Bitter Sweet Memories of Stewart School

I am able to recollect some incidents from school and cant help becoming nostalgic while reminiscing. Here are a few which appear at the top of my memories list, not in any specific order.

I remember the PT class in 9 B, where I blurted out about the heat being too much, as an excuse to go back to class and prepare for the upcoming test. This increased the temperature/blood pressure of our PT teacher and he punished us girls by making us stand in the hot sun. He could not bear to see us suffer for much time though, and excused us from the PT class. I still remember my lady classmates giving me a piece of their mind after coming back!! :)

Then there was the Chemistry Final exam in 10th, where I was concentrating so hard to recollect the chemistry formulas that Mrs.Mathur who was the invigilator observed this and came to me with a worried look on her face and asked me if all was well with me and the paper. For a moment, I just hoped that she could help me with a few answers. :)

Then again, we had Mr.Routray in Class 8 D, who always used to ask me about the Andhra pickles. He was in awe that I eat pickles every day and used to get a confirmation from me in each Maths class. I now realize that I should have told him that, that is the reason we also eat curd rice every day as an antidote. :)

Mr.Sattar, in Class 7C....Set Theory had me in a fix and in his 2nd class on the Lesson, he started asking us questions which most of us could not answer and were  in turn taken to meet the Principal, Mr. Patro. That was the first and last time I visited the Principal's room as a punishment and also saw the boys getting some caning. Thankfully he spared the girls, but the impact that the incident had on me got my parents worried and they started sending me to one of our relatives for Maths tuition and I managed to get above average marks in the Maths Final Exam that year!! :)

Me and Payal were the "giggly" girls. This started from our getting together in 8 D and went on till 10 B. Once we started on some giggly idea(this was something beyond all logic), there was no stopping us for the entire period or sometimes the whole day. Inspite of numerous warnings from Mrs.Devi in 8 D, we were uncontrollable. We also pissed off Mrs.Viola Adams once, though she was usually very soft and rarely got irritated. The remaining girls of the class used to give us angry looks each time,but that somehow did not deter us in any way and we used to carry on with it.

There was also that one occurrence when I got a hit with the scale on my hand from Mrs.Samal, our chemistry teacher in Class 7C for forgetting my text book.My palm burned for the rest of the day and never ever did I repeat the mistake again.

I owe whatever I am today to almost all our teachers ....Mrs.Mathur for getting me to love Maths, Mr.SP Das for making me enjoy English Literature, Mr.Patro and Mr.Swamy for my admiration of Shakespeare, Mrs.Sheila Jena for making Geography so interesting, Miss Chumai for making me appreciate English grammar,Mr.Ali for making me look with awe towards Indian History and Culture....the list goes on.

And not to forget all my classmates and friends...who have helped me in my emotional growth through each argument and friendly banter.

All these incidents have shaped me and impacted me one way or the other and helped me grow as a person.
I just want to end by saying :Thank you Stewart School for your part in creating the "me" of today!

THOSE DAYS

The day I first set foot inside Stewart School, Cuttack, I was still a student of Little Angel's Nursery School. In fact it was my last day at the nursery school and I was had gone to survey the school I was to join soon for my preparatory classes. My cousin Tanweer was already in prep there. Yes, I was a year junior to the 1991 batch once.
It was also the last day of the session at Stewart School and they had organised, among other things, a fancy dress event. Tanweer had arrived early in the morning to my place to be transformed into a clown. I watched with envy as my father, the in-house artist, applied paint on his face. Work accomplished, he left for his school and I for mine. After the function at my school got over, I had headed for Stewart School to pick up Tanweer. I faintly recall the pond in front of the school, which must have been filled up with sand at some point of time.
At my admission interview, principal Mr H.C. Mishra had asked me how I came to school. While my parents looked on astounded, I had stood up and walked a few steps and said "Like this". I somehow made it to the school.
Unlike my first day in nursery school, I had not cried at all in prep. I just about recall my class teacher Mrs North's face, for, soon after, I left with my parents for Ethiopia, where they were to work for some time. In Asmara, a city in Ethiopia's northern province of Eritrea that became the capital when Eritrea seceded from Ethiopia, I took admission into an Ethiopian school but the medium of teaching -- in Tigrinia, the regional language, and Amharic, the national language -- was not going to be easy. I was soon shunted to an Italian medium school, the language being closer to English in a strange land. I got admitted into Class 1, thus jumping a year in just a few months.
Soon, I was studying Italian at school, speaking in Tigrinia with the children in my building, in Hindustani (that strange mix of Urdu and Hindi) at home, and in English with friends of my parents. That was not all. When I returned to India during summer vacations three years later, my parents admitted me into Class IV (D) at Stewart School. Miss PD James was the principal then. Within days, I was struggling to note down Hindi answers the teacher (Mr Latif, I think) wrote on the board. For me those letters were just shapes that evoked no sound yet. One look at my copy and the boy sitting next to me (I can't recall who it was) cried out to the teacher: "Sir, please take a look at his handwriting." I was rewarded with four tight slaps, which still ring in my ears, like in those Bollywood movies.
The same was repeated the day after and would have gone on had it not been for my other cousin, Shoaib, who was in the same class. He came and told my parents about my ordeal. "He gets slapped every day and doesn't utter a word in defense."
That is when my father wrote a letter to the teacher, specifying how I had been away from the country and studied in a totally different medium. The next day I presented my credentials to the teacher before he wrote a single letter on the board. He asked my why I had never protested. He never hit me again while my parents tried to teach me Hindi at home. So, when we went back to Ethiopia three months later, I was studying Italian at school and English, Hindi and Oriya at home (my parents had taken my books along), not to forget any homework I got at my Italian school.
I recall a few other things about those three months at Stewart School in 1984 -- I used to sit behind Pushparaj, Payal was the prefect. Once Payal and Sudeshna had tied a rakhi on me. I had gone red in the face and hid it inside my bag. Later my mother fished it out and asked me where it came from. I had gone red in the face while mentioning who. I didn't know, until I was told, the significance of the string. The next day, my mother had sent me to school with a carton of Nutties for Payal and Sudeshna. If I recall correctly, I had munched a few and given the rest to them.
My class teacher was Miss Kindo. I recall how Ms Chumai introduced me to Hiuen Tsang, the SUPW teacher who made us pick up stones and move them from one place to another, Ms Minati Patnaik's caning when one did not finish the homework and Ms Bhaskar's affectionate smile.
I had my third tryst with Stewart School two years later, in 1986, during another summer vacation visit to India. This time Mr A K Patra took my admission test and sent me to Class VI(A). There were no with me this time, and neither could I recall anybody who had been with me in IV(D). I was there from July to October after which I went back to Ethiopia, but this time we were to return for good in a few month's time so I remained a non-resident student, my fees being paid regularly, returning in March for the final exams.
After my promotion, Class VII was the first class I attended from beginning to the end. I faced difficulties adjusting to a totally different kind of school and culture, but in hindsight, those years played a major role in preparing me for the rough and tumble of life in any Indian city.