<p>It is amazing that the high school building where I studied several decades ago remains intact even today. It was the tallest school structure in South Chennai in those days. Every time I pass by the school, I proudly point it out to anybody accompanying me—whether it is a taxi driver, a relative or a friend—and exclaim, “Hey! That is my school.” In the absence of class reunions in the past, I had hardly any opportunity to visit my alma mater all these years.</p>.<p>Recently, out of sheer curiosity, I made up my mind to see the interiors of the school. As I stepped into the main entrance, pleasant memories of my school days came rushing back. Several changes that had taken place during the course of nearly seven decades were evident all around. The small room where the water boy once supplied water from big mud pots has given way to a canteen. The lowly desks and planks in the classrooms have been replaced by posh chairs and tables. </p>.When studios shaped memories.<p>As I entered the classroom of my final year in the school, the walls seemed to echo the verses of Goldsmith and Wordsworth, the essays of Hazlitt and Wells, and the “selections” from Raghuvamsa and Thirukkural. I could vividly recall the engaging manner in which our professor taught Shakespeare’s plays. The mighty blackboard has been replaced by a whiteboard. This reminded me of our mathematics teacher, Ananda Rao, affectionately referred to by students as ‘Pythagoras’. He would neatly write theorems and solutions with a piece of chalk on the blackboard, explaining every step in his distinctive style.</p>.<p>The headmaster’s room, which we once dreaded, still had—as in the past—pictures of gods and goddesses on the wall. There were, however, a number of additions: a computer on the headmaster’s desk; group photographs of students and portraits of leaders on the wall; and trophies and awards won by the school displayed in a showcase.</p>.<p>The staff had completely changed, as expected. Our burly headmaster, with his white turban and close coat, was no more. Seated in the headmaster’s gaddi was a smart young man dressed in a shirt and trousers. The cane on the table was conspicuous by its absence. </p>.<p>Keeping pace with the times, the school has turned into a co-educational institution.</p>.<p>While going around in search of old familiar faces, I came across a frail figure. It was Arumugam, the peon, who—with his prominent moustache—had been popular in our days.</p>.<p>On the day of my visit, he had also come to the school to meet his son, who is now working there as a teacher. He hoped that his son would one day head the school. I was happy and proud to learn from the headmaster that, over the course of its long existence, the school has produced several eminent citizens who have won international acclaim. </p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em></p>
<p>It is amazing that the high school building where I studied several decades ago remains intact even today. It was the tallest school structure in South Chennai in those days. Every time I pass by the school, I proudly point it out to anybody accompanying me—whether it is a taxi driver, a relative or a friend—and exclaim, “Hey! That is my school.” In the absence of class reunions in the past, I had hardly any opportunity to visit my alma mater all these years.</p>.<p>Recently, out of sheer curiosity, I made up my mind to see the interiors of the school. As I stepped into the main entrance, pleasant memories of my school days came rushing back. Several changes that had taken place during the course of nearly seven decades were evident all around. The small room where the water boy once supplied water from big mud pots has given way to a canteen. The lowly desks and planks in the classrooms have been replaced by posh chairs and tables. </p>.When studios shaped memories.<p>As I entered the classroom of my final year in the school, the walls seemed to echo the verses of Goldsmith and Wordsworth, the essays of Hazlitt and Wells, and the “selections” from Raghuvamsa and Thirukkural. I could vividly recall the engaging manner in which our professor taught Shakespeare’s plays. The mighty blackboard has been replaced by a whiteboard. This reminded me of our mathematics teacher, Ananda Rao, affectionately referred to by students as ‘Pythagoras’. He would neatly write theorems and solutions with a piece of chalk on the blackboard, explaining every step in his distinctive style.</p>.<p>The headmaster’s room, which we once dreaded, still had—as in the past—pictures of gods and goddesses on the wall. There were, however, a number of additions: a computer on the headmaster’s desk; group photographs of students and portraits of leaders on the wall; and trophies and awards won by the school displayed in a showcase.</p>.<p>The staff had completely changed, as expected. Our burly headmaster, with his white turban and close coat, was no more. Seated in the headmaster’s gaddi was a smart young man dressed in a shirt and trousers. The cane on the table was conspicuous by its absence. </p>.<p>Keeping pace with the times, the school has turned into a co-educational institution.</p>.<p>While going around in search of old familiar faces, I came across a frail figure. It was Arumugam, the peon, who—with his prominent moustache—had been popular in our days.</p>.<p>On the day of my visit, he had also come to the school to meet his son, who is now working there as a teacher. He hoped that his son would one day head the school. I was happy and proud to learn from the headmaster that, over the course of its long existence, the school has produced several eminent citizens who have won international acclaim. </p><p><em>Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.</em></p>
