The combustible liquid in the can burst into flames along with the lit stove destroying everything it came in contact with. It was quite some time before the fire was put out by friends and neighbors. But by then both of them had severe third and fourth degree burns.

News reached us that they were admitted in hospital and were battling for life. Sr Angela, who always maintained a straight face, was in a horrible state of shock when she broke the news on stage. She arranged for prayer meetings for the mom and daughter's recovery and called for donations for their treatment. She also strictly warned the students from visiting her in the hospital due to seclusion of the burn victims to prevent further infection.

Everyone who had the heart and ability donated. The school management rushed in with aid. Progress of their health was out in the papers every morning. Prayer meetings were held almost every day. We all prayed for the quick recovery of Yasmin and her mother. Some teachers paid a visit to the hospital and came back with heavy hearts. Many wept in the classrooms unable to control their painful emotions as they reminisced about her playful antics and her lovely character.

The pain the school went through during those days was enormous. The air was heavy with sadness and expectation. Girls, who were usually bubbly and playing around, remained subdued. All the talk was about Yasmin and her mother - If only she had restrained or her mom had been a little more careful. If only she had gone late from school. If only the clock could be turned back and that disastrous incident was averted! if only....

One more institution shared our agony - The Sharada College for Women. Yasmin's mother was a lecturer in that college. Both the managements did their very best to save the lives of their beloved lecturer and student. The Sisters of the Convent gave emotional and financial support for the family. Yasmin's dad joined us sometimes during the daily prayers. Yasmin being the only child and with both wife and child in unfathomable conditions, the man was indeed a sad sight to behold. People who knew him whispered that he had aged years in a couple of days.

As time flew by, fate conjured different plans. News reached us that her mother succumbed to the injuries. We prayed and hoped that with one death, the other person will be revived. But the little girl's heart stopped a day after her mom's. The school plunged in sorrow. Her funeral was attended by the Convent Sisters, teachers, schoolmates and friends.

Soon after that a Yasmin trust was started by her Dad and by Sister Angela. Money was donated for students who did well in class programs. Her dad addressed us one day during the morning prayers thanking us all for the support and help that was offered during the painful times.

Yasmin’s death created a strange and eerie feeling among all of us. Many, who had not yet understood death were stunned and confused. Her classmates and friends, especially were never the same again. They asked for change of classrooms to help them come out of the loss. During the farewell party many of them paid a tribute to their lost friend. All the old folks of school remember that incident but I am not sure what happened to the trust and her dad later on. If any one reading this could throw some light on it, it would be greatly appreciated!

Crazy Sister Angela and her pet projects!

With much ado for the female empowerment, Sr brought in a sudden change by employing some men (May be she wanted to break the monotony of just seeing skirts and sarees around ??) This was the time when there were no men in the school campus: the only men being 'Perianna - the gardener' and 'Ramu anna - the driver'. Sr explained her action that the girls were becoming too soft with all women around and would need to have some male teachers also to cope along. She also added that she was experimenting to see how male staffs would fit in!!

Dadthi
Her first experiment was with a physics and chemistry lab assistant. He had a weird name. He was called "Dadthi". We girls found it delightfully funny to have the man around and that too with such a silly name. A Tamil word 'Dhathi' (meaning: dull headed) which was so very much similar to this guy's name in pronunciation, elicited much fun. The poor guy was mocked and teased. Girls used to break out into laughing spree from merely calling out his name, much to his irritation.
"Hello Dathi sir .. giggle giggle"
Sometimes even when the girl addressing him would not giggle there would be a sharp squeal from the backbenchers. All this mocking irritated the man to the core that one day he decided to retaliate. In the chemistry lab, he would give the girl who laughed the most the hardest of all salts to test. In the physics lab, even the slightest movement of hand or mouth was promptly reported to the faculty. Especially Mrs Janete, the physics teacher, took to heart and unleashed terror in the classroom.

He must have enjoyed each and every moment of the torture we experienced as a result of his spying. Soon all the giggles vanished and girls started taking him seriously. No one wanted to end up with a hard to find salt during the exams! But the laughing and teasing went on behind his back (Ofcourse!)

Pughazh
Another of Sr's experiments was the employment of a computer science faculty. She had appointed a freshie right out of an engineering college. Our school had just started off with std 11 and 12 and it had this new subject - computer science. Having forgotten the name of such a dynamo of a guy(!?), I had to call an old friend to recollect the same. "Pugazhendhi". And Sr rejoiced in shortening his name to Pughazh. She would scream down the corridor this name and he would come running from where ever he was with his hair bouncing like that of a puppy.

Well this guy knew how to impress the young and the old. He did have a good rapport with the female staff, making all their presentations and showing off his computer skills and capturing their computer illeterate minds. His strategy for the young was quiet different though. He was not able to conceal his excitement to teach a group of teenage girls and that showed in the way he dressed. He was always in the best of his clothes, wore rayban and drove a Yamaha - all with utmost style to have the poor doves weep and worship his foot steps. And hmmm.....he wore a musky perfume that emanated along the corridors threatening to make a female heart ache for the unknown. To say the least the senior girls went crazy. There was always a crowd behind him asking doubts and clarifications. Distractions were running high. Certain straight lipped, prissy old teachers who had been observing all this, one day blew the whistle. Someone had spotted this hunk with a group of girls who were his students in an ice cream parlor. When news reached the princi's ears, he was immediately fired. News came later on that firing only gave him more freedom to hang around in the Santham complex with a group of infatuated fans of his!

But Sister never stopped taking risks. She kept on experimenting with the male gender with the hire and fire policy. Some really stubborn cases stuck. Some had a very moronic look on their face, unable to comprehend the all-female atmosphere, that Sr herself unable to stand them, threw them out in a couple of days!

Charles
There was this Charles who joined sometime in the late nineties. Having attended Miss Sacchu's, Mrs. Jasons , Mrs.Jeeva's class, we found his class very unenthusiastic and boring. He simply read out, each and every line from the reader and laughed to himself at all the funny areas in the lesson, as we sat gloomily with a blank expressions on our faces. Soon after class, Sr came over for feedback and oh my, didnt she regret that? She was bombarded with the most negative feedback and with requests to change the subject teacher. A petition was put forward to bring back Mrs Jason to teach english again. Though Sr was reluctant, she granted us our wish much to our delight and to the irritation of Charles. He never did like our batch after that.
I later came to know that Charles improved on his lectures, but I cannot think of him ever replacing the mighty thrones of Miss. Sacchu or Mrs. Jason.

Vincent
Last but not the least, Sister had a favourite PA. My flaky memory refused yet again, to recollect his name.... Another call to the same friend reaped results. Vincent worked in the office and was a real nice guy who helped us all in any way he could. But even his nice character did not protect him from the evil female minds and their wicked mockery. He had a very peculiar way of walking. He seemed to be always in a hurry with his head jutting forward and taking quick strides across the grounds. His very lean figure moved with such quickness that it resembled a man on the run to catch a hen. If one imagined a hen clucking and running ahead of him the whole scene would hit them downright funny. He was thus christened "Koli" sometimes "Koli pudikravan". The name was coined by one of my seniors who had a really good head for making names for every teacher in the block.

Thus in the female fiefdom a few good men and a few odd men crossed by. But I always had this doubt - was it absolutely necessary for men to work in our convent? An all girls convent mainly catered to the needs of a girl to let her be as free as possible. Many a shy girl during the teens would later grow up into a more confident woman dealing with men and work as a result having her own time and space to grow initially. Such girls had to be nurtured and encouraged. I felt Sr was actually ignoring this very fact. By forcefully recruiting male faculty members she wanted to bring a change among girls. She explained that it was good for their future. But she failed to notice the tension and uneasiness among the girls around these men. The natural affinity in the relationship between a female teacher and a girl student could never be developed with these men. This topic may raise a lot of criticism and debate but I stand by my thoughts - A girl school need not have male teachers.

Well later we came to know Sr also had plans to make the school a co-ed. That really frightened the living day lights out of us. What was she thinking? (or was she thinking?) But am really glad that it didnt materialise till now. Hail the angels of HA.

Men Boys and the female heart

Girls girls girls everywhere...
Where ever one turns... not a scent of a man.
Rightly put there were too many females put into one place and one can imagine what would be the result of a group of women in a place. I wonder how all our principals and teachers got us through this worldly matter of flesh and heart.

There were juicy gossips almost every day. There would be news about seniors eloping over the weekend, teachers having affairs, someone getting engaged, someone getting married and quiting work, so on and so forth..

To qoute Mrs:Thangam Jacob, "someone whose heart was beating rather too loud".
That was the way she put across all the matters concerning the heart!

A juicy gossip could be anything..even the not so hot stuff to the outside world was a hot topic to be discussed during the breaks, lunch and group study period. Among the various such stories of the hormone overdrive here are a few that I could recollect.

There was this girl in our class who came up one day and told that she was kidnapped by a road side romeo! I remember being about 14 or 15 years old then..
As she narrated her encounter with that guy we sat listening breathlessly unable to comprehend.
Was a it a fabrication or truth?!
This guy who had always followed her, on that particular day, had been on the look out for her with a car. As she cycled to school, he had stopped her, shooed her into the waiting car and rode off to some isolated bungalow.
He had then made her sit there for the whole day and had voiced his undying love to her.
He had also promised to love her and have her until the world ends!!
Geeks! Well the whole thing sounded to us like something out of the movies and story books.

We sat gaping at her, more intent to know if anything else happened to her... Then she said that he kissed her..
Oohhh!
An instant silence ensued as all eyes rolled in unison.
We didnt know whether to believe her or not!!
Then she she continued with her story.. that when it was about time school ended for the day, he had taken her back and dropped her at the same place where he had abducted her from.
But ofcourse with a threat that she never should utter a word to anyone about the day!
Wah! Quite a story!
But after listening to such a tale, none of us could concentrate in the class. Our minds were elsewhere wondering about the girl, the guy and the kiss.
I dont know what happened to that girl, because after 10th class she left school to study elsewhere and was never heard off again.

Some of our seniors when we were in eighth class tried to have some real fun with boys. These boys were from the school named Holy Cross, a convent in the wilderness of Ammapet. These boys were stylish, convent bred rich daredevils. Though both the schools were in far corners of the city, somehow the interactions among the same year students were made possible especially in class 10, 11 and 12.
Most of the boys knew who studied in which class in which school and the same was true among girls. A main reason to this sort of knowledge was that the two main convent schools Holy Angels and Cluny had boy students until standard four. Soon after that, the boys were sent away from the girls school and they usually moved to Holy Cross, because that was the city's best convent school for boys.

So obviously when the boys and girls grew up, they did remember their old classmates and ofcourse, all the old rivalry too! Also thanks to all the high school and secondary school tuitions handled mostly by the Holy Cross school teachers.
There was one Mr.Bond, who taught physics and chemistry, one Mr.Ju who taught Biology and a serious one Mr.Selvaraj who taught Maths. Now these tuitions were centers where many a love blossomed.
Based on such a type of acquaintance, a particular group of girls and boys got together and decided to have a picnic outing at Yercaud.
The dare devils choose to go on their own vehicles, up the hill. Now that was the time when Sunny's and Scooty's were introduced and the mobility of the girls had increased by 100 folds. But these foolish brats had worn their school uniforms and had gone up Yercaud, a very small hillstation bordering our little town.

Some stranger saw this group of boys and girls in their uniforms, smelt fish and had promptly informed the respective school princi's about this loitering. Blame it on the uniforms!
Sr. Angella and Bro. Britto literally flew up through the roof, when they came to know about this. The boys and girls were summoned in their respective schools and expulsion was talk of the day. I dont know what happened to the boys but the girls were strictly warned and were supervised directly by the school management and their parents. Some of them changed school and were never heard off. Others did a fair job in their exams and got married off early.

There was also a time when the girls used to pick a fight with the boys and vice versa reviving old rivalries. Many a times the smoke of the rivalries reached all of us and especially the princi's noses. (how they ever smelt it noone knew!!?? ) and then all hell would break loose. Interactions between the boys was somehow made possible because of all the school meets, sports meet and other cultural competitions like fancy fest, kalothsav etc..

St. John's, the boys school next door to ours was not a serious threat to the girls at that time as it had just started functioning. But Sr. Angela took no chances and saw to it that huge walls were built around the school campus that bordered St.John's.
Initially St.John's and Holy Angels used to share a mere wire fencing. I remember walking across the farms and going through St.John's football ground to reach the small gate of Holy Angel.
There were many of us jumping the small wall that divided both the schools and also the gates of St.John to get into the new Fairlands area.
Needless to say I was one of the jumpers.. My aunt lived in the neighbouring Fairlands area and I found every oppurtunity to jump over the walls to visit her. ;)
But all the good old happy days do come to an end ..Soon sky high walls were built , putting an end to all jumping and socializing.
Now the newly built barricades could put any jail to shame.

Thus ends a compilation of happenings of girls in the convent...

Of Zombies and Graves - Part II

Well coming back to the cemetery’s haunted stories, there was this ghost that haunted the workers during the time the school was built. The legend goes that, it had cried all night through for days together after having lost its grave amidst the school foundation. Soon the crying became so unbearable that all the priests and the nuns from the church and even some Hindu exorcists were called in to control the spirit's antics. A chicken’s throat was cut and its blood had been trailed all over the building foundation to appease the tormented soul. Not sure if the ghost got pleased with that single chicken throat though! Heard from fellow boarders that there were occasional cries in the night ! oooohhhhhhhhhh.!

The graveyard was functional having atleast one dead body in a week for a decent burial or for cremation. Many a times we would hear, the echoing drum beats as we sat in our classrooms trying hard to concentrate. After school we would see a newly laid chariot of the dead peeping above the compound wall. The brave among us would climb the wall and take a peek at the new mound of mud.

Burial just got us the stench of flowers of the dead. But the cremation was the worst. The stench of burning flesh was nauseating and frightening. The school hostels were situated adjacent to these graves and they had a tough time from preventing the smoke from entering into the dorms. They had to shut all the windows and lit incense sticks to help get rid of the lingering smell. Many of my friends who lived in the boarding used to complain that their uniforms, which they had left for drying in lines next to the big wall, had got the smell of the burnt flesh.

The burning pyre always attracted the attention of the girls in the hostel. There would be a scramble secretly in the night to peep through the dorm windows at the burning pyre. Once when someone was peeping hard through the concrete windows to see the pyre, a burning bone had jumped out with a crackle. The onlooker fell off the chair screaming, which inturn rose screams from the gang below, who in their anxiety fell on top of each other. The Warden Sr Mariya had rushed to the spot wondering if the roof had split into two. She had pulled all of them up and issued decrees for the unwomanly behavior. News came later that the girl who happened to see the jumping bone, had fallen sick and had retired to her home for a real long vacation.

Smells of dead decaying carcasses used to flood our noses once in a while and during those days many huge eagles and vultures were sited circling the graveyard and the school grounds. They had so much of temerity, that they would swoop and attack our lunch boxes too. Someone was always there to chase them away with crackers and shot guns. These huge birds brought in a waft of pungent dead decaying smell in their feathers as they flew low. Soon the vultures dimminished in their count, thanks to all the pesticides that we humans used for our crops and the cow hormone ofcourse!

Among the long corridor of bathrooms, there was one which was seldom used by the oldies. It was said to be haunted and only the poor unsuspecting new comers were made to use it. It always happened that who ever used that bathroom ended up to tell real spooky tales. The almanac of the school had it that, someone saw a real zombie crouching behind its door. No amount of cajoling and threatening from the Sisters did any good to make the girls use that particular bathroom.

Princi Sr Angela tried her best to make the local people understand that cremation was very problematic and wanted the people to either use another grave, that was quiet a walk away or to use the burial method. But ofcourse, all her pleas fell on deaf ears. Soon, whenever any big shot came to school, Sr along with the Mother Superior would provide him/her a petition about the nuisance caused by the graveyard and how it disturbed the juvenile minds. Every one of them used to assure Sr about doing something. But as long as I was in that school nothing happened, which was about eight long years.

Soon afterwards when I recently visited school,a huge compound wall around the grave attracted my attention. It had a wide metal gate that seemed to shut all the restless souls behind those iron bars. The compound wall that bordered the school and the grave had been raised in height, with metal thorns ontop for extra protection. The hostel compounds were also raised to a level that no more peeping was possible. The entire isolation of the grave with the huge walls could easily put to shame the walls of 'The Ghetto'. As I perceived the entire area, I did wonder if all the stories of the uncanny were still going on among the kids or if they had died a pitiful death. hmmm...

Of Zombies and Graves - Part I

The school walls of HA and Sharada sandwiched a graveyard, along the road to Mitapudur. One side of the school compound wall bordered the grave yard, separating it from the school campus. The school walls had a huge metal gate (main gate) opening out into the Mitapudur road. Each of the buttress pillars on either side of the main gate of the school had a concrete angel atop crouched in prayer position. The serene and calm looking gaurdian angels always gave an impression that they would take a sword to fight any terrespassing zombies from the grave.

The wall was bordered by an avenue of tall Palm and Pongamia trees which added to the eeriness especially on a quiet evening when the wind rustled through the leaves creating creepy and wretched noises. The wind also made the palm trees creak slowly as they moved out of heaviness. "tat rat rat tat tat..." would go the sound and it was always misinterpreted as the sound of invisible doors opening and closing slowly. This proximity of the graveyard to the school building inevitably resulted in fueling the imagination of budding story tellers as a result adding chapters to the almanac of the uncanny.

Haunted and spooky tales were whispered along the corridors among small groups of wide eyed girls during the recess. The most horrifying of all tales was that, the whole school was built upon an old cemetery. Ancient graves had been dug up to lay the foundation of the school and the bones thrown away with no regard to the dead. The story was so spun that it was akin to the digging of a huge holocaust grave, letting all the spooky restless ghosts out. The after effect of these stories made any little girl treading the school grounds, miss a heart beat at every twig that snapped underfoot likening it to the crunching of bones. The story tellers always came up with accurate details on where exactly which type of bone was found causing chills to run down one's spine. Any oddly shaped stone that was picked up was immediately named as a bone fossil.

Tales related to ghosts and excorcism was narrated with much ado. When any one found an iron nail sticking out of a tree trunk, hurried whispers on exorcism and how the evil spirit was nailed to the tree, spread like wild fire. Such trees were always cordoned off. No one dared near the tree again. There was even a talk that the skeleton in the physics lab was found in one of these unknown graves that was dug up. You might wonder what a skeleton did in a physics lab. Once upon a time when the school had only the “big” building, the physics and the biology labs were combined in one large room. All the biological specimens like babies in different stages of development in bottles were also placed in the far corner of this room. I always used to wonder about these babies. What would they have grown up into if they had seen life out of their mother’s womb? Why did they have to end up in bottles in our school lab? Why were they all forever frozen in time? Well I always got spooked with these thoughts (even now) that I will let them go for now.

.............. read on in Part II

Sacchu - The Lovable Frankenstein of HA

Sacchu, the Frankenstein of HA, taught us English and History. Her very presence commanded admiration and fear among everyone, be it a student or a teacher. Girls shivered at the mere thought of her handling the subject. There would be a scramble starting every school year, to find out if Sacchu handled any subject. Many a sad sigh and despondent faces resulted if her name was on the timetable list. A lean tall dark lady who always wore stiff cotton sarees without pinning her ‘pallu’ looked like a witch without a broom. How she managed to get her sarees so stiff and crumple free no one knew. She had an idiosyncratic style of pulling her pallu over her breasts sometimes so awkwardly that we could see her blouse and chest! Her loud cackling laughter could make the most powerful, break into a sweat. She was terror personified. Instance silence used to prevail whenever she entered the arena of the classroom or the grounds. Much was the fear instilled due to her unique corporal punishments of kneeling and hard beats on the knuckles and foul language. There cannot be anyone during that period, not having experienced some of Sachhu's punishments.

Though the fear was deep rooted, many of us loved her to the core. It was the way she taught the subject. She would take us into the story and make us live it. I do remember the Story of the Sindbad the Sailor, in my eighth std when we first encountered her in English class. She made us soar with the story; experience Sindbad’s adventures as our very own. History was equally interesting when it came to Tipu-Sultan, the Battle of Palsy, The East India Trading Company, I grew to love the subject because of the force with which she taught us, the passion, the life, the love she brought into the lessons. Her grammer was impeccable. But soaring high in the world of fantasy we crashed landed in every class, that’s when the home works came by hard. We always felt if she ever experienced a sadistic pleasure in torturing us with so much to read and write.

If a student hadn’t completed the work assigned by Sacchu then that was a day the girl rather be not in class. Girls feigned sickness and ran to the sick room. But she would follow or send someone to bring the girl back to class as she never believed anyone falling sick. Once the girl was in class the drama would start. Words so foul would be uttered that it would create silent Oohs and Aahs from the rest and which would be followed by punishments. "Kneel down, I say. How dare you try to trick me, Keep kneeling for the whole day" "Stand on the bench for a week. If you happen to sit you are done for" Well if the girl had her periods she would be done for anyway!

But kneeling was better when it came to her most terrifying and humiliating of punishments. It was the worst corporal punishment a girl can ever experience in her life. She would order the victim to remove her shirt and stand out in the school corridor with just her chemise and skirt. I do remember a girl, one of my classmates, who wept so desperately and refused to remove her shirt. But this terror of a woman went over and ripped her shirt apart and made the weeping girl stand in the corridor. It was a real pathetic site indeed. She never bothered about the psychological pain the girl would endure. This punishment was meted out to even the senior girls. No one escaped her. Not the first ranker nor the meek girl nor the cute girl. She never showed any special affection to anyone whosoever it may be. I think that’s the reason many of the poor girls did well in her class and the rich ones hated her and nick named and mocked her with all their might.

Her past was dug up to find out who she really was. Some told that she had a broken relationship and hence she didn’t marry. Some stories portrayed her as a martyr for her family who took care of her many sisters and an ailing mother, as her father had died at a very young age. Hmm... India is no place to be for a spinster. Parents whose children experienced the worst punishments said that having had no experience of the joy of motherhood, she must have got hardened and behaved in that fashion.

There was one incident that changed her altogether though. She was a complete different person after that. Way back the school had organized an 'All India Trip'. It was mainly owing to Sr. Jacob's interest that this was made possible. Still then the school had never had an 'All India Tour' and I don’t think it had another one after that. About 100 girls from the senior classes and a few from my class were taken abroad for the trip. Dad was dead against the whole idea of me going to an all India trip mainly because of my problematic periods. I had come of age that quarter as a result of which my parents were always on the edge when it came to going out and freaking out. Well that would be a completely different topic to handle and I would do it much later.

Well during this India trip, some of the younger and newer teachers had the guts to ask the students to make a small skit of the school and its teachers. One class mate of mine did a real good job of acting like Miss. Sacchu. She had enacted the way Miss. Sacchu gave away the corporal punishments and used foul language. One of her favorite phrases "You Dirty Pig" was enacted with such reality that it elicited much appreciation from the viewers. But news leaked out to Sacchu. Sacchu went on leave for some time and when she came back she looked very depressed and was a real sorry state to see. When she entered a big hush followed and she stood there in all her glory and said "I know what happened in the trip. You girls are too young to understand the meaning of hurting and passion for teaching. If you dislike me to that extent I would rather not take class for you. I know there is a mistake on my side too. And I will see to that I do not repeat the same." Saying so, she took her last class - a poem by PB Shelley. She refused to handle English for our class after that. I should say many of us were irritated on that particular girl who was the reason to this. But many sighed a relief silently.

I regret to this day that I had missed her class because of my unfortunate luck of being in the same class as this girl who was the cause of her transformation. She was the epitome of teaching and no one came to her level in any manner. Soon news hit our ears that she never again used the term "You Dirty Pig" neither did she order anyone to remove their shirts!

As I graduated to higher classes, she remembered me more may be because of my exposure to skit and painting competitions. Though she never took class for my set, she always talked to some of us in the class. I remember her coming running to meet me and my mom when we had gone for a school get together once. After I left school, I heard that she had retired and had gone to live in her stately home with her old mother. I still wonder whenever I think of school where and how she would be now and always have this feeling to again meet her once at least for a brief moment just to say "I love you Sachhu Miss.".

Garden- The Mango Tree, Clara and the Dogs.

Having had a cup of coffee, which has elated my sleepy mood to a satisfactory level for thinking and jotting down thoughts, I decided to get busy on the blog. But the thoughts about what to write did not quite strike me even now. Well there were so many things that happened back at school. And I am trying my best to recollect them and put them here.

How about the school garden?
Yeah, thats a good topic to loiter on. I had always loved the school garden and had loved standing on the grilled corridors, watching the flora and fauna there. The entire "Big" building overlooked the gardens. The building was shaped like a letter C, with sharp corners though - Something like a square without a side. Where ever one stood, in any of the floors of the "Big" building, one would have a prime view of the garden. The garden was square-ish, with a lowly old mossed wall at one end which separated the school from the farm lands. The farms added to the richness of the garden, with an avenues of coconut trees amid a thick undergrowth of grass.
I had known two princi 's during the time I spent in school, which was about eight years. I had joined HA in my 5th class and was a totally alien person to convent education unlike the local veterans there, who had graduated from 'Little' school to the 'Big' school. The 'Little' school had classes LKG, UKG and Std I. It was a rented building located near the New-Fairlands junction. The Big school was deeply embeded inside the Mittapudur area, sandwiched between two other schools - Sharada and St.Johns'. Recently I heard, the 'Little' school had been moved into the main campus and along with a fully functional preschool and creche.

Well, coming back to the gardens and princi's, all the princi's loved prancing around the garden looking at each flower and leaf , instructing the school gardeners Clara akka and her husband Periyanna. Sr. Jacob, though she delighted herself walking around the garden in the evenings, did not introduce any big changes. It was Sr. Angella who spent so much time and money on the garden, that it was soon a real beauty to reckon with. Under her management, Clara akka and Periyanna laboured hard in the gardens making it look so colorful. Any time of the day one could see them in one of these tasks - repotting, planting, weeding, watering, pruning, repositioning, digging, fertilising and spraying insecticide, the list was endless.
The convent had a bigger garden. But we were not allowed to enter into it unless we had official permission to go into the convent. I had been into the convent twice. Once to meet Sr.Priya who was our art faculty, and once when I had an accident and broken some skin, I was taken in and fed with the choicest of doughnuts and treated with utmost care and attention. The convent was very beautiful, clean, neat and serene.
This main garden, that is the one between the square-ish 'Big' building, had two huge trees in each corner - a butter fruit tree and an old mango tree that threatened to uproot any adjacent buildings with its massiveness. This mango tree was so old with a bulky trunk with a slimy layer of green moss. It had thick steeping low branches. During summer it was loaded with mangoes and a sigh always elicited out of anyone who happened to look at its fat ripe fruits. I am sure every one of the students have had tried their best to steal a fruit or two from either of the trees atleast once or atleast had a thought of it deep down them. The success rate of getting a fruit was very very less though.
Once some of my immediate seniors were caught stealing mangoes from the convent gardens and they were made to kneel on the mud along with Periyanna. Periyanna was also punished because he had taken pity on these girls and let them go when they were caught picking mangoes. How all of them got caught was a big mystery. It was really silly and funny to see a big man with thick curly moustache kneeling along with the girls in the mud!
The garden had three entrances and a mud path around it. One of the entrances was directly in front of the princi's room. Then there was a straight path that connected the right wing of the building with the left wing. The Teachers room was in the right wing and usually they used to cross the path to come to the left wing. It was a privilige granted only to teachers and the sisters. As students we were strictly forbiden to enter the gardens through any of these entrances. It was scarilege of the highest order if we ever did cross! Thus the simple act of hoodwinking anyone and running across it gave us immense pleasure. If caught the punishments were severe ofcourse. It included kneeling on the mud right there on the path. Kneeling on a concrete floor is much easier than kneeling on the mud. The knees would go red instantly and the skirt would not be long enough to pull it under the knees for padding. Inspite of this the girls did run down the path every once in a while. A quick look at the princi's room would determine if she was around or not. The clue was the fan. If the fan wasn't on, then there would be dash across the garden path. This was the easiest path because the alternate way to go to the other wing was a huge round about of climbing staircases and walking around. But alas, Sister sometimes didnt have her fan switched on. And then she would spot a green shadow dashing by and would be up in a jiffy to catch hold of the imp!
Perianna and Clara akka were man and wife and they lived inside the school campus. Their daughter was in school with us and she would join her parents in the garden activities every evening much to the envy of all the other girls who were forbidden to enter the garden. She had full liberty and would even walk around touching the flowers and leaves!
The garden had the choicest collection of flowering plants. There were rose bushes, tulips lining all the way across the paths, hibiscus in every shade possible, blue bells and orange trumphet flowers creeping up the pillars, green wall creepers, bountiful array of colorful crotans, and many more exotic plants with hard to pronounce names. The burst of colors in the sun would give such a cheerful appearance, immediately touching anyones heart! The beauty of the gardens always made me wonder if there were any little fairies living among the flowers in the garden, waving around their magical touch on to the flowers and giving them a magical sparkle in the sun!

In the middle of the garden was a huge wooden cross with a replica of the Christ nailed on to it. The cross was placed inbetween the towering trees, with an awesome view from the pinci's room. A curved iron canopy around the cross with ferns creeping around it made it look very pristine and enchanting. Enclosing the area of the cross, was a small circular pond housing bright colorful fishes and turtles. I had sat there a couple of times by the pond and looked at the fishes swimming around in vibrant color. One day I was staying late in school for some reason I dont remember, when Sr. Angella spotted me. She was in the garden on her daily walk around it. She called me up and we both sat on the concrete support of the pond and talked idly. She was curious to know about how I was doing at school and at home. I remember answering her half mindedly with my attention fully focused on the gliding fishes!
During our get together in 10th class, the garden was opened to us. We had the full liberty to party there and take snaps. After I graduated, when I happened to visit the school, I did have an oppurtunity to step into the garden. Clara akka beaconed me into the garden where she was working and I sat there talking to her for sometime. Thats when I spoted those doberman pups. She told me that Sr.Angella had adopted them and they were now the apple of her eye. And she never allowed anyone pet them except Clara (ofcourse!) and they always pranced around her room sleeping on her chairs! Imagine the audacity of the dogs! When we shivered and scrambled around her room wishing for an invisible coat, these dogs slept on her cushions and chairs!!
Well, on the day of my visit Sr. was out of station. Having an natural instinct for dogs, I easily befriended both the pups: though others were a bit worried about them bitting some of my flesh off. I enjoyed myself that day playing with the pups, running down the school corridor, shrieking aloud as the pups chased trying to nip at my legs. We played peekaboo and chased each other, ran in and out of the princi's room, into the garden, until the dogs got tired. Wow I never imagined I could do all that running around in school. Clara was a bit worried about being seen and sacked mainly because of the undue attention the joyful yelps might have attracted. But she took the liberty and enjoyed that day. She has never forgotten me after that. Everytime I visited school, as an alumnus, we would recollect that incident with the dogs and laugh out loud.
Oh, how I wish I had some snaps of the school and garden to put them here. If out there some old HA student could send me some snaps of school and garden it would be awesome. You can mail me at effa.smith@gmail.com.

Holy Angels

As I browsed aimlessly through various blogs, I came across many individual records of old school musings. Reading some of those blogs made me relive my school days. Hence motivated, I started writing on everything I could remember about my school. Soon nostalgia reigned.

The only proper school memories, I could recollect were those from the high school I was in, as my junior years were spent jumping from one school to another, thanks to my father’s transferrable job.

Holy Angels - a simple convent school located in a niche, among a group of schools in the New-Fairland’s area, in Salem, is the place where most of these stories happened. Way back then the school was very beautiful - with lots of green hedges bordering its fences and flowery creepers climbing those fences. The school was literally hidden among those thickets of greenery. But as years progressed, the school has changed into a more prim and proper concrete jungle sporting neat aisles, lots of new buildings and new lavatories! (Finally!!)

I remember vividly my first day at school when I had gone to appear for the entrance exam for class five. That was my first encounter with Sr.Angella. That very day I was mesmerized by her charm and felt a deep connection towards her. Though I have criticized some of her actions in this blog, I do strongly have a faith that holds her on a pedestal in my heart! She is the woman who transformed this school to an extent that it stands today in all its glory achieving both academically and in sports. Sixteen years she has reigned as the dictator of the school, molding it fiercely as no one has ever done it before.

Having studied in a Montessori school prior to Holy Angels, the regular matriculation mode was very difficult to cope up with. But thanks to the wonderful attention of Sr. Angella, Mrs. Padma Shankar and Mrs Jecintha (Small school), that I was able to move on without many hitches.
(I am indebted to Mrs. Padma Shankar as she was the first teacher who identified the little artist in me and helped me nurture and develop it. )

The love for the school set deeper roots as I moved on among the best of teachers and students and an organised convent lifestyle. My freedom was never curtailed (except when it came to exams!) and the school opened horizons for thinking big. Thanks to teachers like Mrs. Sundari Jason, Miss. Sachu, Mrs. Lalitha David and Miss. Mini Pillai.

But alas I did have a few sore experiences too. There were a few moronic teachers, who showed immense partiality to the rich and the white skinned (yeah racism does exist everywhere!), that it paved way for deep hatred and desire to drop out of school. If not for those weeds, I wouldn’t have the ugly sore among the rich green memories now!

Thus here I etch all the love and hatred I had for everything that was school.