SUMMER OF 89

Great people don’t wait for opportunities, they create them. But mediocrity and introversion run in my veins, and so did I wait for an invite from a good old teacher to take a stroll down my memory lanes to revisit my alma matter. Allow me to break the shackles of depressive gloom of Covid-19 , the rhetorics over the incompetence to tackle it and instead engage myself to pen down the reminiscences from my heyday of youth.

Rather than prematurely rushing into the fragments of cherishing memories under the effect of dopamine, I would indulge in ventilating the essence of the era I started my academics. Rajiv Gandhi was the ruler of the land, Amitabh Bachchan was rocking the screens and Sachin had not made his international debut. That was the summer of 89. I took a small step into Augustines and a giant leap to shape my career.

Getting admitted to an English medium school was no plain vanilla in those days. Needless to say my parents like many others were frowned upon for turning traitors to their mother tongue, their prodigal extravagance and how their decision might mutate me into spoilt brat nourished by the marks leniency of “Dilli board”.

I had spent the first 2 years of my academics in a rudimentary local school. So, my quantum leap into 64,Barrack Road was both a culture shock as well an achievement for me and my parents certainly felt over-accomplished feeding my 5 year old brain with names of birds, fruits ,vegetables, flowers in a foreign tongue within a fortnight. During my interview when Mr. Gasper, the senior told me “Come here” and I sat down instead , my father gave a sarcastic look implying my sheer inattentiveness in an attempt to conceal my incompetence in English which probably is worse that ignoring the ten commandments. Such was the pressure on parents even 3 decades back.

I haven’t stepped in Augustines in the last two decades but some photos I see in social media strengthens my belief that no articulation would be convincing enough to form an impression in your minds as to how our school building looked in the late 80s. While I as student started putting my feeble footprints in academics, Augustines Barrackpore was trying to rise up and metamorphose into an academic institution from the rubbles of a dilapidated British era building. The kindergarten section took shelter under briskly laden asbestos sheets and the senior sections had classrooms that often took pride in hosting a vintage fireplace from the pre-independence era that hadn’t seen firewood in decades. Most of the amenities were far from expectations and the school didn’t have affiliation either. Amidst all these challenges the teachers took upon a herculean task to take Augustines ‘marching ahead’ to a distinguished state wherein it became the most sought after school in the locality. It was the epitome of success for parents to make their children capable enough to ingress through sacred gates of St. Augustines.

Resources were limited but the efforts put in were dexterous, indefatigable and ubiquitous which took us on an ever upsurging roller coaster ride. Things began to fall in place and the transition was smooth enough to have minimal concomitant effects on academics. The teachers blended the essence of personal touch effortlessly in the inculcation of knowledge and a word or two often proved life changing for students. In times of crisis teachers took care of injured students better than a nurse and during brighter days they never hesitated to dance dressed as the Santa. Our craves were abecedarian and we rocked the feast days in vibrant dresses and borrowed sunglasses sometimes in futile attempts to impress someone.

The school had very minimal open area for students to run around in the recess, but the exuberance of youth found its passage amidst the rabbles. The concrete podium surrounding the only tree in the compound barely saw anyone sit on it; for it was too full of shoe prints that grew in size over time and evanesced one day giving way to smaller ones. The saving grace was the greenery across the treasury building outside our campus where we played the reverse sweeps and straight drives until our futile dreams of becoming cricketers ruptured sensing empirical reality.

As we advanced to our final year in school all energised to leave a mark in the ICSE exams the pressure of expectations started to take its toll on us. It was at this very juncture when we needed the school so very much to breathe life into us. Interaction with friends provided the much needed breaks and we meticulously noted every advice from the teachers on the evaluation process and mindset of examiners. A word of appreciation from a teacher acted as vocal tonic and motivated many a young mind.

Finally, when it was the time to bid adieu, we parted ways with fugacious promises to maintain our perpetual friendships. Most friendships that flourished in the cradles of Augustines, perished under the test of times accompanied by newly found friends, physical displacements for further academics, or by sheer reluctance to keep in touch. The temple of knowledge that held us in its arms for a decade became alien gradually and all that survived were fragments of reminiscence rescued through flights of imaginations back to our golden days. But those memories - distorted they might have become with the passage of time - conglomerate into an invaluable wealth that we earned during the most transformative phase of our lives. No other achievement - howsoever cyclopean it might be - can belittle it.