Life as a Boarder in Stanes by Padma (Vishwanathan) Ramachandran ~Hip Grandma~

 

When I joined Stanes I was a twelve year old who had led a protected life as an army officer’s daughter. Living in Meerut had its advantages. We had a very efficient orderly who took care of making our beds, polishing shoes and ironing our uniforms. Hair care was my mother’s department. She’d nurture my long hair, treat it with scented Keshavardhini hair oil, wash it with soap nut powder and plait it into two tight braids. Every hair would stay in place once thus treated. So the first thing I learned to do in the boarding was to make my bed, polish my shoes and plait my hair. Little did I know that a lot of effort went into making myself presentable. Luckily ironing was taken care of by a washerman so I didn’t burn my hands learning to iron my clothes. But taking out knots and combing and plaiting my hair initially took a lot of my time.

 

We were woken up at six in the morning. I can almost hear our matron Mrs. Peacock calling out in her resounding voice “Girls get up”. It used to be rather cold in Coonoor in the 1960s. Girls would cover themselves up with a blanket, kneel down to say their prayers and doze off for an extra forty winks. We were 18 girls in our dormitory and 6 cubicles with running water to brush our teeth and wash our face. We were allotted our washrooms and initially I would be the last to get in. Later I learned to insist that I wished to use it first once in a while. We then took turns to use the facility and the matter was amicably resolved. Mrs. Peacock would wake me up fifteen minutes earlier to help me manage my time. It took me around six months to learn to get ready before study time at 7 in the morning.

 

We, in the senior dormitory, were given chores on a rotational basis. The school had four houses. I belonged to Stanes house. One was allotted chores according to the house she belonged to. The duties were interchanged on Mondays. Dining room duty involved setting the table before breakfast and clearing up after a meal. We particularly enjoyed our duty in the sub junior dormitory that housed little boys upto the second standard. I remember being fond of a three year old kid called Ashok in nursery class and another little boy Vimal whose parents lived in Bombay. They would cry remembering their mothers and would find solace in our laps. The duty was also a tad tedious in the mornings because we had to get ready ourselves and then rush to get them ready for school. Though I do not remember, I think we had ayahs to help us.

 

At seven o’ clock sharp we would file down to the high school classrooms with our school bags ready for the day and finish our homework and prepare for a test or exam. Seniors would monitor the rest of the group and insist on pin drop silence. It was also the time when we would help each other with homework. I was in demand because I was good in Hindi - having studied in Meerut - and would willingly teach others who found it difficult. I was amused that some students tried to memorise Hindi alphabets instead of recognising them. For instance त was chair and प was inverted chair. क was 8 flipped over. I found this novel method of learning Hindi amusing but I soon realised that learning Hindi was easier for me having interacted with Hindi speaking friends. Not so for my fellow boarders who did not have the privilege. Those who had opted for Hindi as a second language were fewer in number but I think they did benefit by my help.

 

After study time we would line up for breakfast. We had our places allotted. After taking our place we would say the grace before each meal and start eating. After the meal we would again thank God for the food that we just consumed. Food was not great but in the company of friends we didn't actually mind it. We belonged to an age when adjustment came easily and our personalities could be molded. We were normally expected to have our school bag ready when we went to study. A geometry box or a textbook forgotten in the dormitory could be retrieved only with the matron’s permission. The wooden staircase leading to the dormitory would betray us if we tried to sneak in without permission. There was a piano in the landing between the junior and senior dormitories and our teachers including the Principal could be seen practising piano lessons. The wooden staircase was also an indicator to the identity of the teacher or matron who was coming up. Noisy brats that we were, we would become quiet depending on the person ascending the staircase. The sound of the steps would be different for each person.

 

Adjacent to the dormitory was a box room that doubled up for a dressing room. At the beginning of the school year we had to empty our trunks (suitcases were unheard of in the 1960s) and arrange our clothes in shelves allotted to us. We were not allowed to keep money. All pocket money would be handed over to the matron who would purchase stationery and any other stuff for us with it. Coins to be dropped in the church collection box would be given to us on Sunday mornings and the amount would be deducted from our pocket money. The masala dosa treat on Saturday evenings would also be paid for from our pocket money. Hostel life did make me responsible enough to take care of my things, manage my time and adjust with other girls of my age. We learned to live as a family. I remember sharing my fear of an unknown future and my mother's widowhood with my friends when my dad passed away. We seniors would treat the juniors as our little sisters and the bond thus formed helped us forget the comfort of our mother's lap to a very great extent.

 

It is not as if we didn't quarrel. But our quarrels were for the silliest reasons and we patched up within no time. We would stop talking for a while and would indicate our displeasure on Sunday nights when we would gather in the staff room to sing hymns. We would be allowed to choose our favorite hymns and would deliberately choose

 

“What a friend we have in Jesus.”

 

The lines “Do thy friends despise forsake thee, take it to the Lord in prayer” would be sung with gusto and we’d exchange surreptitious glances to make sure that the message reached the person it was intended for.

 

The other choice would be “Courage brother, do not stumble….”

 

The following lines would have special significance.

 

 “Some may hate thee, some may love thee,

Some may flatter some may slight.

Turn from man and look above thee,

Trust in God and do the right”.

 

 I still remember our school anthem and sing it (read croak) to my grandson. The opening lines have special significance. I remember feeling very patriotic when I sang it.

 

“Land of our birth we pledge to thee,

 Our love and toil in years to be.

When we are grown and take our place,

As men and women with our race” …

 

Then the opening lines of the second stanza were equally dear to me.

 

“Teach us delight in simple things,

And mirth that hath no bitter spring.

Forgiveness free of evil done,

And love to all men ‘neath the sun”...

 

Is it any wonder that I still remember the school anthem and taught it to the girls in the college I work for participating in a patriotic song competition and they won a prize for it. I cannot sing well but I managed to teach it to a friend with a good voice and she trained them. Those were days when there was no malice in our hearts and one easily forgave and forgot.

 

Lunch was served at one o’clock in the afternoon while tea and snacks after school. Any edible item that we brought from home was stored in the tuck cupboard and we could take out a portion and consume it after tea. We could not take edible items to the dormitory though on a few occasions we did sneak a little of our home made sweet and savoury to the dorm and enjoyed a midnight feast after the matron retired to bed. Consuming Tambrahm snack ‘murukku’ that my mother generously packed for me could not be distributed or consumed without making a noise and the ruckus we created made the matron come out and put on the light. The packet was confiscated and we were duly admonished. I was a newcomer so it was my seniors who were scolded for being a bad influence on a fresher. Talking of seniors, I particularly have fond memories of Jennifer Swain who was in her school final when I joined. She was a very sweet tempered person and would be extra nice to me when I would feel home sick and lost in the new set up. She kind of initiated me into hostel life and I found her to be very balanced and approachable. Beryl Fregrado was another senior whom I remember apart from Crystal Godfrey and Iris Walsh who was in my class. My granddaughter Aarya while delivering her farewell speech on leaving middle school joked that she was of just about the same height while leaving as when she entered the school. I must say the same is true for me. When I joined Stanes many in my class were of my height. I remained where I was while all of them shot up much to my despair. I once believed a fellow boarder who said that my long hair was pulling me down and promptly got it cut up to my waist hoping to grow tall. My hair grew back but I remained short. After relaxing for an hour we would again have an hour of study time after dinner at seven in the evening. Our chores would take up another half an hour's time and we would be in our dorms by eight. Lights would be put off at nine after which we would retire to bed. Those were days without TV and mobile phones and games. But we found ways to entertain ourselves. A power cut would make us sing “Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning”. Life was simple and our needs were few. Visits to the Sim’s park, the sports meet in Wellington, picnic in Pykara falls, trip to Kamarajasagar dam,  the pleasure of being elected as a prefect and being voted as the ‘best girl in the hostel’ add to pleasant memories of my school life.

 

While hostel life taught the joy of community living and prepared me for the ups and downs that followed in my adult life, I wouldn't advise it for others. It is better to stay with one’s parents till one turns eighteen and becomes better equipped to handle things. I still wonder what was the compulsion that made Ashok’s parents leave him in a boarding school at the age of three? At least his parents lived in Ooty and visited him twice a month and took him home during month ends. Vimal’s parents lived in Bombay quite far away from Coonoor. Couldn't they find a residential school closer to Bombay?

 

Stanes school memories would be incomplete without a mention of the Tibetan refugees who joined school when I was in the tenth grade. All schools were bound to take them. They knew no English and we were asked to teach them to converse in the language. Doma was a name common among them. We had one Tsering Doma and Doma Yankee. I am not sure but I think Tsering or Doma meant Lotus in their language and I remember telling Tsering Doma that my name also stood for Lotus in Sanskrit. They were smart kids. They picked up fast. By the time I left school they had integrated themselves well into life as boarders.

 

I could go on and on about my Alma Mater that made me what I am today. Somehow my mind retains a lot of pleasant memories about my school. The bond forged at that impressionable age has lasted for over fifty five years and I easily connect with anyone who has been in Stanes School as well as Coonoor. The little  town of Coonoor in Nilgiri hills will always be remembered with fondness and the four years spent there would be counted as the best ones in my life,