During a recent visit to Bengaluru (the erstwhile Bangalore), on a rather fateful night, my enthusiastic friend decided to take me for a spin on the battered Hosur road. After driving around for about an hour on that lonely yet fun filled night, we were finally parked right in front of the main gate of Military School, Bangalore and suddenly as I looked at the signboard, in a split moment of sheer nostalgia, it all came back to me. Those truly wonderful years as a Georgian.
Back in the 80’s, Bangalore still sported the tag of the ‘Garden City’ and with it’s rich cosmopolitan lifestyle, it was pretty overwhelming for a juvenile kid like me who came from a small town modest family that had a much disciplined army background spanning two generations of folks eating cornflakes and porridge for breakfast.
What’s amazing though is that in spite of the school’s vastness in size, it is nestled right in the heart of the most ‘happening’ southern city. It always felt as though we lived on a separate planet secured by its own big concrete walls with barbed wire completely cut off from active civilization and the vicious forces of this burgeoning metropolis. It seemed as though we were all in constant rebellion to get out. So much so that even to get an out pass for a boy’s day out on a lazy Sunday afternoon was a frustrating task of pleading in front of our beloved housemaster, Mr. Pandey.
The constant torture of being ragged by our overpowering seniors. The adventurous NCC camps in the valleys of Nainital where we would all pile up into a human pyramid during a mid winter night to avoid the biting cold in our tiny little tent. The arduous task of running a few kilometers on frost bitten barren streets of a sleeping city just to lose a few kilos body weight and qualify for the ‘Bubble’ weight category at the inter-house Boxing championship. The nerve biting episode of listening to scary ghost stories narrated with virtual life-like manifestation by our warden Mr. Jamboolingum. The ultra cool and laidback attitude of our Hindi Teacher, Mr. Pathak, the mundane yet poetic renditions of Mr. Manav. The flamboyant English teaching style of Mr. GopalaKrishna. The constant sneaking out of the back gate at night to grab a hot and delicious ‘Dil Kush’ at the Iyengar bakery. The impatient waiting in a long queue at the Galaxy Cinema to watch the school sponsored Hollywood blockbuster Superman 1 or for that matter being dragged to Rex theatre on a late evening to watch ‘Kramer Vs Kramer’ (I never really got over that one) with the house captain because his date failed to show up.
My five year stint at this exceptional institution with its countless experiences has always been one of the most cherished and memorable periods of my childhood days.
In a silent moment on that eventful night, as I stared out of the window of my friend’s car at the big black gate, I reflected. There's something about the good old’ school days and the wonder years that passed and will never come back. And as I reminisce on the past and thank my stars, I feel I have finally arrived.
To All The Amazing Georgians...
I originally wrote this article for the Georgian Magazine back in late 2006 (actually on November 10, 2006).
And for all the Georgians who are wondering who I am, this is Shekhar ChikkiReddy, Roll No. 2175, Rajaji House, Class of ‘87.
And for all the Georgians who are wondering who I am, this is Shekhar ChikkiReddy, Roll No. 2175, Rajaji House, Class of ‘87.
Photo Courtesy - The Wonder Years on screenrant.com
