Wednesday, May 03, 2006

The house of green mangos

I spend most of my childhood in a military school. My earlier years in Sainik School were more eventful, than the later ones. It was boisterous and adventuresome, with most of us having accomplished a broken bone or a dislocated limb. Some of the more adventurous ones achieved more than that, thanks to their mischievousness and unadulterated penchant for the wilder side of life. Life at the dorm was highly entertaining and very unpredictable. Not a single day went by with out a fantastic event. Our school had plenty of mango trees, and the right to harvest mangos was sold off to individuals from outside the campus; this made it a forbidden fruit for us students. Nevertheless, the adventure of plucking mangos from school property was our favorite pastime.

Mr. P Kandaswami was our house master at that time. (I was his delivery boy, who brought and returned magazines for his wife from another teacher’s wife) . How he managed around 60 of us is a wonder. He was less than thrilled at our antics, specially the adventures we perfected, fueled by our appetite for fresh mangos during summer time. So he put our prefect, Santhosh KM, to keep an eye on the mango bandits. We were smarter. We gave a share of our harvest to the prefect in return for his silence. But occasionally he caught some of us and made us run rounds around the dorm, to convince the housemaster.
I don’t have a clear recollection of who the usual suspects were. Shankar, Girish, Sajeev, Sreevalsan,Anil ...But I still have the sour of green mangos on my tongue. One day, Mr. Kandaswami caught a few of us red handed – or rather green handed. The mangos were confiscated, and we were made to run rounds. Though robbed, exhausted and ashamed, we wondered what he did with those mangos, certain that he never threw those away. That evening he called me to his home to do the regular delivery rounds. I caught a glimpse of our hard earned harvest on his dining table!

I must say, though, that we had a wonderful time, filled with laughter, excitement and fun. Our teachers did a great job looking after us, for the most part, we turned into fairly respectable adults.


Anonymous Priyadarshan said...

Yes... i remember... not remember.. i am fealing so..., yes we must.., the days i was a 11 year 6th standard boy. on summer vations i used to study special hindi class in Jawahar college with one hindi master, we called him "pulliman", who had a lot of dots in his face. the mercury was at its peak at that time, i am along with my valiyachan's daughters Usha and prema, with one Vijayan, one of my relative were the gang members to attend the classes. we had a long journy through the harvested paddy fields to attend the classes. It was very bright, hot but winty days. there was a lot of mango tries, in the bank of the stream which is starging almost near to my house. while returning back from the regular classes we used to collect a lot of mangos which is belonging to the master of our school "Kunnile sar". all most all days some one of the owner was in front of us while we are throwing 'mangos' with the 'mango' trees for a better 'mango'. our family receiving a regular complaints from this house, but we never listen any one... that was the days.... the days i still fealing.............. a lot of memories.... a stock of memories... yes i mean it... yes i mean it...

... i feal that 8 year old little innocent "Geeta" who dosnt know even the meaning of love... but i, the 11 year boy had a defenit feeling of love inside my mind.... i loved her, i loved her and i loved her.... . Even now i am fealing and laughing in the dark, whether i loved her....? yes i loved her and even at that age, i fealt sleep less nights, waiting for the days to com... so i can meet her again in the Hindi classes.... these are the heavenly fealing...

Mr.Byju, thanks for your blog, so i can feel myself in the middle of that days which we left behind..

4:16 AM  
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