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,

Stanes School Memories By Hip Grandma (Padma (Vishwanathan) Ramachandran Batch of 1966)

 

Shifting to Gobi and life as a boarder in Stanes High School

 

 

Since daddy was posted in Ladakh we relocated to my mother's maternal home in Gobichettipalayam - Gobi - which holds some of the best memories of my life. Gobi thatha, bless his soul, is the kindest, noblest human being I have known in my life. My mother was born weak sighted and was forced to abandon school. Thatha had a soft corner for his mild mannered daughter who spent half her married life in Gobi. My dad was in Medical college when my parents got married. My mother would be shunted to Gobi when he had exams and he would join her during vacations. When he joined the army she would join him when posted in family stations and move back to Gobi when he was transferred to a field station. My dad was a dog lover so when we relocated to Gobi my grandfather would have to accommodate a pet dog along with us, his grandchildren. So when we shifted to Gobi from Meerut, Helga tagged along. She gave birth to two pups - Brownie and Blackie. We gave away Blackie but Brownie remained in Gobi. When my dad was about to return after he dropped us, he suffered from a severe stomach ache but it got better in a day and he joined duty. From then onwards he would occasionally have such stomach aches that would get better on its own. But when the frequency increased he was released on medical leave and was treated in the Military hospital in Madras. In the meanwhile my sister and I joined Stanes High School, Coonoor as boarders because Gobi did not have an English medium school back then. I was already in the eighth grade and changing my medium of instruction was not a good idea. Moreover if my dad was posted in a family station we would join school in the new place so shifting to Tamil medium was not considered at all. So in February 1963 both of us joined Stanes High School, Coonoor and that was an entirely different set up compared to the Tambrahm life we had led thus far.

 

Life as a boarder in Stanes High School.

It was my maternal uncle Krishnamurthy mama who got me and my sister admitted in Stanes High School, Coonoor. The reason was that most schools in Coimbatore that were closer to Gobi had begun their school session in January. Admissions had closed in December. It was when he approached Stanes School Coimbatore that the Principal suggested that he should try Stanes, Coonoor. Since Coonoor was a hill station they had a longer winter vacation and would reopen only in February. There was a remote chance of our being granted admission there. Mama rushed to Coonoor and got the prospectus and we were admitted without any trouble. But I was totally unprepared for the hostel life that followed. The entire set up was different. We were the only two Indians as well as vegetarians in the boarding school. The smell of beef, mutton and fish cooked in European style without Indian spices was nauseating. We had to share the table with others who consumed Non vegetarian food. For a person like me,  who was not accustomed to the flavor of garlic at home, adjustment was difficult. The other problem was consuming bread three times a day. Breakfast was bread with butter, jam or marmalade, porridge and black coffee. Tambrahm items like idli and masala dosa were served as a treat on Saturday evenings. Lunch was rice and dal which had a few chunks of vegetables in it. Evening tea was again served with bread and jam. Dinner was again bread with dal. The cook Lily Ayah would  treat me as a special case and ask me if I liked the food that she prepared for me and my sister. The food was not to my liking but her concern was touching. I could not bring myself to tell her that I didn't like it very much. Initially I found it difficult to adjust to a bunch of Anglo Indian dormitory mates who bullied their way into the bathroom and I’d be late. I hadn't learnt to plait my long hair and the scented hair oil that my mother packed for me would be generously used by the other girls because I hadn't learnt to say ‘No’. The matron took note of things and took charge of my toilet kit. She would wake me up 15 minutes early to help me manage my time. I was in charge of my sister's toilet kit as well. She was in the junior dormitory while I was in the senior dormitory. She was not allowed to enter the senior dorm and would hate to stand by the door asking for toothpaste and bathing soap. I would want to comb and plait her hair and she would never be happy with the way I did it and rip it open and do it again. She had a set of friends who would give me cold stares when I tried to act like a typical ‘big sister’. Our principal Miss A. Cherian was very fond of her. She seemed to adjust to hostel life better than me. She made friends with her dorm mates, would draw cards during study hours and act difficult when I tried to discipline her. “You’re not Amma” would be her famous retort. She would be seen standing outside her class room with a few others for talking in class or for not having done her home assignments. But then she was a nine year old in primary school and one could hardly blame her for having fun.

 

 Within six months I got the hang of hostel life and the rest of the time spent in Stanes was fun. The food seemed more tolerable and I got used to the routine. I made a few good friends and thanks to technology I was recently able to get in touch with some of my fellow boarders, classmates and schoolmates, some of them my juniors by as many as ten years. The school has imparted a family spirit to us and we easily bond with those who belong to our Alma Mater - it hardly mattered whether we knew them earlier or not. In a random conversation with a fellow boarder I was surprised at the amount of information stored in my memory. That I could carry on a conversation for more than an hour fifty years after leaving school speaks volumes of the bond we shared as fellow boarders. I spent four  of the best years of my life in Stanes School. It was also the time when I lost my dear dad and I can never forget my friends, Mary, Joyce and Irene who held my hand and consoled me when I faced the most tragic period of my life.

 

I was a good student throughout. English and Maths were my favourite subjects. The Principal took Maths for us. We had a “Mark Reading” after the quarterly and half yearly exams. The toppers of each class would be called to the stage to encourage others to do well. Years after I left school - forty years to be precise - I visited school with my husband and son. The Principal Llwellyn Xavier who was my junior by four years mentioned that he was in awe of me when I would go up as the topper of my class Mark Reading after Mark Reading. I was pleasantly surprised that he could recognise me after so many years and could also correlate the event to my academic achievement. We had a few good teachers who left a lasting impact in my impressionable mind. The fun we had provoking our Hindi teacher Mr. Chandrashekhar will ever be tucked in a corner of my mind. He’d call us “filtered fools” a literal translation of the Tamil “ Vadikattina muttal”! We would deliberately drop things and duck down to pick it up and laugh to our heart’s content. I would be sent out of class to “laugh as much as I wanted”. Mrs. Rajan, our English teacher was a ‘no nonsense’ type and we used to be quite scared of her. I was a sentimental type in those formative years. When our Geography teacher left school we boarders went to see her off at the station. I cried so much that a co passenger asked me if I was related to her! I was also weird in that I would cry to leave home to come to the hostel and cry again to leave my friends to go home. I wonder if the “water tap on my head” has dried up now. Hostel life taught me valuable lessons of adjustment and the joy of community living. I also learnt to take care of my belongings and to travel on my own. Yes, after my dad passed on I opted to travel on my own. Till then I would be escorted to school but I suddenly became responsible and told my mother that I would manage on my own although I had to change buses at Mettupalayam.

 

Life in Stanes also taught me to stand up for myself. The school was a Christian institution affiliated to the Union church and I was under immense pressure to convert. Prayer meetings on Sundays would end with a mention that I should be the one to usher my family to the Christian faith. Pastors and preachers would wish to have a word with me and try to impress upon me the need to accept Jesus in my life. Finally it was on a Saturday night when I was getting the children from the sub junior dormitory ready for bed that I got a chance to tell the Principal, who, unknown to me,  was watching me from the entrance. I made them wash and change, sang a few hymns with them, taught them a short prayer and tucked them into their beds.  The Principal was impressed and wanted to know if I had decided about converting to Christianity. I replied that I was happy with my religion and although I had nothing against the Christian faith I found no strong reason to convert and change my affiliation. My board exams were approaching and I took the opportunity to politely tell her that I wished to be allowed to concentrate on my studies and all this pressure to convert was affecting me. She understood and mercifully the torture ended.

 

There was another occasion when I was accused of something I did not do and was not allowed to explain. I wrote to my father explaining my stand and gave the letter to my class teacher to post. I had added that I was not being allowed to explain. Our letters were censored and my teacher asked me if I wanted it to be posted. The letter would be read by the Principal and she might not like it, she added. I said it was fine with me because I had faith that my dad would understand even if the Principal didn’t. The Principal, Miss Cherian called me and asked for my side of the story. She accepted my version and wanted to know if I still wanted to post the letter. I insisted that I wanted my dad to know whatever had transpired. She, however, did add a note in her handwriting that the matter had been resolved. My dad wrote back saying he was surprised at the judgmental attitude adopted by the school authorities and he was considering the prospects of shifting me to another school. The Principal appreciated the rapport between my father and me and mentioned it to the school during assembly adding that this was the kind of relationship she wanted all children to have with their mentors. I found her to be fair in her dealings and continued to correspond with her even after I left school till I got married after which my entire life changed. I was in the second year of my undergrad course when on a Saturday morning I was called to the parlour saying that I had visitors. The college did not permit visitors in the morning so I went there wondering who it might be. Surprise of surprise, it was the former Principal of Stanes Miss. A. Cherian, now married, waiting for me with her husband and step children. She had landed in the college straight from Tiruchirapalli airport and the Principal of our college had bent the rule for her sake. It was an emotional moment for me and the affection she had for me was indeed overwhelming.

 

I don’t know if I had teachers who encouraged communication or if times were different back then. I was never scared to speak my mind. Being a boarder our interaction with residential teachers was on a one on one basis. Our school was perhaps one with a difference as is evident from the way I interact with my schoolmates even though 55 years have gone by. The affection we have for those who belong to our Alma Mater speaks for itself. The time spent in Stanes High School, Coonoor will always be cherished by me.

 

STANESCOONOORSTORIES

Hi,
A large number of stories pertaining to Stanes Coonoor have been recreated by protaganists, witnesses, rumour-mongers, carry-a-tale characters etc. They can be described variously by each reader, but all will agree that they are important to us as a group, because they are part of that environment that shaped us.
Stories that have arrived from www. stanescoonoorblog.blogspot.com and through email are being posted here for easy reference. Lets see how this takes shape.
Bye,
Xcoonoorstanites