RETROSPECTION AND LEGACIES

The farewell party to the outgoing tenth happened yesterday.  And it concluded with the mandatory crowning of the St. Anne’s Queen.  From total chaos there was sudden order as participants ‘walked the ramp’ resplendent in their mothers’ finery, with stilettos and nail polish to match.  In school uniform they are children, in party dress they are young sophisticates.  The transformation is startling and thankfully only skin deep.  But the process has begun.

 

This year the ‘tie-breaker’ question was: what is the one attribute that you have learnt in school that you will carry forward through the rest of your life? From the three finalists, the answers received were: respect, self-confidence and forgiveness.  A fourteen year old girl deciding on forgiveness?  And this from a girl who was not a frontrunner in anything during the year – others in the class had shone more brightly either in terms of talent, academic achievement, or competitive skills.  Yes, she was unanimously chosen the winner.  This was her moment.  This was also a lesson in expecting the unexpected.  

The question made me think back to what my own answer would have been.  Since I went (‘studied in’ would be technically correct, but not factually so!) to many schools, one attribute from each would earn me a bagful!

From my first, the answer would have to be, unequivocally, joy – the rightful legacy of every child. My teacher, Miss Braniff, radiated cheer and really loved us and we knew it. From the next, honesty. And thereby hangs a tale.  A classmate called me a few rude names and I responded with a tight slap across her face.  A nun, observing from a distance, summoned me and administered an even more stinging slap.  I cried and protested; after all, I was the injured party.  Then she explained that we retaliate in anger when, deep down, we recognise what we do not like about ourselves.  If we are honest with ourselves, we can be honest with each other and untruths, however harsh, can never hurt. 

From the next school, I learned resilience and survival.  I was the mercilessly ragged newcomer and I hated my time in that institute.  Either the teachers did not see what was happening or chose not to see, and one did not squeal.  Looking back at that miserable child, I realise that the experience has made me more compassionate, more observant and yes, definitely resilient when faced with odds.  So, strangely enough, I have to be grateful for the bad times too.

Finally, from the Jesuits I learned what it means to be ‘a person for others’.  This has been the most defining moment of my life – a reference point to return to and assess my reason for being.

And that brings me full circle to Gauri’s response – forgiveness.  We are human and we need to forgive ourselves, as much as each other, pick ourselves up and do better the next time.  In forgiving, we do not condone.  We simply hand out second chances.  That’s what God does for us.  It’s the least that we can do in return.

Dress Code

We are a people who are very partial to conformity – we love to recognize ‘others like us’, more often than not, through cultural backgrounds, dress, mannerisms, food habits, customs, residential location or our alma maters. There is that rush of excitement and recognition when we bump into those who share school and college memories even after years of no contact. And while there may be no special connect with the person you have met up with, there are common recollections of faculty, social functions and of course, the uniform – that unique badge of identity which every school flaunts.

Since I changed several schools through my Father’s army days, I also changed uniforms - some for the better and some for the worse.

My first and best was the uniform I donned at the Convent School in Chepstow Villas, London. Since England enjoys distinctly separate seasons – very cold and not so cold – we had two sets of uniforms, one for summer and one for winter. Summer saw us in cherry red striped frocks with brown shoes, white socks, cherry red blazers and straw bonnets with a ribbon band; winter wear was a woolen shirt topped by a pleated grey pinafore. Black shoes, grey socks, a thick grey coat and a grey felt brimmed hat completed the gear. We even had smocks to cover our uniform during art class or for anything that would cause us to get dirty!! I always felt dressed up and very ready to go to school. It also helped that I had friendly companions and a loving teacher!

When we returned to India, my school uniform was diverted for use as Sunday best, such was the quality, such was the look. And, yes, the winter wear came in mighty useful in India’s very cold north.

My next was a sky blue frock with white collar, cuffs and sash. There was no change for the seasons - come summer, winter or monsoon we wore the same cotton frocks. Since this was a co-ed school and skirts are apt to fly with the breeze, we were also encumbered by commodious bloomers elasticised at the waist and the knees. We could climb trees and indulge in less ladylike gymnastics without loss of dignity or so the nuns liked to believe. In the monsoon, we’d tuck our skirts into the waistband so that we could wade through knee deep puddles without our hems getting wet. We must have presented a pretty picture to the onlooker!! The local students who came from more orthodox families wore white salwars under their frocks and topped the whole off with a white dupatta. How we envied the boys their short shorts and tucked-in shirts.

From the north to the west, and my final school uniform. Here we had white blouses topped by a cream tunic and, since we had ‘houses’ to which we belonged, we also sported ties of the appropriate colour. Mine was blue. How I hated that uniform. The back was plain while the front had a heavy row of box pleats which made the tunic hang in front and ride up behind making it look very ungainly. Also, the cream colour showed up dirt and, in the time of leaky fountain pens and inadequate detergents, we tended to acquire ‘battle scars’ that were hard to erase. I had a strong desire to change schools only so that I could change my uniform! A very impractical and immature solution, but appearance is appearance even to the young, and more so to the teenager.

The most compelling reflection that comes to mind, fueled by glimpses of the current crop of school students, is that no matter how much the uniform attempts to make us conform to a common code of attire, the Good Lord made each of us unique with respect to shape and size and so the ‘uniform’ sits very distinctively on each schoolgirl frame!

He had to change schools?

Tom Daley is 16 years old. He is also a gold medallist at the CWG 2010 in synchronized diving. He also had to change schools because he was bullied – other students chucked stuff at him, emptied his pencil case on the floor and threatened to break his legs!

Enough said.