My School Days -Part 3

My School Days -Part 3

I entered the the portals of St Josesphs Academy and felt the difference immediately .It was a big school and had a rather intimidating Gothic  kind of administrative building .It had big playing fields –both in the front and in the rear .And there were two things which caught the eye immediately .One –the boys were bigger and stronger and looked more or less like college students ,and secondly a complete absence of girls .The reason was the fact that St Josesphs was a all boys school and it was a full fledged senior secondary school .On the main academic block was written in Latin, “LABORARE  EST ORARE”,which translated into English meant –“To work is to worship”.

It had a very distinctive block which was called a “rail gaari”-a row of classrooms adjoining the field at the rear .Now a swank new auditorium has replaced these classrooms They were so called because they resembled the compartments of a train .I will have to strain my memories to count the number but at a rough estimate there were 6 of them -9 C being the last and 5 A being the first .I don’t mind stand to corrected on the number ,but I would certainly challenge anyone to dispute the fact that 9 C was the last ,and 5A was the first class as one moved from the Principals office towards the second gate (next to Dr Naths house) .I am sure because I started my schooling in St Josesphs in 5A and my good friends Alok Jain and Sudhir Arora were in 9 C and I would hang around with them when I came into 9A .Symbolically ,my train journey started from here .!!I would like to qualify it with the rider ,that I was travelling in the best train and in its  first class compartment .!

It was fun –schooling .In 5 A ,I was uncomfortable ,because my class teacher  was the  very strict Hindi Teacher - Mr Thapa .But otherwise it was fun .During the milk break we either went to the grounds to play with marbles or we played “langdi taang”,a game in which one tried to catch the two legged boys within a small area but with one leg .Hence the term “Langdi taang”.There were superstars in these games as well .C.Harikumar (who was from Kerala),was a wonderful player of Langdi Taang ,whereas Vinod Gosain (who was a brilliant footballer as well ),was terrific with marbles .We always wanted to be in the team in which had these two in it .!!The teams would be selected by choosing two Captains ,who would then toss a coin .The one who called correct would be given the first choice to choose from a list of boys who were interested to play  .Hari was always the first choice in Langdi Taang of every Captain .I used to wait with baited breath –and one of the two Captains always called me in as the 4^th or 5^th choice .It was alright –I was a bit fat ,and my mobility was not good enough to be called in as a first choice in a game which involved hopping on one foot .!!I also played with marbles ,and my eye hand coordination was good .I could strike a marble from a fair distance and it was not uncommon to get back home with marbles jingling in my pockets .I avoided Vinod Gosain –he would have not allowed me to win ,he was the ace .!

There was another game we played during the milk breaks ,and this was hand cricket .Ah ,it was a wonderful invention of some genius .!Instead of cricket bats ,we used our hands ,which we folded into fists ,and then struck a tennis ball which was bowled  .It was a great way to detect who had a good eye hand coordination ,because if one could strike a tennis  ball with a a fist ,then he would certainly strike it with a bat .And since it was a tennis ball ,the rule was “One bounce ,out”.!!If one hit the ball and if one did not clear the in field ,the chances of survival were few –because even a catch after a bounce was out .!!I was very good at it and got spotted by Bro. Dunney as I played outside his carpentry class on the main field .He told me to start practicing in the nets .I became a cricketer who was to represent St Josesphs  School Cricket Team.!!

In St Josesphs those days ,we had teams according to height .So there was a cricket team of 4ft 10 inch and below ,who represented the school ,or a  team having children who were 5ft 2 inch  and below who would represent the school .And finally ,the main Cricket team comprising of children of all heights –the best  Eleven.Every one wanted to play for the school in the open height category .But it was almost impossible for a child who was 4ft 10 inches or below to be playing for the school which had boys as tall as 6ft .(One of them was called “Daddy”,I remember ,because he was so tall!!).Normally a very good cricketer who was around 5’2 would be in the 9^th grade .Hence there were few from that category who made it to the school eleven .But one who comes to mind and was a brilliant cricketer and about 5ft tall,and yet played for the school while still in the 9^th was Naval Patel .For all of us ,he was a star .But more about Naval (caught up with him on the playing fields of Delhi many years later ,and who I am told resides in Mumbai these days ),and more about my teachers and the famous bun samosa snack from Choc outside the school gate ,as also Saluja and Universal Book Stores and lots more in my next blog .!!Dont miss it as I wind my way through the memories of the legends –G.C .Gupta ,Mr and Mrs D’Souza,Mr Chhetri,Mr Rathke,Bro Foley,Bro Dunne,Mr Kala Mr Bari ,Mr Chaturvedi ,Mr Gaur ,Miss Massey, Mr Rawat ,Bro Dunney ,Bro Donovan ,Shashiji the cricket coach ,and many more .Of course I would need to write a book for all that ,but will try recreate the greatness of exceptional human beings and situations .!

Are Extra Marital Affairs Justified ?

This is in response to a anguished person asking me my views about a extramarital affair .Appropriately the bottom line of the persons rather labyrinthine explanation was “Do you think I am cheating on my partner “?. To be honest –I am no specialist in this kind of advice and normally I do not give it .A man woman relationship is a very complicated thing and at every point there will be a differing perceptio –wn to a problem .The reason for this difference in perception is not because of a differential  in reasoning ,intelligence,knowledge or wisdom between two partners .Its simply because of the fact that one is a male and the other is a female .The impulses and mindsets are different .The objectives are different .Where they converge on a point ,it is because of a give and take away from their natural make ups  .So compromise on both sides is a constant and ever evolving undercurrent .Sometimes we don’t know how much we compromise .It happens automatically .But when we don’t compromise ,then we start seeing the negatives of the other partner in a more focused way and inflexible way .And incase another man /woman steps into your life during this phase ,then  due to  a lack  of “positive” feeling for your partner  ,one  starts  thinking of the new entrant   as someone great .But then after sometime the differing aspects of your personalities will clash again if one is inflexible or uncompromising  by nature –because u are different human beings !! And the cycle continues.The solution is to keep adjusting if you think compromise is a ugly word  .I am a great one for a big “NO” to a extramarital affair .It can be exciting because it is adding a variety to ur life .But that is just a temporary phase .Ultimately it will leave big scars ,bcoz a relationship which it replaces (affair replacing marriage ), will never  go away because of the moments you have lived through collectively .And more often than not  it will generate a guilt feeling .All talk of "moving on" is just  theoretical.Philosophically it may sound the “in” thing .But practically it is not possible (unless Alzheimer hits you !!).Ultimately –there is no such thing as a honest cheat in a affair .!! That’s my take friend !!And remember –marriage is too important to be treated like a love affair .Any society that has a low view of marriage will degenerate into instability .

My Trip To India -Reminiscences"

I am back in Dubai after a fabulous 10 days in India .From the moment I stepped out from vestibule of the aircraft when it landed in Delhi , I had  felt the change .The faces ,the sounds and the smells .The people at the immigration were so different than the ones in Dubai –they had such familiar names pinned on their their shirts –Suresh Sharma who checked my passport looked at me and said “Dubai mein kyon ho .Hamare yahaan bahut school hai ,aap jaise logo ki zarrorat hai Sir” ,and smiled . He did not even know me –but that’s a Indian for you –complimentary at times  and abusive at others .!!He quickly stamped my passport as I exited .The hot  humid  air outside wrapped around me like a thick blanket  .I started to sweat  .It was quintessential Delhi as we wove our way through the chaotic traffic.My mother in law was waiting for me looking at every vehicle that came into her lane .It was nearly 11 pm !!.Welcome to India .!!

It was a whirlwind tour ,that took me up into the beautiful hills of Kandaghat to the beautiful home of my sister who has a summer house there .As I looked around me ,I saw huge ,tall and majestic pine trees .I could smell them .The mountains too made me feel what I sometimes forget – that i am very small and too insignificant and too intransigent in this universe .Mountains and nature  have lasted  millions of years .!!As always –sisters put forward their best foot to pamper their brothers .My sisters Kusum and Indu never lower the bar –they always raise it .Given their tastes and affluence –it was   like living  like a king for a few days .In Chandigarh and Kandaghat .

The celebrations continued at my in laws place at New Friends Colony ,Delhi.The lotus weed ("bheh" as we Punjabis call it ),paranthas and "kheer" which are perceived to be my favourite dishes were there for the eating .Pratique was born in a hospital  in New Friends .That was 21 years back .It brought back a flood of memories .The Community centre has been one of my favourite shopping and eating places .The dishes at Al Bake , Pebble Street ,Yum Yum Tree ,and Nathus , are legendary .The small barbeque just next to the Yum Yum Tree is out of the world .And the rasoogullas and golguppas of Nathus are mind blowing. I have been getting my clothes stitched  from Gargee Tailors in New Friends Colony for years  .Given my dimensions ,I never get a perfect fit in the mass factory produced shirts ,trousers or suits .And I always fall back on Gargee Tailors .Shyam ji made me 3 suits in super fast time .They are as always –excellently stitched.He always manages to make me look like what I want to look  .He will prod me to change a few things –“ Sir 2 inch ke coat lapel bahut kum hotein hai .2 1/2  inch  kar leejeeyeh” he said .A firm shake of the head and he backed off .Wonderful man .Understands me well .And a terrific salesman –always manages to sell me one suit or coat more than what I come with in my mind to his shop .!

Airports are so cut off from the reality in India .They (like 5 Star Hotels) are a striking contrast to what exists just as you enter or leave them .Once inside –you get a artificial feel that you are the chosen one .I observed people as they flitted around in the duty free shops and the coffee bars .All –or almost all !!-are well heeled and smelling nice .All of them are with smart phones and ipads and munching Hersheys and their hand baggage is ineveitably Samsonite and  Gucci leather bags .Some of the ladies carry Marc Jacobs ,Fendi ,Mouward ,and Judith Leiber !! And they flout them .And they are Indians .But most of them appear to be first generation rich .Their money shouts –it does not whisper .When they plonk themselves into a sofa seat ,they remove their sandals and display feet that  are cracked and black in the tiny crevices .These are feet that have walked the markets of Sarojini Nagar and Lajpat Nagar .The belong there .Nothing wrong .What is wrong is that they forget inside the airport that they belong there .Nothing wrong to forget that you belong there –its okay to get away from your own reality once in a while .What is wrong is that they start behaving like that with the staff that is not so rich –the trolley boys ,the stall attendants ,the airhostesses and stewards .They are the   “ Do you know who I am”?   kind of people .!!  I wish they ran into me in one of their put on acts –with me .!! I promise to tell them who they are .

Back in Dubai .Waiting for Sangeeta and Pratique .Sangeeta comes back on the 27^th and Pratique comes in on the 28^th .Am  as excited as a school boy going out on his first date .I haven’t forgotten that day .And I wont forget the coming days .! And I will never ever forget the cities of India that I have lived in and left behind  a bit of my body and mind .My greatest insecurity is , and regret will be, if i die in a foreign land .I love my India and its not the feeling of someone who has just returned from home .It is a part of my psyche every minute even when i am there .

One Fed My Mind .The Other Fed My Body -Part 3 (Concluded).

He rang the bell three times .I knew it was him .I opened the door .And ushered him into my drawing room .

He sat down and looked at me .Maybe because of hindsight that he was suffering from a major ailment ,or it could have been the somber and tragic moment that he was confronted with –Jaswant seemed he had  been  robbed  of his robustness. He  did not speak a word for about 2 minutes .And then  wept like a child.He told me that I was a “padhey likheh” (educated ) human being and that he had little to offer in terms of advice  .But before leaving me he held my hand and said “  Sabar rakhoh .(be courageous), inaa da koi dharma nahi  haih .Ea saraih goondeh hunh .Wahe Guru inaa nu  kadeeh maaf nahi karrooga” (they have no values .They are all hoodlums . God will never forgive them) .

That’s the last I saw of Jaswant ,as he peddled away .To the unknown world  .I was never to hear the ring of his cycle again  .

As a family we tried to  fight at the gruesome loss of someone very dear to us .And then  I  got busy with Sangeetas pregnancy leading to the  birth of  Pratique .I was also  offered a Principalship in Bhopal  which I  decided  to take up .Rai was no longer the place it was .It was caught up in politics and there were attacks on staff members by the “kuchha baniyan”  criminal gang .We started patrolling the streets through the night in small groups by turns .Mentally Jaswant went out of my radar .

One day Mr SS Khera (no longer alive ),told me that Jaswant had passed away .Mr Kheras wife used to work in the Punjab National Bank in Rasoi and she had informed him about the same .I could not believe that the man with  those rippling biceps and strong chest was no more. Khera who was also a good friend of Jaswant told me that he had  died blood cancer .

About a week before I left Rai for Bhopal to take over my first assignment as a Principal ,I made my way to Jaswants house in Rasoi .It was the first and last time I entered it .The modest house had a low ceiling.It had only a small window with bar grills on it .The fan hung perilously close to ones head  .I met his wife .There was nothing much I could offer except a few words .I asked her what happened .She told me “Khoonch zahar fahal gayaa si” (the blood had got infected with poison).I asked her whether they had tried to cure it (the poisonous blood).With a resigned look she said she had taken him to All India Institute of Medical Sciences where the doctors told her  it was incurable .And prolonging his life would involve lots of money .And that Jaswant had opposed the move  to spend money for the cure .I asked her what she planned to do next  .She told me she would go back to Chowk Mehta .”If one has to die –one will die anywhere .I wish we had not left Chowk Mehta.He always used to tell me that one day we will go back to where we belong ” she said choking  .I could understand her philosophy .My brother in law  had come all the way from Orrissa  to serve in Punjab ,only  to fall prey to assassins bullets .

I bid her goodbye .As I turned ,I saw his cycle propped up against the wall .There were also the empty crates in which eggs are transported  .I could imagine Jaswant on the cycle with his crates of eggs  .I went to the cycle and rang its bell  bell  3 times . My eyes welled up with tears .His liitle son gave me a smile.He had a smile just like his father.And then uttered those words that I can still hear “Bilkul Papaa jaise ghanti bajatey ho.(you ring the bell just like Dad)”  . Yes if you heard that ringtone thousands of times –you surely will know how to do it .I turned back and looked at his wife and told her to take the cycle with her wherever she went .Leaving it would have been like leaving a big part of him behind in Haryana .And  then I spoke the same words  that Jaswant had said to me

“Sabar Rakooh.” And added “Wahe Guru thawdaa Khyaal rakhoogaa” .(God will look after you all).

The other day I went to the supermarket here in Dubai to buy eggs .I came across a crate of eggs that were small .The same size over which I had protested with Jaswant .Rasoi is across the seas .Dubai is a big city –the international jet set .And it has been nearly 25 years since Jaswant passed away .But I still remember  him  everytime I buy or eat  eggs ,desi ghee and chicken .He fed my body for many years .Maybe one day I will try to search out his family in Chowk Mehta !!

One Fed My Mind .The Other Fed My Body -Part 2

25 Kms north of Amritsar is a place called Chowk Mehta .It houses  the Damdami Taksal ,a  seat of Sikh learning and education .Tucked away almost unknown to the world ,it sprang into prominence when one of its heads ,held the country to ransom .He was instrumental in instilling fear in the minds of many of us who by birth were as close to any Sikh in any part of the world .Then, and now, we always made our way to the nearest gurudwara in our vicinity .It was a  bond (between us and the Sikhs ),t hat no one had ever dared to drive a wedge through .And it was crystal clear no one would succeed .But Sant Bhindrawale tried to do the impossible .He was headquartered at Chowk Mehta from where  lists were prepared and  diktats to carry out gruesome killings  were ordered .He had a narrow support base -but a ruthless and committed one  .And those  who did not support his ideas ,were confronted with a choice –leave or be prepared for the repurcurssions .Maybe death ..Jaswant Singh chose to leave Chowk Mehta.

“I have come to teach here .Why have you come ?To sell andaa and chicken on a cycle .It does not make sense to me ” ?I had asked .It was a logical question.

“How can one stay in a place where we are told that Hindus are our enemies . How can one stay in a place when people tell you that a separate country Khalistan is going to be created ? They say  "Sikh ik vakhriqaum hai." (Sikhs are a different race”)  .In our family we have Hindus .And in our family I have relatives in Andhra ,Maharastra and Assam .Sa…la ,Ch…..ya,  sanoo bewakoof  samajde hai “( they think we are fools”) .He was a raw and rustic man .But he was a true secularist and a nationalist .

Rai is a residential school .And having the mess food day in and day out was uphill task –though the food  was top class .But even top class food loses its edge once it becomes repetitive and predictable .By the time I had spent my first year at Rai ,I knew what was going to be served for breakfast on Monday ,lunch on Tuesday or dinner on Saturday !! We always had the option of eating at the world class dhabas at Murthal but one could not do that very often .The distance and the pocket protested sometimes .

Jaswant Singh changed all that .He gave us options .He peddled eggs and chicken and it suited us fine .I always preferred having boiled eggs which were warm ,and cook my own chicken and share it with my other bachelor friends .The task of supplying us fresh eggs and chicken fell on the shoulders of Jaswant .He would announce his arrival by ringing the bell of his cycle three times !!I would open my door and inspect his eggs and chicken .One day I told him that the eggs were too small and so were the chicken .I was at the prime of my life and had taken to playing squash daily .I had fairly good biceps .I flexed my muscles and showed them  to him.

“I need  big eggs and chicken to feed them” I boasted !! Get me big eggs and a good “kooker” (chicken).And I expanded my chest !!

He was quick to retort

“If you eat the eggs  and the chicken I supply you ,you will be like this”, and proceeded to show me his biceps !!And I swear ,they were really big and bulging !!And as a afterthought he said

“You wont get them no matter how many eggs or “kookers” you eat ,because you are a Amul eating man .Desi ghee khaaya karoh(eat pure ghee).” he added with a smile and a hearty laugh !!

“Can you get me desi ghee”, I asked ?

“Of course I can .You just have to tell me a day or two in advance .I will get you desi ghee and looni makkhan (white butter). You need it .”!!

That’s how I started to eat farm fresh eggs,farm fresh dressed chicken ,desi ghee and looni makkhan !!Jaswant  started feeding my body . From  a acquaintance ,he became a friend .I would talk to him in Punjabi  .I asked him once whether he travelled to Punjab often .

“Of course I do .I have some land there .I will return once the madness is over .I don’t  like it much here .I feel homesick” .Punjab at the time was in the grip of terrorism .Terrorists used innocent  human beings like Jaswant as couriers  to pass messages to each other  or hide in their homes .And if the police came to know of such incidents ,then the innocents were targeted .People like Jaswant were caught in the crossfire of the Police and the Terrorists .No one was obeying or playing the game according to rule .Punjab lurched from one gory incident into another .I got married .The Principal of the school changed .And for reasons best known to him ,he stopped the entry of Jaswant into our school campus .I don’t know what the reasons might have been .I could not understand  why he ordered the cutting down of  eucalyptus trees and  targeting  people like Jaswant .Jaswant stopped coming .

In the mayhem of terrorism ,I lost my brother in law who was a senior IAS Officer .Jaswant came to meet me .On his cycle but without his eggs ,desi ghee ,and chicken .I was grieving and trying to cope with the tragedy .I heard the bell of the cycle ring 3 times .I got up and opened the door .........

To be contd and concluded tommorow .

One Fed My Head ,The Other Fed My Body .Part 1

We often forget people who are not on Facebook or Twitter .We often forget people who would never have been on facebook  or twitter  had it been available 30 years back ..The facebook and twitter class is the “new upper caste” in India .And like the upper castes ,at most  times they do not represent the real India .

There were two such people who would not have been either on facebook ,twitter or a smart phone .One of them fed my mind and the other fed my body .One of them was called Ram Sudan who lived in Narela  a small town on the outskirts of Delhi .He  brought me my daily copy of the Times of India when I was teaching at Rai Sports School   nearly 35 years back .

Rai was a village .But  the Motilal Nehru  School of Sports pitchforked it into prominence .It brought in the celebrities –from Indira Gandhi ,Bishen  Bedi ,Kapil Dev ,Kiran Bedi ,Roshan Seth ,Sunil Dutt ,Leela Samson ,Swapan Sundari ,Tanvir Habib –everyone .It had a wonderful infrastructure and a wonderful Principal who himself was a celebrity –Yash Paul Bharadwaj .

But life was slow .We never got our newspapers before 2pm .The reason was simple .The demand for the Times of India in and around was minimal .It came to Narela via a local and then it had to be transported to Rai .But who would have liked to come nearly 20 kms to distribute a newspaper to a young Post Graduate from Delhi University ?Haryana gets  very hot and very  cold in summers and winters .And in the monsoons it gets very wet .If you have to cycle from Narela day in and day out to deliver  a  newspaper  round the year  ,then you had either have to be committed or a superman .Ram Sudan had both these qualities .

Ram Sudan was a thin man and when he started to deliver my daily dose of newspaper ,he was in his early 50s .His mode of transportation was the cycle –Atlas cycle !!He wore a dhoti and cycled slowly .He reminded me of the tortoise in the kindergarden story of the hare and the tortoise .He plodded on –but what was more important –he always managed to reach his destination  .I  once  requested him  to try delivering   the paper before 8 am .I was used to getting my paper at 5 when I was  in Delhi and Chandigarh

“I will give you extra Sudanji.”,I said

“Sir no matter if you give me lakhs ,I wont be able to deliver the paper at 8 .I get it at Narela at 9” .And he would smile .

Those were the days when internet and computers were not even heard of .And being in a village ,the newspaper  was the only source of information .Food for the mind as I once told him

“Sudanji , paper to mere dimaag ke liye khuraq hai( paper is nourishment for my mind ).Aur aap mujhe 2 bajey tak bhooka rakhtey ho( and you keep me hungry till 2pm).”

He looked at me and folded his hands “ Sorry Sir .Kya karun .And I know what hunger is all about” .His family had been displaced from Pakistan and made their way to Sonepat .From there Sudan had struggled but was not able to break the shackles .He had started selling newspapaers –especiaally Hind Kesari and the Hindi Tribune which were in demand in the area he lived .But English newspapers –“Sir margin kum hai” he would say .

Ram Sudan had a tragic look about him .Maybe not tragic –but perhaps a philosophical look about him .He seemed to be far away most of the time –far away from where he sat and talked .

One day on a Sunday he came wet .It had been raining .It was a winter rain ,the one that we get in December in the North .He always wore a thick grey polo neck sweater over his kurta .But on on Sunday he was wet .Normally he would slip the paper under my side door .But on this particular Sunday he knocked .I opened the door .

“Sirji ,chai mileygee?” (Can I get tea ?).Thand  lag rahee hai(I am feeling cold)”.

As  a bachelor at that time ,I was not organized enough even for a cup of tea .

“Come in .I will give you something better “,I said .I gave him a towel to wipe himself  and poured a large peg of Old Monk rum with hot water (from my water geyser).I told him to down it .He was happy .He asked  for another  one .I gave him another .This time I did not have to ask him to down it .He did so himself .He asked for a third one .I refused .I told him ,that it was not yet 3pm and he had to cycle 20 km s home .He left .

After 15 minutes I went to just check on him .Near the gate was a biggish lawn .I saw him lying there .The sun was out .I went to ask him how he was .He told me he was fine and was enjoying the sun and the drink .I still remember his last words to me .

“Sirji ,sone  pe  suhaagay ho gaya” .!!(roughly meaning icing on the cake –the sunshine and the drink).And as a afterthought , he moved away from himself into the lost world of his and whispered “Iswar aap ko bahut lambhi umar dey( may God give you a long life ).

That’s the last I saw of him .The December holidays started ,I went to Dehradun for a break and when I came back ,his son started to deliver the newspapers .He told me that Ram Sudan was not well and was suffering from pneumonia .I wanted to meet him ,but just could not find the time to do so .

After sometime his son also stopped coming to deliver the newspapers .One day I came to know that Ram Sudan had passed away .I went to Narela  not only to pay homage to him but also to pay up for the bill which stood  against my name .I have never felt comfortable with debts .I entered his one room house .His widow sat in a corner  –quiet .The son introduced me to her .She nodded her head .I did not know what to say .I don’t know the social etiquettes and I don’t pour my heart out with people I meet the first time .I looked at the wall where a photo of Ram Sudan was hung .And as in the photograph of every diseased –a garland  of flowers were hung on it .My eyes met his eyes .I thought he smiled at me .Then I lost sight of him .I wiped my tears .I gave some money to his son and told him that it was what I owed to him .After a bit of hesitation ,he accepted .

But financial debt is one thing .Till today when I read the Times of India ,I remember Ram Sudan.

After all ,he  fed my mind for 7 long years .Its a debt I will never be able to repay .So what if he is not on my  Facebook  Friends list .He is in my head  and in my heart .He nourished them as few have .

To Sir Yash Paul Bharadwaj -With Love .

He is the smartest man I have ever met in my life .By smart I mean smart and not good looking .Much of his looks were immersed  under  a beard that reminded me of  Karl Marx and  Fidel Castro .He had large eyes ,was tall and well built and walked like a king –ambling as if he gave two hoots for the world or what  it thought of his ways.He looked like a lion with a magnificent mane -when angry ,his eyes darted from one place to another -ready to pounce of anyone who made a mistake  .Add to it his brilliance as a sportsman and also the fact that he always smelt  nice and dressed so well and you will know who I am writing about - The Phenemonal  Yash Bharadwaj .

YP Bharadwaj - with Imran Khan .

I met him  first as a young prospective candidate for the post of a history teacher at the Motilal Nehru School of Sports at Rai( 35 years ago !!),just 20 miles from Delhi and hence called “Biswan Meel”.It was a place where the legendary CM of Punjab ,Pratap Singh Kairon was shot dead .At Rai ,the Haryana Govt built a school with the best infrastructure of the times and paid the teachers well enough to attract some of the best available in India .Mr Y .P .Bharadwaj was the Principal as  I waited in the staff room to be interviewed .He had stepped in to the rather big boots of Padamshri , Mr Kate  .And gosh –did he not make everyone feel that the shoes were too small for him .

Mr Bharadwaj was a pedigreed  man .(I will keep writing of him as was because I write of him as a man who has retired now ).He had studied at St Stephens College and had represented it in Cricket(in fact nearly played for India ,after having played Ranji for many years ) and Basketball .I am not too sure –he must have represented it in Tennis as well because he was a terrific tennis player and would take the best young studs in our school apart in the  game . Even at the age of 55 !!He had taught at the Mayo College for years  and had become the Vice Principal at The  Punjab Public School at Nabha  before taking over Rai  !!I had the pleasure of playing Cricket and Tennis with him and in particular I remember putting in a long partnership in two  ,staff vs students matches .I was just out of University  and more or less in my prime and Mr Bharadwaj was past 50 years of age . “We will avoid taking the singles or  run too fast. And don’t worry –the runs will come .We will put away the bad balls to the boundary .And you will get many of them” ,he advised .I am forgetting how any runs he scored in the matches –but they were both above 50 runs a piece and mostly in boundaries  .Interspersed with cuts ,and  brilliant drives through the covers –both off the front and back foot .Not only that ,he would open the attack with the new ball and bowl amazing outswingers  luring the young batsmen to edge to vultures like me standing at first slip to gobble up the catch .I still remember all that Sir ,and the icing on the cake were the cricket matches with the British High Commission.

Mr Bharadwaj was a visionary –he was not a micro level man who would have meetings with teachers to monitor the syllabus or whether they had written their teachers diaries , or whether i had taught Akbars Din E Illahi or not  .He looked at the larger picture -the macro level.He looked  to take Rai beyond the confines of the staff rooms ,classrooms , and the playing fields within its campus .He entrusted me with the task of starting a General  Awareness Club and a Debating Society . “I want  you to tell me how we can get the big schools to participate in the activities you plan”. He told Mr Alan  Lewis to produce plays and take them to premier schools to showcase talent that the kids possessed .And then he told Mr Lewis to take the plays abroad –to England .He entered into a exchange programme with schools in England and it still continues .He made sure that no teacher went twice –so that more teachers got exposure to foreign lands .He sent me to Phiilipines with kids  for a Childrens International  Village .He had foreign teachers come and teach English and Geography to first generation learners .I asked him once why he had foreigners teaching in our schools .Were there not enough good Indians to do so ?His reply was

“Kain ,dekho .Do cheez ho sakti hai .Ya toh Angrez Hindi seekh jayegaa ,ya  who Angrezee sikaa degaa”!!( two things can happen –either they will learn Hindi ,or they will teach the kids to speak in English).

I laughed  .It was over a drink in his palatial residence .I dared to probe further .”And suppose they learn Hindi ?.The purpose will be defeated wont it” ?

“No –according to linguists it is very difficult to learn a new language when you are in your 40s .”And that’s exactly what happened .The kids in Rai learnt to speak and write fabulous English .It is no surprise to me that Rai has produced 3 children who have written wonderful novels  ,it has produced wonderful actors and actresses ,it has produced I.A.S Officers ,IITians ,Entrepreuneurs ,teachers and more than 100 Principals .My name was 56^th on the list of Principals from Rai when I visited it last about a decade back .He introduced  horse riding ,fencing  and encouraged the setting up of a solar heating system to keep the swimming pool of our school warm in the biting cold of North India .The inaugural Craft Mela at Surajkund was manned by kids from our school .The children saw English movies every Saturday in a bid to make them improve their English.He would do “Shramdan” with them and would take part in “Preeti Bhoj” serving  food to our support staff for dinners  .In a decade under his leadership ,uncut and unpolished diamonds were transformed  into the most valuable jewels in the country .I give the credit for most of that to Mr Bharadwaj .Having been a leader of schools for two and a half decades myself –I know how brilliant one has to be to do that .

There are many tales .There are many memories .There are many incidents for someone like me from Rai .I gave my best years and my best performances as a teacher at Rai .Sometimes when i look at myself  I feel  it could not have been me who was at Rai .I was in a different zone  .At times I just want to forget Rai because it drowns me in nostalgia and compels me to  compare  with myself then and now  and the school  then and at the  present moment .Sometimes i keep telling myself "Come on .Move on .Forget the past" .And sometimes I do forget it for long periods as I immerse myself in new ventures .

But one man keeps pulling me back .He keeps tugging at the corners of  a huge memory And forces me to always look back over my  shoulders .Someone who will never let me forget Rai and every moment I lived there .Sir Yash Paul Bharadwaj .

Get well soon Sir .Its time to have drink once again with you .I am thirsty .