Alma Mater and Alumni Matters…by Jeyes

Alma Mater and Alumni Matters…

It all started with a phone call from Delhi, the capital from where a lot of skeletons roll out of the political cupboard these days. “Hey, you remember me? I am Vijay!” said the caller. I was trying to ‘place him’ struggling with my fading memory. “We all played cricket in school days”, he gave me leads and I finally could recall the short and stout boy who ‘bowled me out’ many times, in our usually ‘unfriendly’ village matches. We always ended up in controversies as to ‘who won and who last’ whereas the total score per side did not even cross twenty three!

Moving out of our village in different directions in search of employment and having lost touch with the buddies for decades, I immediately jumped at the idea of an Alumni Meet proposed by him. Though we were all scattered in India, the Net connected us and soon a date for the meet in summer was finalized. Organising skills acquired by many good-old friends from the corporate experience came into play. Finance was not a problem as everyone chipped in. And there were collection queens (aptly called ‘vasool ranis’), who ensured that money flowed in through electronic transfers.

Alumni Association

The long-named Tiruvidaimarudur Old Students’ Association was aptly shortened to ‘TOSA’ and everyone liked it instantly. After all, it reminded us of the delicious dosa we take regularly. And just like we turn the dosas upside down while baking, we were all eager to ‘see the other side’ of each other’s lives to check whether we have been ‘well baked’ by life experiences. There was also this curious thought, ‘How will all look like after so many years’. With ‘baggage’ in the middle and after crossing the ‘midlife crises’, we hoped to recognize each other when we met.

Our journey-back-to-roots started with a bus picking up people from various points in the city. There were few generations of alumni since the school we studied was many decades old. Vijay, a telecom executive, had really ‘networked well’ to find people from all over and had brought them together. I tried to recall memories of my association with them and soon realized that my hard disk had severely crashed and started the process of ‘re-wiring’ my brain. There was this Mani the strong armed man who also used ‘strong arm tactics’ during cricket. Those days he was a bull dozer who raced like Rajadhani Express and delivered bullet-like balls. Without pads and guards in village cricket, batsmen used to tremble and dance to escape his volleys to save their bones.

Vijay the leader was ‘just the same’, though he had ‘grown up’ over the years. “You used to send my balls to sixers”, he nostalgically remembered. Yes, my sixers used to go over the large boundary walls of the Chola-built temple which used to serve as our cricket ground. I distinctly recalled an incident when a farmer furiously chased us as the ball had hit his head. In a fit of rage he even cut our ball into two pieces using his sickle.

‘Cool’ Gurus of our Gurukul

In the bus, the teachers could be spotted immediately as they had left indelible impressions in me. Though every teacher had a unique personality, one thing common was that they were highly passionate and also fondly remembered us, the mischievous boys of yesteryears.

The science teacher had taught us ‘how we humans turn food into manure’ (digestion process!) in a crazy way. He used to also poke fun at himself: “Children, have you ever seen a rhino? If not, see now!” He bent forward and showed his puffy tuft standing on the half-shaven head and with a hefty body, looking just like the one-horned species. The art teacher not only made us realize the beauty of Nature around but also told stories of ‘past lives’ giving us the initial lessons of ‘life beyond’ with a tinge of spirituality.

The Tamil Pandit fondled our nerves with poetry and revealed the treasure-troves of our mother tongue. PT (Physical Training) Sirs were different. With menacing looks and blowing whistle, they made us run around the large ground several times as punishment and pushed us to our limits of endurance on track. But when it came to playing games, they became friends and had fun with students.

The Rendezvous

No sooner we landed at Mahabalipuram, the meeting point, there was a melee. Released from the bus seats, people jumped at each other embracing and expressing surprise at ‘how each one has changed’ over the years, rather decades. Young children and grand kids were watching the drama of how their otherwise serious parents had turned out to be so funny laughing incessantly. There was also a ‘who is who’ parade of all those present. The lost & found classmates were united with a lot of emotional outpouring. Mischievous ones were curiously scanning the crowd with gleaming eyes. May be they were secretly looking forward to meeting their ‘heart throbs’ of the past! Who knows some would still be remaining confirmed bachelors or spinsters, after few disastrous attempts to deliver their love letters.

After room allotments and tasty breakfast, various team games followed soon with the PT masters taking the reins in their hands. Tug of war for men, musical chair and lemon & spoon for women and cultural events for children were rolled out. Though I stayed carefully away watching all the fun, when it came to playing beach volley ball I just could not hold myself. In school days, I was known for my somersaults in the ground. Whatever the game was, Cricket or Volley Ball or Basket Ball, to reach out to the racing ball, I invariably dived. And there was always euphoria after my show of gymnastics each time. But as a reflex action, I repeated a dive after three decades, to bang an approaching ball on the beach, without realizing that my ‘centre of gravity’ had shifted far low beyond the naval, due to accumulation of wealth there. Though I landed well and there were the usual ‘aha’kaar and claps, my thorax had an internal twist and pained as if there was a heavy stone kept on it. It dawned on me that my body can no longer move in tandem with the mind. That it took a few months to come back to normalcy is another funny story.

Bald is gold

Post lunch, there were indoor activities starting with speeches by teachers, sharing their nostalgic teaching moments. Some students ‘revealed the exam secrets’ of their academic success, ‘bit by bit’. Others told their ‘mango stealing adventures’ on their neighbour’s trees and thrashing punishments (which pained even today!) after having been caught red-handed. Few also recalled the way they learnt cycling doing ‘monkey-pedal’ on borrowed or rented cycles from the street-corner shop.

Later was dance performance by the younger generation and magic show when an actual snake was pulled out of a bag by the magician. Bald and old turned out to be children during this event, much to the amusement of kids. Finally, grand old teachers were paid rich tributes. Some ‘really old’ students even fell at their feet out of deep respect and the not-so-old had to help them get up!

We senior students ‘paid-back’ our beloved school with a donation of desks and benches worth a few thousand rupees. Best performing students of the current generation were also felicitated with prizes. Life was so beautiful and emotionally charged during the Alumni Meet that many decided to become ‘life members’ of the association. Smiling from ear-to-ear, all promised to meet year-after-year in the village itself instead of at the resort, to ‘re-live the past’. Others decided to buy a house and settle down ‘there’ after retirement. Also started immediately was an electronic mailer ‘Tdrtimes’ to ‘pour in’ our own stories and poems, just the way we had run a ‘hand-written’ magazine named ‘Vadikaal’ in our school days.

Parting ways and heading in our directions, one thing was sure to us during this ‘down memory lane’. With Alma Mater and the Alumni Meet, what matters the most are vivid memories of past from real human experience. And what is life, if not for memories?                                                                                                       

                                                                                                   -J Jeyes,jjeyes@rediffmail.com