When we were studying in school, the educational qualification required before you could enroll for a professional degree or a degree in science and arts was 11+1 years of studies, instead of the 10+2 system high school students these days are familiar with.
The best point of this system was that we were only 16 years of age when we entered into 'college', free from our strict teachers, school uniforms, a long day consisting of 9-5 school hours and a compulsory attendance for all the classes. The worst point was that we had to cram what the +2 students study in two years in the available ten months of classes excluding the summer vacation. So we had very little time to enjoy our new-found freedom. But we made the most of our 'college girl' status and walked with our noses high up in the air whenever we passed our erstwhile juniors of the High School which was in the same campus as our college.
These educational institutions are located in a a sprawling multi-acre campus in a big town, a district capital (now a corporation) and the people were mostly middle class, not super rich as in the state's capital. Our college was one of the best known institutions in the state, exclusively devoted to women's education. It had Masters courses for Physics and Chemistry which even many men's colleges didn't possess. B.Com was introduced in our women's college, in the early seventies, our college being a pioneer in such things always. Till then we had only 'B.A'.s and 'B.Sc' s.
Our college was (and is) steeped in the traditions of our Tamil culture and arts and so had a degree course which conferred a 'B.A.' degree in Carnatic Music! A very strict dress code was enforced and students had to wear only sarees. The 'P.U.C' (Pre-University Course) class to which we belonged was the only exception as we had all completed only 16 years and not so adept in carrying off wearing a saree with aplomb! So we were allowed to wear 'Half-sarees'. We had so much grouse against the management as we all looked very 'country style' whereas the town's other women's college run by nuns allowed their students to wear such 'modern' dresses as salwar-kameez and chudidhars! They could even wear long skirts and blouses as their own High School in their campus had skirts and blouses as their uniforms. We used to envy them their smart uniform of blue skirt and white blouses, while we were in High School (clad in uniform green-coloured half-sarees) and now we were burning with envy at the 'cool' salwar kameez and other North Indian or western dresses their students sported!
Anyway wearing colours other than the green colour of our High School was a welcome change for us. We enjoyed wearing 'colour' dresses every day instead of the boring uniform. But it was no fun once we had shown off all the sets of half-sarees we possessed! We had to wait for the new dresses we usually received for our birthdays or some festivals like Pongal or Deepavali.
My classmates were mostly from my own 11th standard class of the high school and so we didn't feel as nervous as some of my new classmates who had come from other schools or other towns or even from other countries such as Malaysia, Srilanka and Singapore and were staying in the hostels. They had divided the 200 students belonging to the 'Maths Group' (Maths, Physics and Chemistry combo) into two batches, 'A' and 'B', each having 100 students. We were supposed to go for an engineering degree or for Physics or Chemistry degrees. I belonged to the 'B' batch. On the first day, I felt lost in the atmosphere of 100 students yelling 'Good Morning Miss' at the start of every class and held fast to the company of the girls from 'our school'. Some of my friends had been allotted to the 'A' batch and so I was forced to make new friends from the 'B' batch who were not so close to me in my high school days.
Initially, we were enjoying the freedom of not paying attention to the teacher as were not admonished for looking out of the window like we were in our high school and purposely gazed outside at the big trees in the campus (even though the limited scenery grew boring in minutes!) Some of the hostelers would gobble up the lunch boxes of the day scholars like me, sitting in the back benches. Then we came to know that the lecturers were just doing their duty (They could not be blamed if they could not manage to remember most of the 100 students' names in the ten months we had!)and not as interested in making us understand the lessons and get good marks as our devoted teachers of the high school! We had to look out for our own marks and we got scared of failing every course if we did not pay attention in the classes. Now we realized the value of our high school teachers who made us pay attention in the classes and who were till then 'dragons' giving out punishments like 'standing on the benches' or standing outside the classrooms', if we so much as glanced outside during classes!
For the first time we were responsible for the result of our own actions and attitudes. We felt grown-up within a few weeks of classes! But we sure enjoyed acting all 'grown up college girls' in front of our high school juniors who were lugging around huge school bags. So, even if the books needed for all the five hours of classes for our course could have filled a school bag easily, we insissted in carrying them stached in our hands, resting against our bodies-often dropping them in a very 'uncool' manner!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Movie Time!
When we were small children, the only entertainment available was either the radio at home or the movies at the theatres. Our parents were very strict in choosing the movies for us to watch. They never missed most of the movies being screened in whichever town we were residing in at that time. But the films had to pass certain criteria before we could be taken to them. The usual process was that my parents would watch the movies first. If the movies were a) decent family entertainment or b) comedies with no vulgar double entendres or C) silver jubilee hits (i.e., they would have crossed a 100 days of screening) or D) 'Bhakthi'-religious movies.
So we got to watch most of Shivaji Ganesan's movies (category 'a') though they were mostly weepy and we kids didn't like them so much then!), most good comedies under category 'b'(Kadhalikka Neramillai, Baama Vijayam etc.,), a few of MGR's hit movies, thrillers like 'Adhey kangal' and movies like 'Kuzhndhaiyum Deivamum' (category C) and movies like 'Thiruvilaiyadal', Thiruvarutselvar and 'Annai Velanganni' (Category C) or educational films like 'Tokyo Olympiad', 'Hatari' etc., (Category E).
Category C would throw up some odd movies of MGR which we were not allowed to watch most of the time on account of their being 'romantic' movies unsuitable to young eyes! So we got to watch 'Enga Vettu Pillai' and 'Ayirathil Oruvan under this category. Once I remember us being sent to the theatre to watch the 'Ulaga Thamizh Maanaadu' clippings (under educational films!) being shown at the interval of an MGR movie which had not passed the silver jubilee criteria. The minute the clipping was shown, we were forcibly removed from the theatre under squeals of protest. we wanted to watch the rest of the movie too!
Forget today's multiplexes fully airconditioned. Most of the theatres were not air-conditioned and it felt very stuffy when it was house-full. It was not a pleasant experience as it is now. The movie part was the only event looked forward to, by us children. Not to mention the smokers' contribution in spite of the 'no smoking' signs. They would light up a cigarette inside the movie hall and would go out during the song sequences to finish it, but the hateful smoke would have caused us head aches.
Once I remember my younger sister falling sick in a stuffy theatre in Trichy and we had to go out of the movie hall to take her to the doctor! I remember how I was feeling guilty that I still wished to continue watching the movie, another part of me was praying to God that nothing should happen to my sister and that I would never ever speak a harsh word to her! Of course it was only a fainting spell because of the suffocating atmosphere and she recovered in an hour.
So we got to watch most of Shivaji Ganesan's movies (category 'a') though they were mostly weepy and we kids didn't like them so much then!), most good comedies under category 'b'(Kadhalikka Neramillai, Baama Vijayam etc.,), a few of MGR's hit movies, thrillers like 'Adhey kangal' and movies like 'Kuzhndhaiyum Deivamum' (category C) and movies like 'Thiruvilaiyadal', Thiruvarutselvar and 'Annai Velanganni' (Category C) or educational films like 'Tokyo Olympiad', 'Hatari' etc., (Category E).
Category C would throw up some odd movies of MGR which we were not allowed to watch most of the time on account of their being 'romantic' movies unsuitable to young eyes! So we got to watch 'Enga Vettu Pillai' and 'Ayirathil Oruvan under this category. Once I remember us being sent to the theatre to watch the 'Ulaga Thamizh Maanaadu' clippings (under educational films!) being shown at the interval of an MGR movie which had not passed the silver jubilee criteria. The minute the clipping was shown, we were forcibly removed from the theatre under squeals of protest. we wanted to watch the rest of the movie too!
Forget today's multiplexes fully airconditioned. Most of the theatres were not air-conditioned and it felt very stuffy when it was house-full. It was not a pleasant experience as it is now. The movie part was the only event looked forward to, by us children. Not to mention the smokers' contribution in spite of the 'no smoking' signs. They would light up a cigarette inside the movie hall and would go out during the song sequences to finish it, but the hateful smoke would have caused us head aches.
Once I remember my younger sister falling sick in a stuffy theatre in Trichy and we had to go out of the movie hall to take her to the doctor! I remember how I was feeling guilty that I still wished to continue watching the movie, another part of me was praying to God that nothing should happen to my sister and that I would never ever speak a harsh word to her! Of course it was only a fainting spell because of the suffocating atmosphere and she recovered in an hour.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Of Cool Coconut Groves
My grandparents owned rice fields and coconut groves. Whenever we went to their place during our holidays, making the most of our stay there was anticipated eagerly by all of us. Full of coconut trees, mango trees and jack fruit trees, the grove was shady mostly.
Labourers would have removed all the weeds underneath the trees and hoed the dirt around the trees as the roots needed to breathe. Loose soil is necessary around the roots to let fresh air in and so this work would be done periodically and a circle would be formed around the tree to enable watering. The other parts except the circles around the trees would be filled with various weeds and grass as these would be cleaned only at longer intervals. This grove formed a perfect playground for us in our childhood.
I remember one of the old coconut trees growing almost horizontally for a length of ten feet and then upright, in an effort to find the best position to catch the rays of sun amidst the shade formed by the nearby mango tree. The mango tree in turn sported a horizontal bough, thereby providing us kids with fantastic playthings. We would sit on the horizontal boughs and the trunk of the coconut tree (though it was a bit rough compared to the mango tree's trunk) and play houses all day long.
There was a very wide well to irrigate the trees, right at the centre of the grove. The coconut palm leaves in their fronds would be left to soak in the well from time to time to make them pliable, as these leaves were used to make 'keetru' to build roofs for huts and temporary pandals. I remember the labourers' wives making brooms out of the central sticks of the left-over individual leaves, sitting on the floor, with their feet stretched out, wielding a sharp knife to remove the sticks from the leaves in a single deft move. The leftover parts all would be put out in the open and left to dry, to be used as fuel in the kitchen or for the boiler. These scenes would be seen only a few times in all our trips. If the fronds are floating on the water of the wide well, the boys would be upset as it prevented them from practising their dives and swimming in the water! But the upside was that we would be treated to the tender coconut water as the labourers could climb up the trees in seconds and pluck the coconuts and cut them for us.
The girls in the kids' group would have perched on the 'kona thennai maram' (bent coconut tree) and the branches of the mango trees and started playing already. We used to sing the popular Tamil film songs of the time very loudly, swinging our legs keeping time, as we could not be heard outside the big grove. We must have looked like little monkeys to any onlooker! Sometimes we would be fighting for the right of singing a particular song shouting, 'The song is mine, MINE!' If no amicable settlement was reached, all the claimers would be heard braying out the lyrics in many discordant notes! Silly though it might seem now, if I recollect these times even now so vividly, you can imagine how much we would have enjoyed it!
Labourers would have removed all the weeds underneath the trees and hoed the dirt around the trees as the roots needed to breathe. Loose soil is necessary around the roots to let fresh air in and so this work would be done periodically and a circle would be formed around the tree to enable watering. The other parts except the circles around the trees would be filled with various weeds and grass as these would be cleaned only at longer intervals. This grove formed a perfect playground for us in our childhood.
I remember one of the old coconut trees growing almost horizontally for a length of ten feet and then upright, in an effort to find the best position to catch the rays of sun amidst the shade formed by the nearby mango tree. The mango tree in turn sported a horizontal bough, thereby providing us kids with fantastic playthings. We would sit on the horizontal boughs and the trunk of the coconut tree (though it was a bit rough compared to the mango tree's trunk) and play houses all day long.
There was a very wide well to irrigate the trees, right at the centre of the grove. The coconut palm leaves in their fronds would be left to soak in the well from time to time to make them pliable, as these leaves were used to make 'keetru' to build roofs for huts and temporary pandals. I remember the labourers' wives making brooms out of the central sticks of the left-over individual leaves, sitting on the floor, with their feet stretched out, wielding a sharp knife to remove the sticks from the leaves in a single deft move. The leftover parts all would be put out in the open and left to dry, to be used as fuel in the kitchen or for the boiler. These scenes would be seen only a few times in all our trips. If the fronds are floating on the water of the wide well, the boys would be upset as it prevented them from practising their dives and swimming in the water! But the upside was that we would be treated to the tender coconut water as the labourers could climb up the trees in seconds and pluck the coconuts and cut them for us.
The girls in the kids' group would have perched on the 'kona thennai maram' (bent coconut tree) and the branches of the mango trees and started playing already. We used to sing the popular Tamil film songs of the time very loudly, swinging our legs keeping time, as we could not be heard outside the big grove. We must have looked like little monkeys to any onlooker! Sometimes we would be fighting for the right of singing a particular song shouting, 'The song is mine, MINE!' If no amicable settlement was reached, all the claimers would be heard braying out the lyrics in many discordant notes! Silly though it might seem now, if I recollect these times even now so vividly, you can imagine how much we would have enjoyed it!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Snake Charmer!
This is a common sight in any small town or village in India even today. A snake charmer and his assistants (his family most of the time) would start playing an Urumi melam or some such instrument(drum) in a street corner and call out to the passers-by about the impending fight between the snake in his bamboo basket and the mongoose he has at the end of a tether.
When a crowd has been collected he would stand in the middle and would entreat them to wait for the fight as the climax of his program. In the meantime, he would provide some more entertainment for his audience, he would say.
He would make his assistant (usually a small child) lie down in the centre and cover his whole body, including the face, with a blanket. Then he would start asking him some questions about the people around him.
"Boy, what is the colour of that gentleman's shirt who stands at the eastern side of our show?", he would ask and the boy would reply with the right answer! The mostly gullible audience would be amazed how the blindfolded boy could answer all the questions correctly, but for the blessing of the divine mother-goddess Kali or Angalaparameswari whose disciple the snake charmer proclaims himself to be! Suitably impressed with the question and answer session, the audience would be ready to accept the fortune-telling session that follows and would part with the few coins that was the fees. If the business was dull and no coins were forthcoming, the man would start frightening the more gullible section of the audience with dire predictions which would always end, "You would die a horrible death vomitting blood, if you don't part with the money which I can see with my third eye, hidden in your pocket!"
A few illiterate villagers and small children would fall prey to such admonitions and would part with their money, having become wiser enough not to stand as part of the audeience the next time around! Of course the snake and mongoose would never fight as the man would wind up everything when he had collected some money! He would mumble something about the snake being hungry or tired or sleepy, to the few brave souls who asked him about it!
I remember how my friend and myself, both nine years old at that time, stood at the edge of the crowd in such a show. It was during our lunch break from the small town school in which we were studying. The fact was that we had a Twenty Five paise coin in our possession (1/4 of a rupee). The music teacher had given it to us asking us to get her some coffee from the nearby teashop as she had a terrible headache(perhaps from our attempts to sing in her class!) Attracted by the drum beats we were tempted to watch the show and at the end of it, we were shocked to hear the terrible fate awaiting us if we did not part with the money! We managed to discuss the issue between us and convince ourselves that the coin was the teacher's and in no way would it provoke the curse. But we had quite a few nightmares that week!
When a crowd has been collected he would stand in the middle and would entreat them to wait for the fight as the climax of his program. In the meantime, he would provide some more entertainment for his audience, he would say.
He would make his assistant (usually a small child) lie down in the centre and cover his whole body, including the face, with a blanket. Then he would start asking him some questions about the people around him.
"Boy, what is the colour of that gentleman's shirt who stands at the eastern side of our show?", he would ask and the boy would reply with the right answer! The mostly gullible audience would be amazed how the blindfolded boy could answer all the questions correctly, but for the blessing of the divine mother-goddess Kali or Angalaparameswari whose disciple the snake charmer proclaims himself to be! Suitably impressed with the question and answer session, the audience would be ready to accept the fortune-telling session that follows and would part with the few coins that was the fees. If the business was dull and no coins were forthcoming, the man would start frightening the more gullible section of the audience with dire predictions which would always end, "You would die a horrible death vomitting blood, if you don't part with the money which I can see with my third eye, hidden in your pocket!"
A few illiterate villagers and small children would fall prey to such admonitions and would part with their money, having become wiser enough not to stand as part of the audeience the next time around! Of course the snake and mongoose would never fight as the man would wind up everything when he had collected some money! He would mumble something about the snake being hungry or tired or sleepy, to the few brave souls who asked him about it!
I remember how my friend and myself, both nine years old at that time, stood at the edge of the crowd in such a show. It was during our lunch break from the small town school in which we were studying. The fact was that we had a Twenty Five paise coin in our possession (1/4 of a rupee). The music teacher had given it to us asking us to get her some coffee from the nearby teashop as she had a terrible headache(perhaps from our attempts to sing in her class!) Attracted by the drum beats we were tempted to watch the show and at the end of it, we were shocked to hear the terrible fate awaiting us if we did not part with the money! We managed to discuss the issue between us and convince ourselves that the coin was the teacher's and in no way would it provoke the curse. But we had quite a few nightmares that week!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
