The DC’s son!

When my father was transferred to Vijaypura (then Bijapur) in the mid-sixties, as the Deputy Commissioner (DC) of Bijapur district, he was a worried man. The only English-medium school that existed in the district was the Sainik School Bijapur, full of rules with a stiff entrance examination to boot!

Barely 10 years old, I cleared the entrance exam with flying colours, finding myself in the school, housed temporarily on the Vijaya College campus, only to become the cynosure of all eyes—the teachers, the matrons, the school aptains—in fact, every student curious to see the DC’s son! Unaccustomed to this kind of attention that followed me right through the pendency of my school term, I had hoped this would fade from people’s minds with the passage of time.

No way. At a recent diamond jubilee celebration of the school’s pioneer alumni group, I found myself being introduced everywhere as the DC’s son. Protesting meekly wanting to be identified with my own accomplishments, I was curtly told that the tag was my identity. Surprisingly, two alumni from the senior classes, never having seen me even once in the intervening 60 years, remembered me instantly!

Was being the DC’s son such a big deal, really? Teachers did treat me with kid gloves, dealing out lighter punishments, but on the flip side, a senior went out of his way to single me out, saying, “You are the DC’s son; here, take this," bullying me as children at that age normally do. While food parcels sent from home on festive occasions were invariably confiscated and taken away, I was always put under scrutiny, not being taken home even when seriously ill. The school authorities were afraid of other parents wanting to take their own wards home, citing the special treatment given to the DC’s son.

We were given two rusks and a cup of tea every morning, but hungry after the exercises, we yearned for one more. Years later, when I recounted this episode to my schoolmates, they were surprised; they were sure the DC’s son was always given whatever he asked for. Years later, I found my siblings were affected too. When the school’s physical instructor changed jobs and joined a turf club, becoming the ‘in-charge’ of allocating horses for riding, my sister’s horse riding hobby came to an abrupt end when he identified her as the sister of the DC’s son and began insisting that he should be allocated a 'housing site' failing which only the most aggressive and rowdy horse got allocated to her.

I have now come to realise that to the ‘Ajeets’, the alumni of the Sainik School Bijapur, I will always be the DC’s son and must reconcile to this lifelong, despite having no contribution to make in this matter. It has only made me more self-conscious and inhibited, necessitating writing this middle to achieve a catharsis and to be at peace heretofore!