After 18 years (BH:D211)

February 29, 2012

The ironing guys who service the colony, Maheendran and Muthu from Thenkasi in Tamil Nadu, who stay at Srivaraham in the East Fort area and visit their families once every 3 weeks, reported for duty this morning. Their presence means Ilayaraja's old melodies all day. They are also a source of quirky stories about the upper middle class and richer households of the city. A sample: A professor couple insist that these guys iron their clothes first and that too after parking their carts inside that house. I wonder if this is a grown up version of the 'first in the class, first in the bench' game we used to compete in during primary school or if it is yet another screwed up notion of purity.

Today, I got to know how it feels to meet a friend from school after 18 years. It is great. Hari had left school after 10th to pursue higher studies in Singapore. Now he works and lives there with the wife and the twins. Our last meeting was some time in 1994. In the years before that, we had spent so many evenings together after school at Divakaran sir's home learning high school mathematics. 

Before meeting him this morning, I was awestruck by my amazing lack of memory. Clearly, both in school, at the tuition class and on the way to the numerous quiz contests for which we were a team, I have spoken to Hari several thousand sentences. Yet, I couldn't recall more than a couple. I do remember the topics of discussion; mostly girls, general knowledge and academics but none of the specific sentences. 

We didn't deviate from those topics much for the three hours we spent at Cafe Coffee Day today morning. They were mostly the pleasant memories of girls we went to school with, alarming lack of general awareness among the school kids today and the academic standards that are in a free fall in the Indian education system. 

We very well knew over 120 students during school days on a first name, day to day basis. Yet, we struggled this morning to come up with more than 30 even after ample assistance from coffee. Hundreds of girls and boys sat forever lost in benches of forgetfulness. Those who came back to mind in a rather surprising and stochastic order were remembered for totally different reasons. 

Young intelligences whose quality were in serious doubt in the other young minds around them, that went on to become superstar technologists.

Young characters whose straightness were questioned in the other young minds around, that went on to become priests.

Well behaved boys who ventured into drugs; coy, quite girls who blossomed into handlers of several boyfriends. Silent cats with nine lives. Nicknames as effective as caricatures.

A rainbow of careers from the school's uniform maroon, grey and white: pediatricians, orthodontists, engineers, computer scientists, managers, economists, teachers, home makers and even the gynecologist who fulfilled his high school ambition!

From the safety of 18 years, teachers were marched to trial. Most of them passed. A few with flying colors of respect for their sincere, eminently memorable dedication to the profession. A few seniors and juniors fondly remembered. In the couple of decades interim, those plentiful juvenile affections, some of which had become afflictions have matured into amusing anecdotes. 

Among all the happy tales of transformation into married with kids or the singles still standing, a stark tragedy. A good friend has developed severe schizophrenia. Repeatedly the conversation came back to him from variable skirt lengths, scary examination evaluations and gossip about the alumni that is now spread around the major cities of the world. Heartening to learn that some of the genes, epigenetically conditioned early at the St. Thomas School, have mixed with races across the globe.

Evening, at the Padmanabha Swami temple, did a count of the oil lamp bearing stone lady statues on the pillars. It is the same number as the pillars, but looking at those statues makes the counting way more interesting. My estimate is 330. There are 175 in the outer perimeter and 155 in the inner of the corridor. Facing each other, except in the case of 20 of them, each of these maidens is unique with a different hair style, different jewelry, different dress details and different breasts. The strangest one has the lamp position inside her belly instead of the usual folded palms. It is as if she is tearing up her belly, like Hanuman did to his chest. 

I am told that a big golden spatula and a gem studded large 'uruli' vessel was cataloged today. I wonder if the unopened vault B leads to an underground replica of the pillared corridor above but all in gold! Sea breeze sometimes intoxicates!