CBS

Like millions of others, the world over, my school days were definitely the happiest times of my life.

I was a student of Calcutta Boys’ School which was passing through its golden era. From the times of Ashoke Sanjay Guha through Ranjan Bhattacharya, Surya Sekhar Bhattacharya, Anup Sinha to Swapan Chakroborty and others, our school churned out country and state toppers at regular periodicity.

Besides studies, our seniors and contemporaries carved out a niche for themselves in high profile talent search scholarships like NSTS and JBNSTS bagging about one third of all the awards. That’s not all; we excelled in sports as well. At one time, if my memory does not betray me, we were winners in th Patterson Memorial Inter School TT Championships, year after year. It was our alma mater that could boast of Dipak Ghosh, who represented the country in the 1952 Stockholm World Championships. It was Mr Clifford Hicks, our principal, who always referred to him as the “great Dipak Ghosh.” Besides TT we were well known for our prowess in football and other extra-curricular activities. We used to do really well in quizzes, elocution and debate competitions.

Mr Hicks was an institution by himself. He had nurtured and developed CBS from a fledgling to a magnificent giant eagle, monarch of all it surveyed from its imperious heights.

Mr Hicks had certain traits that made him stand out toweringly among contemporaries- both metaphorically as well as physically. He was about 6 feet in height with a matching waistline. His booming voice was enough to send shivers down the spines of one and all. He was “famous” for his caning. Corporal punishment was a common feature in those days like in many other schools, some four decades back.

Discipline was the watch word, along with tidiness, punctuality and good manners. He used to demonstrate certain issues personally, often enacting the item for our benefit! Our chapel session was a daily source of many such pieces along with reading of the Bible and an invariable joke to culminate the day’s programme. I cannot ever forget some of his actions and observations. While remonstrating a boy for not covering his mouth while yawning, he commented, “I can see your intestine!” He’d also advise us before our summer vacation, “Don’t make your home a refuelling station by day and a parking lot at night. Your parents should feel dejected and not relieved when the vacation is over.”

And again, “When the telephone rings, don’t jump to grab it. Let it ring a couple of times more and then respond at your convenience.” He used to jump from the podium and swing his massive hand mimicking one grabbing the receiver! I shudder to think what he would have done in these days of our inseparable mobile phones.

“When there’s a banana peel lying on the road, pick it up and throw it into a waste bin close by. Don’t stand to observe the next person slip on it!”

Yet, when Ramanathan Krishnan, Jaideep Mukherjee and Premjit Lall beat the formidable German team at the South Club, Calcutta, Mr Hicks immediately declared a holiday! The reason, India had reached the Challenge Round of the Davis Cup for the first time!

All good things must come to an end; our school days were no exception. We phased out into different professions, settled in life and had our own school going children. I often wonder whether Mr Hicks would have been relevant today. No doubt what he taught us has made us what we are now…Thank you Sir!

Raj Bhasa

Our national language, Hindi, was never my strong point. I used to dread the Hindi classes even in school.

Our Hindi teacher in the lower classes was Mr Roy, an elderly stern gentleman, with a shock of closely cropped white hair. He fired random questions at us and whenever anybody gave a wrong answer or acted “funny”, he would go up to the boy and use his standard expression, “Oh! My child…!” and his entire arm would quiver in anger. This was usually followed with a rap on the head!

Mr Roy was replaced by Mr Dikshit in middle school. In many ways the successor was diametrically opposite to the former. Both in mannerism and looks- Mr Dikshit was short and plump and had oily black hair parted at the side. For incorrect responses, we were lovingly beckoned to the front of the class with a mild invitation, “Aaiye saab!” When the offending party was within range pat would land a “flying slap” known as ‘udon chati’ in Bengali on the head of the hapless victim. It didn’t hurt much save one’s sentiments and of course ‘prestige.’ With this background in Hindi and with atrocious marks, I passed out from school and bade Hindi good-bye.

Ha! Little did I know what was in store for me... After joining SBI, I was posted in a town in Madhya Pradesh. We had a fair number of staff and officers, none of whom knew any Bengali. However, their English matched my Hindi with some very rare exceptions, so my awkwardness was not one way.

On this particular day, it was raining torrentially and a lady staff member from my team wanted to go home early and she came up to me to ask for permission. Out of consideration for her, I asked,” Thik hai madam…Aapko chhati hai naa?” She looked at me with a peculiar expression, replied in the affirmative and left.

In the evening when I narrated the incident to my better half ( incidentally from U.P.) she laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. “You are lucky she didn’t charge you for harassment or abuse. Chhati  in Bengali means an umbrella but in Hindi it means chest. Better stick to English if you don’t want to get thrashed someday.”

I paid heed to her advice from then on.

Staff College Induction

Friends! Probationers! Countrymen!

Lend me your ears!

I come to bore you, not entertain

The good that probationers do, is oft forgotten

The mischiefs are remembered for generations.

Generations may come and generations may go,

But it will not be the case with us, you know.

This august batch of December ’82,

Is exactly whom I’m referring to.

We gents keep to ourselves and as for the dames,

They are all determined to keep their surnames

Unchanged, till thy Kingdom come,

We wish them luck, and they’re welcome

To pursue their careers in all seriousness.

The campus proves the short-sightedness,

Of the planner who planned it all,

Fully knowing that the dining hall

Would have to be reached by a rather long walk

And whoever’s with you, wouldn’t dare talk

For fear of digesting he’s taken,

And finding himself hungry before saying “Amen”.

Beholding the geysers we gave a joyous cry

Only to realize that the taps remained dry.

As the saying goes, “it’s the early bird

That catches the worm” or so we’ve heard.

Hence we return before the stipulated time,

The guards are surprised to find Mr. Chida doesn’t sign

Anymore at the register, kept at the gate

Little do we know what’s in our fate .

Blindly are we following all the rules

For foreign postings are awaiting us fools,

It’s just like the donkey’s carrot

And we are indeed a determined lot.

We will remain eligible bachelors all-

If USA’s unavailable, there’s always Nepal!

Frankly the classes have been a bore

Barring the periods in which we swore

To become true bankers, and serve the bank,

That’s yours and mine, and for the Common Man

On the street, or maybe in his hut

Who has kept his eyes and ears shut.

It will be us, the probationers of ’82,

Who’ll bring the Bank closer, to these people too.

We are enjoying our stay, here, at Hyderabad,

That’s why we say folks, "State Bank Zindabad!”

Grand Hotel

While completing my graduation I found employment as an apprentice with the oldest and most posh hotel of Calcutta- The Oberoi Grand. Well, to say the least, the ambience of the hotel bewildered me. The magnificent Reception counters were made of mahogany, the Ball Room had sparkling glass doors with shining brass door knobs, the Conference Rooms were aptly titled “Burdwan” and “Coochbehar”,wall-to-wall carpeting, the commissionaires in their splendid turbans, bushy moustaches and spotless white uniforms, all these fairly swept me off my feet.

There were also pretty lasses called “housekeepers” who maintained cleanliness and perfect upkeep of the guests’ rooms.

Like all other gents of my age I thought of myself as the handsomest man around. One day, as it transpired, a certain Ms. Meena and I found ourselves alone in the elevator. To break the awkward silence she asked me, “Are you from the catering college?” “No,” I replied, “I’m from Ananda Mohan College.”

Well, as you may have already guessed, this incident brought to an abrupt end any romantic ideas I may have secretly nurtured.

Private Tuition

The year 1972 found me just passing out from school with nothing much to do. (Please notice the stress is on nothing!) As the results of other school-leaving examinations were yet to be declared, the colleges were due to open only after some time. As was the wont in those times, I searched around for private tuitions.

A young gent of class I was my first disciple. He had four sisters ahead of him in the family hierarchy and being the proverbial “son” as well as being the youngest child of the family, he was quite a character.

At that time film star Rajesh Khanna used to be the super hero and the film “Amar Prem” had been recently released. One day my student, all of five, asked me, “Sir, have you seen yeh kya hua, kaise hua? My sisters watched the film yesterday.” For one of the rare occasions in my life I was left dumbstruck!

With some effort I tried to maintain a straight face and replied, “Let’s get back to your lesson, shall we?” Mind you, this was four decades ago and we call children of today “precocious”!

Test Match

The year was 1964, the season, winter. The best of climates in Calcutta. No sweltering sun, no torrential rains and a definite “nip” in the air. The Siberian cranes along with other feathered friends were flying hundreds of miles to their winter abode- Calcutta.

This year, we had some non-feathered guests also, the M.C.C team led by M.J.K. Smith. The English side was coming here to play one match of the Test Series. Among their stars were Colin Cowdrey, Ken Barrington and John Edrich.

India was being led by Mansur Ali Khan aka Nawab of Pataudi. The team had an array of celebrities, Polly Umrigar, Dilip Sardesai, Chandu Borde, Farrokh Engineer, E.A.S. Prassanna, Ramakanth Desai, Salim Durrani and M.L. Jaisimha.

Then, a boy of class IV and an avid follower of any sports, be it cricket, football, table tennis or athletics, I was a regular subscriber to Sport & Pastime. Dutifully full page portraits and action photos of my divas were cut out meticulously and pasted in my scrap book. The very mention of their names turned me starry-eyed!

Imagine then, the excitement in this young mind when I was told that I would go to the hallowed Eden Gardens to witness the opening day’s play of the Calcutta test match! As expected, I could hardly sleep the whole night. Aseshdada, my friend, philosopher and guide (all of three years my senior) came to our home to escort me.

The teeming multitude of people slowly making its way towards the galleries was by itself, awesome. The stadium was covered with tarpaulin and bedecked with festoons and hoardings of Boroline, K.C. Das, Vicks Vaporub etc. Young boys were distributing colourful vizors and tiny score cards, and I helped myself to a few of both. The experience of moving in that sea of humanity was one of its kind; colours of all shades were around me, so were lunch baskets, haversacks, water bottles, binoculars. You name it, it was definitely there!

We went in after our tickets had been verified and climbed a few steps to occupy our allotted seats. As they were all numbered I wondered how far number 1 would be from 70,000!

The players were practising on the field. I peered through my binoculars and could hardly believe my eyes when I spotted some of my idols!

After half-an-hour or so, I asked my escort, “How long will they practise? Won’t the match start?”

He stared at me in stark horror, which could not be misinterpreted. “The match is going on. It had started a couple of minutes before we even took our seats.”

So much for being a budding sports buff!

The Strange Case of Dr....

This is a country where until the generation I belong, the fifty plus ones, there were certain established rules that needed to be followed-in schools, colleges, work places and of course, the home. We were always expected to do what we were expected to, not what we wanted to! If one wanted to study a particular course in college the opinion of the seniors would be sought and ultimately what they thought best would be decided, forget about the student’s own choice.
If one wanted to be a sports person or an actor, God help him or her! There are umpteen number of cases where icons of the various fields had to fight their way to the top against all odds; the greatest being family objections. Choosing football or cricket for a career was taboo. So too was a literary career.  This was, perhaps, to be expected in a society which had been for generations used to being told what to do. What was surprising was that these same elders and peer groups turned to sycophancy the moment you became successful- the yardstick of success being your bank balance!
In our personal lives we always had the luxury of our better halves being selected by our parents and other elders. Who cared about consulting the “would- be” groom or the bride, for that matter? It was ordained and so shall it be..... If the marriage failed it always triggered the usual blame game and a matter of “I told you so”. If the marriage turned out successful then the whole brood, especially from the husband’s side would go all out to establish how useless the wife was. Not only was she good for nothing, ever since she came into the house hold the whole atmosphere had been vitiated. This is usually true for 90% of the successful arranged marriages. The question therefore is that if the girl was chosen by the family, then how do these very same people find fault with everything she now does? And God forbid if the wife intends to build her own career! She should have known better, we wanted a home maker not an office going careerist! I remember distinctly that the greatest regret my grandmother had was that she had not been allowed to complete her studies even though that was what had been promised.  The couple were not allowed to migrate to Burma to live their own lives peacefully, perhaps some 80 or 90 years ago. History repeated itself 15years ago in Bilaspur.
Alas, nothing has changed. Even though you are fed up with the mundane things and have no interest in either the items of conversation or the speakers, you are expected to be PART OF THE FAMILY and to toe the family line. Your own life can go to hell!
The blue eyed boy has taken a complete turn from being Dr. Jekyll.....