Based on available clues, my guess is that he studied in Loyola from 1968-1971, from Standard 3 to 5.

Lord Bilimoria became member of the House of Lords in 2006. He is co-founder and Chairman of Cobra Beer, and holds several distinguished positions in the UK.

Tailpiece: A few years after Karan Bilimoria left Loyola, the school abolished caning as a method of punishment. Today, one of Bilimoria’s schoolmates, Vineeth Abraham, ranks among India’s finest comic collectors.

Hat tip: Anup Kuruvilla John (1997 ISC)

Download the PDF version of The Loyolite 2010.

Complete Zipped (51 MB)

Pages 01-15 (7.4 MB)
Pages 16-25 (4.3 MB)
Pages 26-36 (5.0 MB)
Pages 37-43 (6.6 MB)
Pages 44-50 (6.2 MB)
Pages 51-57 (6.9 MB)
Pages 58-68 (7.8 MB)
Pages 69-115 (7.5 MB)

Compressing these files from 800 MB to reasonably downloadable sizes took months. Asif Kalam (2005) helped me when I had almost given up.

Hat tip: Fr Toby, Asif

Related
School Magazine 2009
School Magazine 2008
School Magazine 2007

Meet Regi M. George (1975 ISC).

By now, his work has been celebrated in India’s mainstream media: in Reader’s Digest (2001), in Outlook (2006), in Open (2009), and in Mint (2010). This week, India Today portrayed him as an “Action Hero”, one of the 50 applauded for being “citizens who can and do” usher in change.

The Loyolite doctor and his wife have been serving adivasi villages in Tamil Nadu for the past 17 years. Let us hope that the school and the alumni movement, at least now, will wake up and see them.

Any fool (and school) will merely invite the couple, hand over an award, bask in reflected glory, and move on. It will be much more meaningful if we — students, old boys, teachers, parents — use this as an entry point to learn and think about taking science to tribal villages, routes to social change, career choices, values, etc. By doing so, all of us will benefit, and the school will be closer to realising its own mission of educating society.

Learn about the work done by Regi and Lalitha…

The Druids of a Lost Tribe – Outlook magazine

Doctors on Call – Open magazine

Providing Low-cost Healthcare – Mint newspaper

Website of the Tribal Health Initiative – run by Regi and Lalitha

Hat tip: Joy Elamon (1978)

Here’s a quick update on celebrity Loyolites I’ve interviewed for this blog. The thing about celebrities is that they are repeatedly in the news. Still, in case you missed…

VIVEK KARUNAKARAN
Three years ago, I interviewed fashion designer Vivek Karunakaran (1998). Then, he was in the news for being selected to the GenNext round of Lakme India Fashion Week. In 2008, he was back at LIFW, and Westside had contracted to sell his designer line. By 2009, he was on Day 1 at LIFW. And now, with Asal (2010), a Tamil movie starrring Ajith Kumar, Vivek has become a costume designer in filmdom. Vidya Balan, on the cover of Verve magazine (February 2010), wears a Vivek design. Vivek has also styled for Vikram.

SANTOSH SIVAN
Santosh Sivan (1976) was interviewed on this blog just ahead of the release of Before the Rains, an American production set in colonial Kerala. His next film Tahaan (2008), set in Kashmir, was shown at various international film festivals. Like his earlier children’s films, this one too picked up a couple of awards. This year, Santosh Sivan will mark his debut as actor. He has played the lead role, of painter Raja Ravi Varma, in Lenin Rajendran’s film Makaramanju.

JISHNU DASGUPTA
Last month, Jishnu Dasgupta’s (1996) Swarathma won the Best Band of the Year award at the JD Rock Awards 2010. Their debut album “Swarathma” has sold 4,200 copies, and they recently composed songs for Suvarna News TV channel. They tour the country quite a bit and so, if you live in one of India’s metros, you can catch them easily.

Hat tip: Deepak Madhusoodanan (1996)

Fr Kuruvila Cherian SJ, former Principal of Loyola School, died in British Guyana yesterday, confirmed a source at the headquarters of Kerala Jesuits.

Born on 18 July 1941, Fr Cherian taught in various Jesuit schools in Kerala for three decades, and was Principal of AKJM (Kanjirappally), and later Loyola School (Trivandrum). In May 2000, he left Loyola and joined the Jesuit Refugee Service in Nepal.  He served there as the Assistant Project Director of the educational programme, in camps set up for refugees from southern Bhutan, who had been expelled from their country in 1991 for being of Nepalese origin.

After a stint in East Africa in the Jesuit Refugee Service, Fr Cherian moved to British Guyana, the English-speaking country in South America. There, among other things, he worked in Berbice on the east coast, at the Human Development Center, a Jesuit training centre for children, young adults, and women.

Towards the end of February 2010, Fr Cherian suffered a stroke and was admitted to St Joseph Mercy Hospital in Georgetown. While in hospital he also suffered from a lung infection, but recovered and was discharged on 5 March. According to a news flash from the Jesuit residence in Georgetown, announced via Facebook, “his night was not too restful so he was left dozing until after 9.30am [on 6 March]… and then he was sitting up and having something simple to eat to take down the tablets. Although he was responding to people, his responses were somewhat dazed and sleepy.” Around 10.20 in the morning on Saturday (1820 hrs IST on 6 March), Fr Cherian collapsed again. He was rushed to the hospital but did not recover.

At Loyola, for many years in the 1970s and 1980s, Fr Kuruvila Cherian was Vice-Principal. He was “a great support to all of us in this venture,” acknowledged Fr C.P. Varkey, reminiscing on the new approach to students adopted in those years. Fr Cherian had worked with Giles Francis on the design of logos of houses. In his last years in Loyola, he encouraged student  representatives like the School Leader to get involved in decision-making about the school. But he was also perceived among the staff, as a priest who pushed Christ and Christianity in Loyola. That might not be entirely unfounded; as reported earlier on this blog, Vice-Principal Kuruvilla commissioned a series of paintings on Jesus Christ (Jesus as a toddler, a young boy, and so on), one to be hung in each classroom, .

In 1982, Fr Cherian took a break, left for the US and successfully completed a two-year Masters programme in School Administration. Although he came back in 1984 to Loyola, he spent much of the late 1980s and 1990s in AKJM. In 1998, he returned to Loyola, this time as Principal. Alas! School and society had changed. Swimming against the tide, he tried to place emphasis on students’ extra-curricular activities, rather than academics.  After an unusually brief tenure, he left Loyola (and Kerala) for good in 2000, amidst rumours over difference of opinion with the then Jesuit Provincial, and against the backdrop weeks ahead of the announcement of a poor academic result in Loyola. [Readers are advised to see the comments section of this blog, especially Fr Toby's clarification.]

Since starting this blog, I’ve repeatedly tried to contact Fr Kuruvila Cherian by e-mail. He replied with silence. Perhaps he did not wish to take credit for his work in Loyola, or share his views in public about the changing face of Loyola in the 1990s. I should not have expected a bull in the china shop; after all, he was our karadi.

Hat tip: Fr Toby e-mailed to me the news of Fr Kuruvila Cherian’s death.

An old boy who visits Loyola School is always greeted with affection, whatever his station in life.

On arrival, you are glided into small talk by a priest or staff member who recognises you. You ask about the teachers of yesteryears, and comment on how the school looks different. In turn, you are quizzed about your whereabouts, whatabouts, and family. If you have chosen to visit alone, you are asked why you did not bring your wife, or classmates. The school seems to always have space for more of us.

I wish I could say the same for the colleges and universities I attended. A few years after we left Mar Ivanios College, a friend and I visited the place. The nice folks there could not grasp why we would care to visit our teachers. The security guards stopped us at the gate. A teacher-nun walked by, acknowledged us with a smile, and requested that she be spared from recommending our entry into the campus. A phone call to the Principal did not help either. It was probably an off-key day at Mar Ivanios. But such a situation is unthinkable at Loyola, even for a day.

Why do old boys visit Loyola? In the early 2000′s, I saw old students regularly dropping in to play football in the evening, on their way home from the nearby engineering college. During annual events like the basketball tournament, the School Day, and the inter-school youth festival, Loyola is invaded by hordes of alumni. Official batch reunions are usually held on holidays or weekends. On a weekday, if you find an old boy on campus, he is most likely handing over wedding invites to teachers personally. I could go on.

Perhaps it is easier to turn the question around and ask “Why not visit Loyola?”.  After all, who wouldn’t drop in at a place he is so welcome to bathe in nostalgia?

Loyola is warm to those who visit her, and less kind to those afar. Do not expect an active Loyola fan page on Facebook. Or an up-to-date website on the internet. Loyola wants old boys to pamper her, as much as she pampers them. Hospitality begins, and ends at home.

Yet, visiting one’s school is not always a pleasant experience. The sadness too springs from the same deep well of nostalgia. For our images of the school are frozen from the past. On entering now, the tree-lined avenue and the fresh coat of paint lend the school a youthful appearance that syncs with our evergreen memories. But minutes later, face-to-face with more snapshots — a fenced playground, vanished woods, ugly buildings — our eye readily absorbs, but our mind refuses to accept. It takes a few hours to sink in: like us, the school has moved forward in life.

In that mood of reflection and appreciation, let us seek to uncover the secret of the school’s hospitality. What do we really mean when we say that the school welcomes us? Peel off the abstract layer. Look behind the buildings, and amidst the trees. Fr M.M. Thomas. Joseph Uncle. The priest, the teacher, the handyman, the bus conductor, and the gardener — they who continue to serve. Our visits to the school would be poorer without these people who link our past to the school’s present.

As the school grows bigger and older, and familiar faces fade, we will perhaps rely on abstract symbols like the school song, or House colours, to connect. But how will the school connect to us?

Typically, when a Loyolite is in his primary or upper primary classes, he views seniors with admiration. The good speakers and sportsmen in high school are heroes, and even their routine performances appear extraordinary. 25 years later, when I set aside my 4th standard glasses, and pick up the amateur historian’s lens, I see those years differently.

What happened in 1984-85? Two Loyola athletes picked up medals in the state schools’ meet, Loyolites figured in state school teams (three in rural basketball, one in rural hockey, two in cricket), Loyola were district champions in shuttle badminton, and we won the St Thomas Basketball Trophy. This is typical of the kind of sporting excellence one saw in Loyola in the 1980s and 1990s — each batch would have two or three individual sporting talents (in the 1985 batch, Aju R, John Cruz Stellus, and Pradeep Suthan) who would excel in their chosen sports. These youngsters could fuel a match or two for Loyola, but they were insufficient to power the school to championship trophies consistently. Team games like basketball, hockey and and cricket require more than the odd star.

NCC seems to have had a good run that year. At the annual training camp, “the Loyola troop got the trophy for aeromodelling and shooting, and the overall championship”, says the Principal’s annual report on School Day. Loyolites also won the quiz competition, and picked up the best cadet, and second best cadet awards. I wonder whether such a clean sweep has been repeated since.

The highlight of the sports day was gymnastics by Loyolites. The school magazine captions a photo “We introduce gymnastics”, and the Principal’s Report talks of gymnastics coaching. Was it triggered by a display by armymen, or the televising of 1984 Olympics?

I thought the first computer reached the school in 1985-86, when LOBA donated one white-box PC. But the magazine of 1984-85 talks of a computer club in the school. Wish somebody would throw light on the pre-computer computer club (which teacher guided it? how many members?). The school magazine carried an article “The Computer” by Deepu John (1986; then in 9th standard). An excerpt would be of interest to today’s geeks too:

Once I got hold of a computer. I had heard so much about it. I knew it was a wizard and I knew it could answer any question I asked it. So, immediately with great hopes, I punched in the sentence, “what is your name?” Then I pressed some other button. To my surprise and disgust, I got a reply “ERROR”. I had never expected this. I had expected something like “My name is FABIO FX Z100 XP”. I was disappointed. It was only later that I found out my mistake. A computer cannot understand human language.

Those of us who were in Loyola in the mid-1980s would remember a Jesuit volunteer teacher. Yes, James Conway! He joined in 1984-85, and was a popular (and prominent) figure on the campus. Young, athletic and cheerful, James Conway used to join the Loyola basketballers for games in the evenings. The magazine places on record that he was from Canada; my impression was that he was from Ireland.

I was a bit surprised to find an unsigned article titled ‘Qualities of a Christian Leader’, right after the Principal’s Report. Coming as it did in Loyola’s school magazine, I would’ve expected it to be titled ‘Qualities of a Leader’. As far as I recall, Loyola rarely injected or projected Christianity (or any other religion) into public spaces, in an in-your-face way. The monthly Mass, the weekly Scripture classes, etc were never thrust upon non-Christians. The school song, as well as a few other songs taught in music classes had a Christian tinge, but one noticed that only decades later. The school magazine used to have only the photo of first communicants. The only Christian ritual which seemed to attract student attention was the blessing of the buses at the start of every academic year — even though blessing of vehicles is not a Christianity-specific ritual, the priests went about it in the way they were most familiar with. Religion, in general, took a backseat in those years. No wonder the prayer service assemblies were unexciting.

If you have only two minutes at hand, and you wish to dip into the 1984-85 school magazine, read “My Dangerous Trip to School” by Girish S (1987; then in 8th standard). Anybody who has walked to school from Pongumoodu will sink into nostalgia; others can relive the fun and fear of being chased by dogs.

For a few decades in the US, everybody seemed to readily know the answer to the question, “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?” (or “where were you when you heard the news of the assassination?”) I suspect that the corresponding marker of popular history in India for a later generation, would be Indira Gandhi’s assassination. The academic year 1984-85 had quite a few other emotional flashes too: PT Usha losing Olympic medal by 1/100th of a second, and the Bhopal disaster. The former was perhaps too parochial, and the latter too distant to make it to the school magazine. But not so the assassination of the prime minister. Two articles, both uncritical, kicked off the Malayalam section. The student article, I suspect, revealed the politics of the average Loyola parent (viewing the Emergency as necessary, and Indira Gandhi being punished unjustly at the end of it); the teacher article, in poetic prose, was silent on the Emergency but loud on Mrs Gandhi’s efforts to usher in stability, protect India’s unity, and defend secularism.

It reminded me how our perceptions change over the decades, be it about politics or sport events of our schooldays.

I’m taking a blog-break. God knows, you and I need it. 

See you on 15 February 2010.

Where lies Mahabali?

by Jiby Kattakayam

“Where are you all going for Onam vacation?’ Geetha M’am asked the Standard II class. “What is Onam, madam?,” Aju asked. “Okay, I will tell you the story of Mahabali and Vamanan. Onam is when the good old king, Mahabali, returns to visit Malayalis,” she said, and proceeded to tell the tale. “So Vamanan said a lie?” Rehaan asked. “No.  Mahabali was not smart,” M’am replied.  Sonu, who loved tales said defiantly, “No, Vamanan lied. If I meet Mahabali I will tell him he is a good man. Will he come to our class?” “Yes, if the school decides to invite him.” Dressing up rotund men and boys as Mahabali was a location tradition and now a marketing technique, but would the school follow suit, Geetha M’am thought, and then changed her mind. “No, Mahabali stays outside.” Sonu was disappointed.

The bell rang. Geetha M’am left. Sonu had made up his mind. As he walked to the door, a fierce tug on his sleeve stopped him short. “To where?” Kiran asked. “I am going to see if I can meet Mahabali.” “Don’t go. You will get into trouble,” Kiran replied, scared. “No one will notice. You just keep quiet. Hide my bag under your desk,” Sonu responded with a threatening glare.

Where do I look? There were two places in Loyola that young boys couldn’t go. The haunted house where the scary man lives and the hollow well where the crocodile dwells. Are there more scary places that I don’t know of, Sonu wondered. He skipped down the steps and slipped out of junior school.

The newly built indoor stadium towered before his eyes. It looked like a palace! Sonu ran towards the monstrous structure. The sun beat down harshly. The lack of shade bothered him. His dad, an ex-student had said that a vast unused playground, and before that a jungle with ancient trees once stood in place of the stadium. A jungle would have been so much fun! Where did the trees go? Who put the trees there? Who took them out? The stadium was locked.

A sudden fear gripped him. What is the punishment for cutting class? What if Mahabali would not come to Loyola? Sonu looked around. No one was around. Like a soldier trying to evade enemies in the computer game Tasha played, he proceeded to the football ground. Stopping at the row of water taps, he felt thirst. Sonu cupped his right hand under the tap as he stretched to reach and open it, and let the water gush into his little palm cup. He moved his cup quickly to his mouth like the seniors did. Drinking this water was now forbidden. But the cooler didn’t taste so good. A few sips later, Sonu, now refreshed began to feel the light breeze feathering him under the cool shade of casuarinas. But I can’t rest here, I’ll get caught, he said to himself.

The sands on the football ground soaked in the colours of the sun, rain, sweat, chalk, blood and tears over the years now glowed yellow in pristine solitude. Paper balls firmed with rubber bands, rubber balls, cork balls, footballs, the stamp of shoe and sandal and the press of rollers had churned it to life and ground it back to death, day in and day out. Seeming to respect its serenity, Sonu stepped off the ground and walked around its boundary. Hitting a laboured stride, he cast a fearful glance at the windows of the junior school classrooms and then a worried, fleeting look at the haunted house and finally reached the reassuring long shadows that the gulmohars cast on the “steps”.

Climbing the “steps”, he headed for the tennis court, forgetting the crocodile’s well. “What are you doing here?” a harsh voice and a rough hand on his collar rudely broke his reverie. “Looking for…” Before Sonu could finish, the hand pulled him down on to his knees and then to his butt. He felt the surge of tears and they sprung out before he could down the shutters. “No. Don’t cry. I won’t tell on you.” Sonu looked up. The older boy had a kind face now and was patting Sonu on the back. “Why did you cry? I was only joking. You too have cut class, haven’t you? I know junior school is a prison. Wait till you get to Plus-Two. It’s a cage then!” “I wasn’t cutting class,” Sonu said indignantly. “I came looking for somebody.” “Stay a while and keep a lookout for the non-teaching staff, will you?” the senior asked. He took out a mobile phone. “Hello…aah Sheela, Ajith here. You didn’t go to school? I just thought I’d give you a ring…” The seniors were always talking about girls. In the canteen. At the bus stop. Inside the bus. Maybe it is that what is called Love. But loving girls! I can barely stand Tasha.

Ajith stood up and paced, phone in hand. Weren’t phones banned, Sonu wondered? Time to slip away. He passed the tennis court and was on the road leading to the school gate. What was outside the school walls? In school, layers and layers of friendships, classes and pastimes had stood between Sonu and the school walls. The world outside came to his notice only during evening walks to the shops with Mummy. His attention passed the open gates and caught a sign that read “Police Station”. If they catch me outside, will it be worse punishment than what the school will give me? He ran past the road, across the hockey ground dissecting it in a neat straight diagonal leaving him at the end of the hostel corridor. The corridor opened into the Loyola College campus.

Sonu suddenly felt small. Should I walk on? What is the time? Like I know to read time. Time was measured in bells. How many have rung? I am too far to hear them now, he sighed. A curiosity to see the college engulfed him. A group of men and women sat under a tree, engrossed in carefree chatter. What were they talking? I’d like to sit like them, and talk. But then isn’t playing football better than just talking? Sonu couldn’t make up his mind and walked. A priest! I am caught, Sonu thought. Now what? Should I run? “Are you lost? The school is that way.” The priest pointed to the narrow road that led past the college, wound around the chapel and then continued to slope gently down. “Thank you,” Sonu muttered.

The bell rang. A clamour arose. Teachers stepped out of classrooms and were soon lost in the black and white that milled all around. It was lunch break. My lunch box! No, I want parotta today. But, no money. He moved in the direction of the canteen, scanning heads for familiar faces until it rested on Ajith again, eating, no sight of the mobile phone now. A tantalizing smell of beef curry that flowed easily around two dead-beaten parottas reached Sonu’s nostrils. “Where did you disappear?” Ajith demanded. Sonu didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on Ajith’s steel plate. “Here, take this.” Ajith offered a fragment of parotta he had just pealed and dipped into the gravy. “Thanks. But I am hungry.” Sonu felt no shame. Ajith smiled and took out his wallet. A frown quickly appeared on his face. “I am sorry. I have only twenty rupees. I need to buy a recharge coupon.” Sonu was disappointed. Why had Mahabali given up all he had, Sonu wondered.

Sonu lumbered about. It was nice to be around people. He watched a boy, his age, bend down and pick up something. A coin. The boy looked at it, put it in his pocket and walked. Thief! Sonu decided. Time, for some policing. He remembered the police station, and shivered. He followed the boy. The thief stopped outside the vice-principal’s office, pondered for a while, looked hurriedly around and walked in. Sonu peeked in. ‘Father, I found this rupee lying on the…” Why did the boy give up his possession? Why did I judge him that way? Sonu was bewildered.

He walked on and stopped at a sign. “Onion Bank of India.” No, it was a U. But how to pronounce that? Sonu stared at the sign in perplexion. Two seniors were coming out from the bank. “The buggers are raising the fees like crazy. My dad said he could educate 10 kids like me at an aided school for the same money,” one said. “Dey Chill. You are studying at Loyola. Not some godforsaken government school,” the other smirked. Sonu looked inside the bank for Mahabali. What need has the king for a bank? Didn’t Vamanan take everything he saved?

He trudged down the steps, past the cage. His dad had told him that there once lived a python in the cage. The python had died. After it had died, a senior named him Kaa. Through the quadrangle and past the basketball court, he walked. Dad said Loyola had good basketball teams and that BB players were the heroes at school. But everyone was playing cricket now. Why would I play a game that no one watches anymore, Sonu thought. A tall, gawky boy hunched in grave conversation with a short teacher, an answer sheet in her hand. They didn’t notice Sonu. “M’am I needed those five marks. It would have got me a Distinction.” “But why copy,” the teacher shook her head. “Everyone cheats, M’am.” Everyone cheats? Did Mahabali cheat in school, Sonu wondered.

I am tired. I am hungry. I want to sleep. Will I see Mahabali in my dreams, Sonu hoped. The place he chose to sleep was the last remaining woods in the school. Beside the indoor stadium, bordering the big estate. They used to go there during lunch breaks and play hide and seek. Sonu looked around for ants and wasps and spiders and squirrels. Satisfied that nothing from nature that would harm him was around, he slept. Soundly.

Wasn’t that the bell ringing? Sonu rose with a start. Was school over? He walked over to the edge of the stadium and peered. The buses were coming in, ready to park and wait for the boys to leap in. One more period to go. He had survived. He would wait. It had been a good day. His first adventure. Would Tasha believe me? Will I do it again? Sonu shuddered at the thought. Mahabali hadn’t shown up. Sonu tried remembering why he wanted to see Mahabali in the morning. The bell rang again, for the last time in the day and Sonu knew it was “three thirty”.

“Let me sit.” It was Arun, the bully. “No!” Sonu responded fiercely. He needed the window seat. No bully could unseat him today. Mahabali was a fool. If needed, I will fight. Maybe the old king is somewhere in the city. I will tell him he is a fool. Sonu resisted the tug of home though his stop was nearing. He slid down in his seat so that the conductor uncle would not notice. His stop went by and new, unfamiliar places opened up before his eyes. “Eda Sonu, why didn’t you get off at your stop?” the conductor uncle on spotting him, asked, flustered. “I slept off, uncle.” Lie. A harmless lie makes a difference, Sonu thought. The conductor made calls to Sonu’s home.

“Mummy, I am done with school. I saw a college and I have also travelled the world. When can I start working?” “Right away. I have forgotten all I learnt in school. You can start with teaching me every day all your lessons,” Mummy said. Sonu’s face fell and his footsteps lost pace. There was no homework from today’s class. What would I tell her? Will truth save me? Or will another lie help? Didn’t Vamanan lie? Where is Mahabali?

Jiby Kattakayam (1998 ISC) is a reporter for The Hindu newspaper, in Kozhikode.

• setting up a nature/spices club
• donating virtualization software
• sponsoring means-cum-merit scholarships
• holding mentor sessions for students
• organising medical camps, and health lectures
• gifting cash to non-teaching staff of Loyola

On contacting an organiser, I learnt that the batch gifted Rs 20,000 to each of the non-teaching staff of its time; that the scholarship fund is of Rs 5 lakh, and future contributions will be added to the corpus; and that a medical camp was held on 4 August. In the last week of July, the 1984 batch had a wonderful reunion (25th anniversary of their leaving school), which included an audio-video show, ottam thullal, bharatnatyam, and skit. Teachers were honoured and their blessings sought in the traditional way.

It is nice to hear that Loyola old boys are braving opposition within their own batch and collaborating across continents to do things in school and society. The big challenge for Batch 1984 will be to sustain their interest beyond two years. Most voluntary, alumni activities by batches and individuals begin with a bang, and die out soon. While trying to organise activities, Batch 1984 will learn a few lessons the hard way. But that cannot be an excuse for doing nothing. Best wishes to 1984 on taking a step in the right direction. Hope more batches follow suit.

Idea-wise, most of these are unimaginative, though, and other batches should think harder. In its salad days, LOBA undertook many of these activities — cash to staff, medical camps, career talks, etc. Old students have been ever ready to finance scholarships, but few know that the LOBA Scholarship Fund often remained unused — teachers strained themselves to find a deserving candidate. In the 1980s, the school’s scholarship scheme worked (the school itself had one before LOBA entered the scene, if I recall rightly), probably because there were a few not-so-affluent students. The school, in those days, ran the scheme silently — typically, you would not know that your chum was receiving financial help from the school. If Loyola today has few poor students on its rolls, alumni desiring to finance the education of needy children, can establish scholarships for students in government and private schools in Sreekariyam.

When we decide to do things for the school, we rarely bother to first identify the school’s problem areas, or need areas. Quite naturally, we tend to think from our angle — our skills, our memories and expectations of the school, and our resources. Consequently, we end up with solutions in search of problems. This happens because there is no regular channel to communicate the school’s needs, or alumni’s expectations. There is no forum to exchange views freely, and arrive at a programme of constructive action. Meaningful interventions will result only after a series of interactions, and dialogue. From the school’s side, the lack of an Alumni Relations Office indicates a disinterest in tapping alumni on a long-term basis; from the old boys’ side, LOBA has reduced alumni meetings to food fests (porotta and beef curry parties).

Notably, unlike the 1977 batch which associates with LOBA, the 1984 batch is implementing its ideas directly. It is a bold move, and if you ask me, a wise one; resident sceptics of LOBA’s executive committee would have formed a sub-committee to kill such wide-ranging proposals. Interestingly, the school too backed 1984′s efforts. Is this is a signal for other batches to deal directly with the school? Or a signal to LOBA to pull up its socks?

Discuss: What are your thoughts on giving back to the school? How can you contribute? What prevents you from chipping in?

Inputs: Thomas Vaidhyan (1984)

1. LA Fest 2008 (in 50 parts)

On more than one School Day in the 2000s, I have seen video cameras capturing the events on stage. Excerpts from that rich visual collection have made it to YouTube, without commentary. Here is an example.

2. School Day 2008 – IXth Std Dance (4:55)

There are a few other Loyola videos too on YouTube — still-image videos with background music, as well as very short video clippings.

3. Loyola School Trivandrum (4:38)

4. DP (1:47)

5. BOSS Cricket 2007 (7: 34)

6. M.M. George Speech – 1978 Batch Reunion (0:35)

There are no excellent, scripted videos about the school. I wonder why neither students nor old boys have taken the initiative so far, given that many of them sport expensive cameras and mobile phones, or already have access to rich raw visuals. The creative edge is surely not lacking in Loyolites. The absence of videos is probably because putting together even a good, still-image video takes time; a good, scripted, actual video is beyond the patience and energies of most enthusiasts. Such nicer videos are usually spotted on Vimeo, but my search there for Loyola drew a blank.

Wishlist Item#1: A 10-minute highlights version of LA Fest 2009
Wishlist Item #2: LENS video (one per term)

Would it not be wonderful if LENS published at least one video story every term? I am sure that the squad will find it an exciting, creative, and learning experience. This month, former President Abdul Kalam is visiting Loyola. Since the school is treating it as a major event, LENS can try producing a 3-minute video report — background of visit, his speech, interaction with students, post-visit responses of Loyolites — that includes narration as well as audio excerpts.

“Till the game is won”, let us march asinging to the fare that exists. They give us a taste of Loyola. To those who uploaded those videos, this blogpost is a note of thanks.

Readers hungry for more Loyola-related videos can hop across to YouTube.

Excerpts from an e-mail interview with Jishnu

How musical was your childhood?
Quite a lot. My father is a classically trained singer who loves Rabindra Sangeet and old Hindi film music, and our home was always filled with strains of one or the other. Though my father tried to instill in me an appreciation for the above, it remains my regret that I was too much of a ‘teenager’ to listen to him at that time.

After Loyola, you did your B.Tech from NIT-Allahabad, worked in TCS, studied at XLRI… What were your encounters with music during those years?
In Loyola I participated in ‘solo song’ in the Youth Festival in Std IX. I came fourth. There were four participants. Needless to say, I was quite low on musical confidence. Something changed after I went to NIT –- I was in two bands, we got featured in RSJ (then India’s only rock magazine) and played inter-college events. That’s also when I started to play the guitar (the guys from the North east made it look cool and easy!)

I played with a few colleagues while at TCS, not serious bands, but mostly guys looking to have a little fun on weekends. XLRI was a rich musical experience. I met Abhishek, Satadru, Bharat and Poornima who would later become the members of bodhiTree (of the class of 2006) the band that composed, recorded and released on the internet songs like ‘GMD’ and ‘Sabke Katega’. They went on to become cult hits and found their way, with no mass media at all, into every cell phone and iPod in India (and even abroad). I remember being quite taken aback by the response. Though no one in bodhiTree wanted to take music as a career at that time, the experience remains one to be cherished.

I joined ITC after that and was posted in Bhopal and Indore, not particularly known for live music. But I don’t know how, but we started Indore’s only rock band called Square One with some college kids I happened to meet in a Barista. We did about 4 or 5 shows. What fun!

How did Swarathma come together? Did you search for like-minded souls, or did you bump into them, or…?
Swarathma had been an active band for about a couple of years before I met Montry (who played guest drums on a bodhiTree gig in Bangalore). When I moved to Bangalore while with ITC, I gave him a buzz. It so happened Swarathma was looking for a bass player at that time. I met up with the guys, really loved the music, got along with the guys and voila!

Writing and composing songs — are these group activities in your band? What happens when differences crop up amongst creative people? How do you resolve them?
In the scenario of a collaborative songwriting process, conflicts are not only inescapable they are invaluable. It is only with conflict (resolved constructively) that our music becomes better.

Even though we may disagree, we have immense respect for each other’s musical tastes and abilities – we also love each other as dear friends. The combination causes most conflicts to be resolved and helps the music come into its own.

What’s your typical work+music day like?
We’re quite contrary to the image of a band. We rehearse thrice a week from 6.30 am to breakfast. The rest of the day is devoted to individual practice, jams and other things. Afternoon onwards we usually are involved with non-music stuff.

Do you see yourself turning a full-time musician? What’s your advice to those who wish to pursue a career in music? Should music be combined with work, or can we in India think of becoming full-time rock musicians?
As of January 2009, I consider myself a full-time musician. I’ve made (tough) career choices that allow me the freedom to play and create music.

As for advice, I’m most unqualified to dish out any. But what I did was to follow my heart, for I have one life to live. It is hard, with a career, with responsibilities, but if you really really want to do something, you will find a way.

Which other Indipop bands would you recommend to your fans? Who are the other cool kids on the block?
There are some bands we really like -– Faridkot (finalists in the Channel [V] launchpad as well as in Radio City Live (the contest we won).

As a student, you have endured the music classes at Loyola. If you are the school’s music teacher now, how would you teach music?
I have really no idea. None of the music I play has ever been learnt in any class. To my mind, we need to resist the temptation of regimentalizing and taking the fun out of music.

Maybe it can be taught in a way that makes music classes memorable… maybe that’s too much to ask!

Becoming a successful band today is not just about musical creativity, it’s about how you market yourself. As a manager-cum-musician, what’s your advice to music groups struggling on the marketing front?
Believe in the music you are playing 100%. Everything follows from there.

Use the internet. Constantly generate content that engages your listener. Bring him or her closer to your band with it. Social networks, websites etc.

Play more gigs, work the crowd -– be known for something that it truly you.

Listen to Swarathma

Jishnu on BBC (hat tip: Sandeep K (1994 ISC))

Hat tip: Harikrishna M. (1994 ISC)

* * *

Thampi Sir taught in Loyola in the late 1980s and 1990s. The bald schoolteacher with a doctorate degree stood above his colleagues, also literally — he was over six feet tall. The news of Thampi Sir being awarded a doctorate reached him when he was a teacher in Loyola. Hence, many of us know that it was awarded for his research on place-names, which has since been published as Sthalanama Padana Pravesika. (According to the Mathrubhumi obituary, he won it from a German university, but my recollection is that it was a Belgian one.) My brother, who was taught by Thampi Sir, always used to go ga-ga while discussing his Malayalam classes. Those less fortunate, like me, have to content ourselves with discovering Thampi Sir after his death.

* * *

A neglected aspect of the much-praised student-teacher relationship of Loyola is that students know very little about their teachers. That neglect is most striking and shameful in the case of Dr Thampi, for he was a scholar who, even before he set foot in Loyola, had etched his name in the annals of Malayalam literature and Kerala historiography.

GTT was born on 23 September 1929 in Manavalakurichi, in Kanyakumari district of Travancore state. Growing up in a Tamil-speaking village in a state dominated by Malayalam speakers, GTT became proficient in Tamil and Malayalam. When Kerala state was created in 1956, his native village, along with other Tamil-speaking taluks, went from Travancore state to Madras state (renamed Tamil Nadu). But GTT began his teaching career in 1957 in Kerala. For the next four decades, he taught in various Nair Service Society schools and Loyola, Trivandrum. He also served as President of a cultural history organisation in Kanyakumari district.

Our generation will most likely remember GTT as a teacher. When we are gone, he will be remembered as a scholar and litterateur. His oeuvre comprised researched studies (on place names and ballads), a biography (M Rajaraja Varma), children’s literature (Bhoomi Enna Muthassi), on grammar (Vyaakaranavum Vrithaalankaarangalum), historical non-fiction (Mandaykkaadinte Charithram; in Tamil), and a historical novel (Aditya Varma; in Tamil). He also published articles in periodicals (including Malayali, Malayala Rajyam, Manorama, Vijnana Kairali, and Vachinad) and presented papers at seminars organised by the University of Kerala, the latter on studies of grammar and folk literature.

In 1984, the Kottayam-based Writers’ Cooperative published two works by GTT — Thiruvaathirakali Paattukal, and Valiyakesi Katha. The first was prompted by a “renaissance” of thiruvaathirakkali performances in youth festivals. GTT compiled several songs of this popular art form of southern Travancore (according to the book, the corresponding art of northern Kerala was kaikottikali) and wrote a researched article to accompany the compilation. The second (Valiyakesi Katha) is his most notable contribution. Valiyakesi Katha was a ballad that he had heard of when he was young. When GTT began his literary odyssey by going about collecting thekkan pattukal (literally, “songs of the south”; the vadakkan paattukal are more familiar to Malayalis), he had little hope of stumbling upon Valiyakesi Katha, estimated to be written around AD 1696. After several years, when he discovered this popular ballad of southern Travancore, he published it with his notes explaining the meaning and historical context of the composition. This work became a textbook for MA students of Malayalam, in Kerala University in the 1990s.

In 1999 and 2000, out came two studies on thekkan paatukal. The 1999 work — Thekkan Paattukal: Oru Padanam — was published by the Trichur-based Kerala Sahitya Akademi and is a good introduction to songs and ballads of southern Travancore. In less than 80 pages, GTT lucidly touches upon various aspects of the songs — their language, their descriptive styles, their themes (devotion, heroic exploits), their typology, and the method of writing on palm leaves (even how the leaves were readied and bound with wooden pieces). In it we enter the world of southern heroes like Eravikutty Pillai,  who match Thacholi Othenan of the northern ballads.

In contrast, GTT’s 2000 book — Thekkan Paattukal: Chila Adisthaana Chinthakal — published by the Trivandrum-based Rajarajavarma Bhashapadana Kendram, is not for just everyone. It is a sequel to the 1999 book, and intended for those who wish to go deeper into the linguistic and literary aspects of the songs. It is based on a study of 17 songs and ballads, that include those he found in books, unpublished scripts, and palm leaves; those he could recall; and those he heard from others. A dying tradition, some of these songs continue to be sung, in private temples in Kanyakumari district, every evening after deepaaraadhana. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the foreword to this scholarly book was written by GTT’s Loyola colleague, poet, critic, and my Malayalam teacher in high school K.V. Thikkurissi.

In his books, GTT lamented the neglect of the study of thekkan paattukal and in general, the literary culture of the past. “It is not just stories that we learn from the ballads. We can, in them, find the political conditions, cultural customs, and social history of that time. In these ballads, we can see the people of that era,” he wrote. These two recent works on songs of southern Kerala reveal a patient man who went about collecting songs, and decoding them, so that our past can be enjoyed by our future. His native soil was fertile to supply the knowledge of Tamil and Malayalam that such an enterprise called for, but the passion and persistence were cultivated.

It would be a fitting tribute to institute GTT prizes for researched essays in Malayalam by school children, on any aspect of Malayalam literature. GTT, who pored over songs written on palm leaves as well as quickie publications that appeared on pavement stalls will not object to the medium of the document — it can be a humble essay, a creative multimedia presentation, or one prepared for the mobile phone screen. As long as the research exercise fans the flames of curiosity and students learn more about their culture, Thampi Sir would be alive in Loyola, perhaps more meaningfully than he ever was.

This blogpost is based on an obituary in the Mathrubhumi (31 May 2009, p. 8), and four books by GTT.

In the 1980s, when school reopened after summer vacation, class leaders and assistant class leaders were elected (or in some classes, selected by the teacher). A week later, students chose the school’s leaders. If the first was a class election, the second was a caste election.

Any student from the 10th could stand for School Leader, and anyone from the 9th could stand for the Assistant School Leader. All high-school students (8th to 10th) voted for both positions; representing 5th to 7th standard students, their class leaders and assistant class leaders voted.

The visible event was the school assembly, 50% of which formed the electorate. There were no campaign issues, and no student organisations; the candidates did not have to form opinions, or rally the audience’s support for any cause. Hence candidates’ “election speeches” were banal utterances on leaders and leadership, and vague, neta-like promises to “strive to the best of my ability”. Speakers relied on verbal pyrotechnics to spark applause, and tell tales “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Long before Abdul Nasser Maudny, Loyolites knew to hold the audience’s attention by acting breathless, and screaming and spitting into the microphone.

Once every few years, a candidate would come up with a gem quote. Like Suraj Jacob in 1988, who concluded with one from Abraham Lincoln: “I want you to vote for me if you will; but if not, then vote for my opponent, for he is a fine man.” (For an interesting anecdote, read the context in which Lincoln praised his opponent.)

The chief election commissioner was the school’s politico: V.C. Jacob. He led the candidates into each classroom, made them stand near the teacher’s platform, and asked the students to exercise their franchise. A candidate voted when the entourage was in his class.

The ballot paper did not have the candidates names printed on it; the school seal was stamped on it to prevent rigging.

Once the high school classes had voted, the election caravan wound its way down the stairs to the gents’ staff room. There, the class leaders and assistant class leaders of standards 5, 6 and 7 were called in to cast their votes.

V.C. Jacob explained the value of each vote. A vote from Std 10 fetched 3 points for the school leader candidate, and 2 points for the assistant school leader candidate (see Table). He then began counting the votes, in the presence of the candidates.

After a class’s votes were done, he took a sheet of paper and — in his neat, firm and legible hand — jotted down the number of votes, and the values. Once all the votes were counted, the losing candidate congratulated the winner, and all walked back to their respective classes. The following week, the school leader and his assistant were sworn in, along with the general captain and house captains, who were selected (I assume) by the management as advised by C. T. Varkey, the physical education teacher.

Here, I’ve documented the election for only one reason: such school leader elections are no longer held in Loyola.

Since the mid-1990s, the school’s leaders have been elected in different ways, from different classes. Briefly, the present-day arrangement is as follows: There is one school leader (from the 12th), and two assistant school leaders (one each from the 10th and 9th). Only the 12th standard students vote for the school leader, and only the 10th and 9th standard students vote for the assistant school leader from their respective years. The teachers vote for all positions. The counting of votes is done in-camera (by the Principal or Vice-principal, it is believed), and the winner’s name is put up on the notice-board a few days later. There is no investiture ceremony even though the school diary carries a date for the imaginary event.

An amusing feature of elections in Loyola in the 1980s was the undercurrent of caste politics. I refer to the ICSE vs SSLC “war” of those days as caste politics because it was a battle over group identities based on which division you belonged to. As the ICSE was a tougher course in high school, the SSLC students were perceived as lower castes; on this blog and elsewhere, I have been told by recent ISC students that the discrimination turned more open in the 2000s. No wonder that the ISC vs HSC war continues in Loyola at the time of elections.

The only difference I see is the role of the teachers and the management — they did not play caste politics in the elections of the 1980s because they did not interfere with the electoral process. Now, with the election becoming less transparent, and less democratic (from the students’ angle), the teachers and the management too seem to be playing caste politics during elections. In the past, if their golden boy did not win the election, they gave him the Best Loyolite award later in the year. In contrast, these days, they have their way in electing the school leader too. It got exposed in the 2007 election. That year, for the school leader post, there were seven candidates from 12th ISC, and the caste’s votes got split, while the lone candidate from 12th HSC mopped up the votes in his vote bank. When the result was announced, students were surprised: an ISC student had been declared elected. For a moment, it seemed that caste — ISC or HSC — no longer mattered. On second thoughts, it showed that numbers did not matter, caste probably did.

Though the school leader election has thus lost its credibility as an exercise in student democracy, there have been a few positive developments.

One, the school leader nowadays has more responsibilities (not merely giving speeches and saying “Classes, Attention” in school assemblies). Hence election speeches are a bit more substantial, with the odd promise thrown in. Elected leaders try to fulfill their promise, even if they don’t succeed always. So, there seems to be greater authority for the school leader, even though he lacks legitimacy.

Two, there are more elections in Loyola. The general captain and the house captains are now elected, and in these elections, only the students vote (the teachers don’t).

The Principal and the teachers need to do one thing: they should stop interfering in the school leader election, and make the election as transparent as it was in the distant past. Giving the school leader more responsibilities has been a positive step. But to give more powers to one (the school leader) by taking away the powers of the many (the student electorate) can hardly be justified. The student leader derives his legitimacy from being elected by students. He is a leader; he should not look like a lackey.

Hat tip: Arun Sudarsan (2009)

Download the PDF version of The Loyolite 2009
Cover and Table of Contents (3.1MB)
Pages 01 to 15 (10.4MB)
Pages 16 to 32 (7.7MB)
Pages 33 to 50 (8.8MB)
Pages 51 to 69 (8.2MB)
Pages 69 to 89 (22MB; class photos; e-version not being released)
Pages 90 to 100 (5.6MB)
Pages 101 to 128 (10.2MB)

Hat tip: Fr Toby Joseph, who sent me the DVD within a week of the magazine’s release.

Happy reading!

Related
School Magazine 2008
School Magazine 2007

Unlike LSE, Loyola has few high-achievers among its alumni. (For a desperate catalogue, see the Wikipedia entry on notable alumni.) And the school itself isn’t ultra-savvy at riding the alumni horse. Probably the school doesn’t believe in the sport. But it is partly also because the school doesn’t have an institutionalised, well-oiled old boys’ network system to spot an alumnus doing interesting work, or one who is in the news. The school is out of touch with many old boys who studied in the 1970s and 1980s, and left Trivandrum. A few individuals, like Fr Manipadam and Joseph Uncle, are more enterprising, smarter and hence more up-to-date than the LOBA database.

But guys, take heart. Just because we are bad at marketing our alumni doesn’t mean that we are bad at everything. We are as good as LSE or Harvard, when it comes to alumni who are in the news for the wrong reasons. Our silence is so deafening that nobody can hear whether the celebrity studied at Loyola or not. I am referring to the curious case of Himaval Maheswari Bhadrananda, who was in the news last year for brandishing a gun in a police station in Kerala, after he was alleged to be a “fake swami”. Mathrubhumi newspaper reported that he studied in Loyola, but my efforts to find classmates who could confirm it failed. Maybe he studied, maybe he didn’t.

One of the dilemmas in running this blog is whether I should write about a notorious person, and add to his misery. Is it not better to focus on the honey in my ARChive, instead of stinging like a bee? So, I shall end with an anecdote that will instead sting the majority. About Loyola and Loyolites, it tells us more than Himaval Bhadrananda.

I do not recall the venue, date or time of this incident. And for obvious reasons, I am not mentioning the names of people involved (even though I remember who said what). A few years ago, at a LOBA session ahead of that year’s annual general body meeting, a discussion emerged on whether old boy Mr A should be informed. Mr B, a heavyweight in the alumni Association, insisted that Mr A shouldn’t be sent the notification or invited because Mr A had been implicated in a case of financial fraud once.

A few old boys asked: Was Mr A implicated or only accused? If he has finished serving his punishment, why should we punish him further by ostracising him? In any case, how does all this affect whether he should be informed of the meeting? Doesn’t every member have a right to be informed?

Mr B stood his ground and carried the day by saying, “The old boys’ meet is a social occasion where we participate with our families. In Trivandrum society, we have a certain standing. If crooks like him attend, we cannot come with our families. It will also reflect badly on the Association.”

[Himaval news clip -- Hat tip: Sandeep K (1994)]

How true was this claim?

Those who claimed so (including me) had limited information about other schools in Trivandrum, to make an honest and thorough comparison. If we were tested on this–say, if asked to list out the extra-curricular activities in any three city schools–all of us would have failed. But ignorance did not prevent us from asserting that Loyola was different because of its extra-curricular thrust.

I believe that we students were parroting the words of our teachers and parents. Their own belief was probably rooted in knowledge of other schools (via neighbours, colleagues or relatives). But it is also probable that they took cue from the Jesuits who ran Loyola and cultivated an image of a “different” school.

The Jesuits were not being dishonest. Loyola did have several platforms for literary and artistic activities inside and outside the classroom. There were a weekly period called “Literary Association”, a youth festival, the wallpaper LENS, debates or quizzes each term, and so on. The school also encouraged students to participate in inter-school competitions. In addition, there were squads for cleaning classrooms, social service and similar non-literary or non-artistic work.The Jesuits and the teachers put in a lot of effort to organise these activities in the school. None will question their sincerity or doubt their dedication.

But was Loyola different?

Those who studied in other schools can tell us whether such activities were common in their schools or, as we believed, unique to Loyola. My guess is that various schools had different extra-curricular activities. If English elocution was a prestigious event in Loyola, it might have been kathaprasangam in school x and mohiniyattom in school y. Accordingly, Loyola fared reasonably well in the state ICSE schools’ meet (where the events were similar to what Loyola hosted), but rarely made a mark in the state SSLC schools’ youth festival. If Loyola was different, it was in the kind of activities that the school hosted.

Loyola of the 1980s was different from other schools also in terms of facilities. Loyola had better infrastructure than other schools. Well-equipped classrooms (good desks and benches), different courts for various sports and games, sporting equipment, sound systems, closed auditiorium–few schools in Trivandrum could boast all of these. The infrastructure helped in hosting a range of extra-curricular activities and strengthened the popular claim.

We had the hardware, but was Loyola different in terms of the software?

Look at the approach, for instance. If the popular claim is to be believed, the activities should have been co-curricular, if not part of the curriculum in this school. But at Loyola, every activity was called “extra-curricular”, i.e. beyond the curriculum, as if the curriculum did not demand any such activity.

In the few cases that art formed part of the curriculum, it was taught unimaginatively. There was a weekly music class (till around class 7). There was a weekly painting class (in the lower classes of the junior school, if I remember correctly). And there was a weekly moral science class (till standard 10). For a school that believed it was different, there was hardly anything different in the way Loyola treated such subjects or activity.

We got many platforms to sing, but Loyola did not teach us how to sing, or what music was. I doubt whether any Loyolite learnt music at Loyola, despite ritually chanting songs every week for seven years. All of us could have been exposed to different genres of music, right? (In these days of CDs, mp3 downloads and an audio-visual room, is it too much to expect Loyola to have music appreciation classes?)

Yes, we could paint in the annual youth festival, but were we taught how to paint? I am not expecting Loyola to make every child a Picasso, but at least: (a) tell us why this Picasso chap is great; and (b) show us a few tricks and techniques to draw. Pick up a basic book on drawing and you will realise the opportunities missed.

Some of you will argue that the situation was the same in other schools. Maybe. But that is exactly what I am asking: was Loyola really different?

The death of Mrs Maya Thomas at the age of 92, in February 2009 marked the passing on of an original teacher who taught in Loyola during the early days of the school. The ones who spring to my mind are Mr KS Jacob (Science), Mr Pillai,  Mrs Varghese (Geography), Mrs Muthunayagom, and Mr Doss, all  under Fr E Kuncheria. They taught me way back in January 1965 when I started studying in Loyola English School, as it was then known.

She was an excellent teacher of English and stressed to her students that knowledge of English was the ability to express ideas simply and concisely. She used to allude to George Orwell’s book Animal Farm as a prime example of how even such a complex political philosophy such as communism could be dealt with at various levels, be it as a story or political satire, and still appeal to a range of ages. Her corrections of my homework and test papers would have the comment “Keep it simple.”

Her style of teaching was not formal; nor was she one to pile on homework. She did expect you to behave in her classes; there was an element of old-school expectations in her demeanour and style of handling her students. She taught us English Prose and Poetry (including Shakespeare), as well as History.

She used to display righteous indignation at any “injustices” shown towards students, especially by the Jesuit priests. She would storm to Fr Kuncheria’s office and make her case with little regard for repercussion.

The obituary at her family website says “Mayakochamma was a remarkable individual and anyone who interacted with her over the years could not help but be struck by her personality. … She was an intellectual in the true sense, interested in ideas and had a fine critical mind. She was not given to the usual preoccupations of many middle class Indians — money, family connections and status symbols. She was an idealist and a true secularist through her life, having no time or patience for communal or religious divisions.”

The obituary also reveals how she came to be named “Maya” (after Buddha’s mother), and her early influences in life, including her visit to the Sabarmati Ashram, and her participation in the freedom struggle.

She spent the last two decades or so at the Yuhannon Marthoma Mandiram in Manganam, Kottayam. She was buried at the St. Andrews CSI Church near Puthupally, and is survived by her three children (a daughter and two sons) as well as three grandchildren.

Peter Panicker (1970; Eapen Joseph Panicker) lives in the United States and works in the infotech industry.

How were these modest improvements achieved?

1. Publicity

Among the new subscribers to the free, monthly e-newsletter more than half (57 members) joined in January. This was the result of a publicity blitz by Syam Nath (2007) via Orkut and e-mail. Also, during School Day 2007, I met old boys of recent batches, introduced myself and the blog, and distributed visiting cards of loyolites.com. It was humbling to learn that very few had even heard of loyolites.com or this blog. Syam too was there to distribute the cards.

2. Activity

Asif Kalam (2005) and I tried out a short, fixed-deadline campaign in connection with Teacher’s Day, unlike the long-term, open-ended Great School Campaign, begun here in 2007. The Teacher’s Day Campaign attracted a lot of interest — on this blog, there were 400+ pageviews each on September 4 and 5. That’s usually the number of pageviews we see in an entire week. Voluntary associations, I have heard, use activity as a tool to energise volunteers, keep the flock together, and assert relevance in society. This year, I learnt that activities have a positive effect in blogdom too.

My blogging goals for 2008 were met only partially.

1. Deliver good content and regularly. 4 out of 10. Two mentions at Desipundit (on career choice, on policing) suggests that I was able to deliver good content once-in-a-while. But I tripped over my fortnightly posting schedule, and skipped posting more than once. Worse, I once skipped sending out the newsletter too.
2. Build the great school campaign and spark a few more ventures. 7 out of 10. In my view, the school’s current leadership is quite regressive and adheres to a completely different set of values. Rather than continue to curse the darkness, I am trying to build the Great School Campaign by rejuvenating LENS. Action, not just talk. The Teacher’s Day campaign and Loyola Hangaroo (an online game) were the other ventures sparked off in 2008.
3. Make the blog self-financing, at least to pay the webhosting charges ($10/month). 0 out 10. When I last checked, I had made $19 via GoogleAds. So, I removed the ads from the site. A few old boys offered to host the blog at their webspace, but I was not looking for webspace — I just wish that somebody would pay my webhosting charges, so that I can focus my energies and money on delivering good content.
4. Do all this more efficiently, i.e. in less time. 3 out of 10. For sure, I spent less time writing blogposts. But offline activities consumed a lot of time. Since I enjoy doing this, I am quite ok with the overall time I spent in 2008 on the Loyola front.

This year’s vote of thanks go largely to the Commenters for reminding me that my blog is being read with interest, Syam (2007) for bringing in new subscribers, Karthik C (1999) for putting me on the Desipundit radar, and Asif Kalam (2005) for infusing tech-talent and humour into the running of loyolites.com. Vishnu Dattan (2001) not only helped to organise the Teacher’s Day Campaign but, like my brother Roshen (1989), also cautioned and encouraged me privately more than once.

Rather than set fresh blogging goals for 2009, I’ll try to improve the score on each goal I set for 2008.

In June 1983, the school’s new building (the Silver Jubilee Block) was inaugurated by Bishop Acharuparambil. According to the accounts presented in the souvenir released on the occasion, the building was constructed at a cost of Rs 15,53,116.55, and further works worth Rs 1,50,000 were expected at that time. The money for the building came from loans (more than Rs 9 lakh), from the school (Rs 3.15 lakh), building fund fees (around Rs 1.95 lakh), donations (about Rs 1.29 lakh), the souvenir itself (Rs 1,09,959.17), and interest. To publish these accounts immediately after the Principal’s Preface, and before Page 1 of the souvenir, suggests an ethic of transparency that was extraordinary. Interestingly, the same publication also carried the fuzzy presentation of results of a Jesuit evaluation of the school.

The most historic happening of 1983-84, when I look back, is the change of guard at Loyola. Readers will quickly and rightly guess that Fr CP Varkey left that year. True, after fourteen years at Loyola, Fr Varkey left in September 1983, and Fr Varghese Anikuzhy became Principal. But in retrospect, an equally important change of guard had happened four months before Fr Varkey’s departure. For when school reopened in May 1983, two priests returned after several years to Loyola: Fr John Manipadam (as Rector), and Fr Mathew Pulickal (as teacher of English and History in high school). Together and separately, they were to influence a generation of Loyolites, and build Loyola’s alumni network.

The School Magazine dated 1984 had quite a few pages on Fr Varkey — including the Malayalam poem written by Loyola’s bard Mr PK Sebastian (which was presented as a “mangalapatram” from the staff during Fr Varkey’s farewell function), and an article on Fr Varkey by the other Sebastian in the staff room — Mr BO Sebastian. But here, I will present extracts of only two of the many brief notes by students:

The boys of my class told me how Fr Varkey used to thrash the boys (V to X). I was frightened. But during that time he experienced a change….From then on he started using a new phrase “Golden Heart!” Once when some money and books were stolen, he became very angry. In the Assembly he gave us a verbal beating. In the end he overcame his anger, urged us to kindly return the money to the owner. After a few days the owner got back his money and the boy had apologised to Fr Varkey.
- C Prem IX B

Though one could not call him perfect, one had to admit that his good qualities far outweighed all the others. We boarders were a group to which he had always been attached.”
- Cherian Abraham IX B

In his annual report on School Day, the Principal Fr Anikuzhy said, “From 1st Sept 1983 we arranged for a special bus-trip from the school at 4.45 pm to encourage games to build up teams.” (sic) That year Loyola won the Junior Championship in the District Sports Meet, the athletes also shone in the YMCA Meet, and our cricketers and mini basketballers were runners-up in the District. The “second trip” was an innovation that extended opportunities to day scholars to develop their sporting abilities.

I didn’t know that Loyola had student postmen. But the the school magazine says that the Postal Squad debuted in 1983-84. “With the introduction of this Squad many problems regarding the mail have now been solved,” said the squad member’s report. This squad perhaps served the hostelers. I request the beneficiaries of that era to enlighten us on what problems you faced — mails missing? mails opened before delivery?

As in the previous year, there were various squads which went about their work routinely. But three bits struck me:

I’ll end with an excerpt from one of my favourite articles in that school mag. Abhilash Mohan’s “Mahabali 33, 83″ probably owes it intriguing title to a savvy teacher who decided the topic of the school youth festival’s Malayalam essay/story competition. And this VIII B student rose to the occasion. The article begins directly but poetically “1933-le ponnin chingam. Paadangal thelinju. Pathaayangal niranju.” Two paragraphs later, we zoom fifty years to “1983-le thiruvonappulari. Maveli airbus-il vannirangi.” And a few sentences later,

Nattucha. Nadakkaan vayya. Auto-yum taxi-yum city service-um onnum kaanaanilla.
‘Mooppinnay, enthaa eri veyilu kollunnathu. Valla nerchayumundoe?’, oru cheruppakkaaran chothichu.
Maveli: Oru Auto kittiyaal kollaam.
Cheruppakaaran: Thaan eviduthukaaranaa? Innu bandh alle?

In simple sentences, the 13-year-old Abhilash not only wove in the lingo of the times, but also captured a timeless aspect of the political culture of modern Kerala.

Cherry Mathew (1995 ICSE) is walking from the northern-most district of Kerala to the southern-most.

He is a member of Freedom Walk, a project led by Anoop John, who along with Cherry co-founded Zyxware Technologies, an infotech company in Thiruvananthapuram. The project website says, “Freedom walk is a project aimed at spreading the message of ‘Freedom in Society’, ‘Freedom from Environmental Issues’, and ‘Freedom in Software’ and to promote activism around these freedoms.”

The Walk began from Kasargod on Gandhi Jayanti, and is scheduled to end next week at Thiruvananthapuram on Children’s Day.

When I met the walkers last month in Kozhikode, much of our talk revolved around the third freedom — freedom in software, by which they mean the use of open-source software. In Kerala’s government schools, children are taught open-source software. Similarly organisations like the Kerala Police and KSEB use systems that run on open-source software. (The Freedom Walk has been supported in quite a few places by KSEB officials.) And yet, the walkers sensed “inertia” among people to migrate from Windows to Linux. From the other side of the table, a government administrator who uses open-source systems at his workplace, voiced the concern that technical support, after installation, was inadequate.

Whether inertia or lack of technical support, the way our discussion was framed, I felt “freedom in software” was a business issue that could be tackled by entrepreneurship, however paradoxical the solution might appear to the anti-capitalism brigade that’s backing the walk. And on that canvas, Freedom Walk can be read as a marketing tool to spread awareness in the market. A fun-walk by a bunch of geeks, cynics would add.

But that’s not the real agenda, I think.

Let us not dismiss the effort because of its multi-coloured umbrellas, its tricolour t-shirts, and its let’s-go-to-the-beach appearance. Unlike the science walk in the 1970s organised by the Kerala Sastra Sahitya Parishad (which roped in hundreds), the Freedom Walk has had only three people walking in all districts, and they have been attracting mostly a few tens of people. The size of the dog in the fight is small, but not so the size of the fight in the dog.

In the media, the Freedom Walk has mostly been painted as a walk for freedom in software. The walkers blogged recently, “We were disappointed that the media had stripped out the soul of our message, and reduced it merely to Free Software. The underlying philosophy of ‘being the change you wish to see in the world’ had been glaringly missed out on.”

I think Anoop John’s real goal is to connect with Keralam — to know their aspirations, their problems, their strengths — so that he can do meaningful work in society. That’s why the Freedom Walk, despite its awkward clubbing of socio-political freedoms with technical issues, might find a place in history.

When the walkers halt for the night, in a church or a PWD Guest House, I hope they ask themselves everyday: Can those of us from upper class families connect with those unlike us? Can Kerala connect with Keralam?

Not because LENS was bad in my time. In the 1980s, LENS used to be elegant — typewritten on a letterhead, with a green band a few inches from the top, the name “LENS” left-aligned and in maroon, a graphic of a lens to magnify the “L”, the expansion “Loyola English News Service” written beneath the logo, and available on the notice-board in front of the school office in the main building. Despite such attractiveness, the first word that comes to my mind when I think of LENS, is “irregular”. Because LENS was sometimes available in the Silver Jubilee Block, but often not. LENS was sometimes published every week, but often not. In my middle and high school years, LENS was like a 60+ in history from Fr Pulickal — you long for it, and you’ll get it one day, but not today.

A few years later, I learnt from other old boys that LENS had turned even more irregular — it got published well in the odd year, but in some years it did not appear at all, and the LENS squad was no longer a ‘star’ squad that students competed to join. This year’s school newsletter brought out before Onam holidays lists a few staff advisors for LENS, but doesn’t mention even one student’s name.

It seems funny, because the LENS largely disappeared at a time when desktop publishing wove itself into our lives, and opened up numerous ways of publishing LENS smarter. Today, than ever in the past, it is easier to snap pictures using digital camera, key in articles using MS Word, choose multi-column option, and get a neat printed look that rivals the frontpage of any mainstream newspaper. Also, it takes just an hour to get the e-version ready and publish online, to reach out to old boys and former teachers scattered across the world.

In an earlier post on the Great School Campaign, I had argued that the school was getting stronger in hardware (more computers, in this context), but probably weaker in software (poor training to bring out LENS). Rather than just whine, we decided to do something. We got in touch with a student who had published LENS this year. Noel and his friends were not officially in the LENS squad, but they had displayed initiative and talent. The school too welcomed our idea to rejuvenate LENS.

That’s how, last fortnight, I was speaking to Loyola students about the future of LENS — the heights it can achieve in two years. I talked about journalism principles, shared tips on reporting, editing and design, and outlined the possibilities of a web edition. That Friday evening, we took stock of where LENS is, and where LENS can be. We’ll now try to travel from point A to point B.

The rejuvenation of LENS is also an experiment where old boys partner with the school to make Loyola a great school. Because we aren’t satisfied with Loyola being a good school.

***

Visit http://lens.loyolites.com to catch the first issue of 2008. To stay tuned, subscribe to our free, monthly e-newsletter.

That night, around quarter past ten, The Policeman walked in, smiled at us, kept his two mobile phones on the teapoy, and pulled his favourite chair. He then did something unusual — he placed the wireless handset on his lap, and before joining our conversation, switched it on.

For about a week, threats of bomb blasts had been piercing our city, via SMSes, e-mails and phone calls, and some of these had turned out to be hoax alerts. Tonight, voices spat from the police radio and The Policeman was listening in.

He is less than 30 years old but as chief policeman of the city, he is the one we look up to for our security. At the end of a long working day, when I turn the lights down, and pull up the blanket, I do not stop to ask whether the Police Commissioner sleeps. I assume that he does, when I bid him goodbye every other evening.

But that night would be different — I would not sleep peacefully.

Because at some point in our chat, The Policeman moved forward, as if to get up. I looked at the clock; it said two past twelve. I recalled how, a few weeks earlier at his house, at the stroke of twelve, The Policeman had politely thrown my friend and me out. I told myself, “This guy is disciplined and here comes the farewell line, as usual.”

Whence The Policeman said, “Come, let’s go out and have coffee.”

The hostess shrieked. “Are you insane? Do you know what time it is?” Her husband turned to us and said, “You guys go ahead.” And that’s how, in a small city on the western coast of southern India, at half-past-twelve one Saturday night, I ended up with the city’s chief policeman in my Maruti WagonR.

Every good South Indian knows that coffee isn’t the first item on the menu. Barely had the car moved a few metres, when The Policeman switched off the wireless set and said, “We’ve set up checkpoints in the city. Let’s see how they are working.”

As we approached the first checkpoint, the car in front of mine was being searched, and I slowed down. A police constable walked towards us, while his colleague got excited by my car’s numberplate — DL9, out-of-town car, and that too from Delhi (for some reason, many south Indians believe that north Indians are criminals unless proved innocent.) I expected the car’s Delhi registration to spice up the proceedings. The first constable saw my co-passenger, and snapped a salute. My companion said, “Go ahead. Search the car. You stopped it, right?”

Frankly, I didn’t expect this. I had thought that I was part of the hunting party. It struck me late that I was the bait.

After The Policeman reviewed the register of vehicles checked that night, he rolled up the window-glass, and we resumed our journey. Less than a minute later, he switched on his wireless set. Had the news of the “inspection” already been relayed on the network? No, it seemed.

At the next checkpoint, guess what…there was no checkpoint. There was no “Stop and Proceed” barrier, and the two constables on the spot allowed my alien car to cruise.

For a brief while, we stopped at the police headquarters in the heart of the town. When we resumed our journey, we crossed an intersection twice, but none of the policemen standing there flagged us down. Perhaps my DL9 had got a “stealth” shield thanks to my co-passenger.

About a hundred metres past the intersection, I stopped the car and The Policeman got out irritated. He walked back to the intersection, stood a few metres behind the constables, only to discover that mine was not the only car going un-searched. After five minutes of “non-stop” entertainment The Policeman had had enough. He phoned the officers in charge. Two police jeeps with flashing lights appeared on the scene, and The Policeman explained the scene he had been watching. The officers passed on lessons to the constables. A few constables came towards my car to inquire what I was doing there, and on their way back, woke up a guy who was drunk and sleeping on the nearby pavement.

The Policeman and I moved on, towards the railway station. Seeing policemen a few metres away, I swerved to the left, as if to evade them. Two constables rushed in waving their hands, indicating that I should pull over. This time, the policemen were on my side of the car, and hence did not see my co-passenger. They peered through the window and upon finding the backseat empty, asked me to open the boot. The search over, one constable’s eyes fell on my co-passenger, and out came the salute. The Policeman reviewed the register. As we moved on, we crossed the previous intersection — the inspectors were still giving lessons to the constables.

Time for a break. Burger, french fries, and coffee (finally!). We talked about policing, people and the personal, and hit the road again at 3 am.

This time, we drove towards a distant checkpoint. “That’s a good team,” my friend said and it was being manned well. We turned back towards the town, and about a kilometre from the checkpoint, noticed an injured man lying by the roadside. He had fallen off his motorcycle, and lay there vomiting blood. His friend, attending to him, seemed relieved to see us. The Policeman took the wireless set and radioed. A “flying squad” of policemen raced in and took the injured man to the hospital.

A few kilometres later, from a bend in the road, we verified whether the first checkpoint was still working well. It was. So, we decided to head home.

When I stopped the car at The Policeman’s house, he said, “Sorry to have ruined your sleep. We’ll meet for brunch at some nice place.” I was overcome with emotion, for I felt that I had contributed my mite to keeping the city secure ahead of Independence Day. So I replied, “No, no. Not at all. I don’t mind losing sleep for something like this.” And then I added, “After all, such inspections are unusual. They happen only once in a while, on special occasions.” The Policeman opened the car door, looked at me, and said, “Ashok, I do this every other week.”

* * *

I know that the Indian police force is far from perfect. But as I drove home, in the wee hours of just-another-Sunday, I prayed that Anup Kuruvilla John (1997) would retain such zeal throughout his career in the Indian Police Service. And I mentally saluted the policemen of this country who lose a good night’s sleep so that we may have ours.

Similarly, in the Loyola alumni movement, you can see the Old Boys’ Association playing their game, and smaller groups of Loyolites opting for corners of the field.

When people are thus playing to their heart’s content, I hate to be the messenger of bad news: this multiplicity of groups, the networks and all that are fine for the present, but they are inadequate for the future. Why?

To signal the end of the lunch-break, and the restart of classes, the school used to ring a bell. If the bell didn’t exist, students would have played for more hours, till they got tired and quit the field.

This is what’s happening in the Loyola alumni movement. There is no co-ordinating agency to perform the role of the bell, and volunteers (in OBA as well as other groups) who lose the initial enthusiasm, quit the scene. The remaining chaps do not know what to do, they too are tired, and they kick the ball around lazily. They don’t play for an audience, the spectators leave, and as time passes by, it becomes difficult to get enough spectators. In short, the game in town collapses or becomes a farce.

The absence of a co-ordinator hurts the movement significantly in another way: no one pays attention to the future. The players believe that they are playing for fun, not for achieving worthy goals. They are volunteers who play when they feel like it. Identifying goals for the future (how alumni can help the school), or constantly updating information about old boys, or building goodwill for the future (by sending newsletters, maintaining a website), are “serious” things for…well, somebody else. Bad news again — somebody else got tired and left the field.

Thus, when things have to be done, but are not done, the movement weakens. All play and no work makes Jack a dull boy.

Some of us believe that it’s a free market, and that one group or the other will emerge as the dominant player/game in town. That is possible, but unlikely, because the groups here are undertaking activities voluntarily, and limiting their game to their own small spheres. Also, e-groups and Orkut communities may grow in size and number, but after a while, their enthusiasm wanes.

Tomorrow, we can do fantastic things for the school and the community. Or maybe tomorrow, we may need to come together for a cause. Who has the credibility and the reach to bring us together? None, at the moment.

For a healthy future, the alumni movement probably needs to drop anchor in the school, and shed its voluntary character. The school should set up an office, generate funds (from alumni and the management), employ professional staff, and run the alumni movement. Universities abroad and MBA institutes in India have adopted that model partly because they realise that the schools themselves will benefit by promoting alumni relations.

The Loyola alumni movement needs a school bell.

Loyola School teachers were generous. On a day when we students were supposed to make them feel special, they sportingly entertained us — by agreeing to a round of basketball, with the odds stacked against them. I now feel that the staff vs students match on Teacher’s Day was unjust as much as it was in jest. Let’s make amends.

Five years ago, when Vivek Krishnan (1997) and I led Loyola’s alumni association, we visited teachers to invite them for the ‘Back to School’ event. It was an eye-opener. One teacher refused to meet us, another entertained us politely, but the vast majority were simply thrilled to see us.

There’s always a joy when you meet somebody after several years. But the teachers were happy because we remembered them. They insisted that we had taken pains to visit them; our protests were brushed aside. For, in their experience, old boys rarely contact teachers, leave alone meet.

At times, an old boy invites teachers to his wedding. Among retired teachers, only a select few get such invites. And believe it or not, less than a handful of students in any batch invite teachers to weddings.

Old boys offer several explanations for this. “I was not close to all teachers. I invited the teacher I was close to,” a few tell me. Teachers, however, do not use measuring scales and differentiate students. In my experience, even those teachers who played favourites at school, consider every student “close”. In fact, the naughty boys who were shouted at the most, are the ones more fondly remembered by teachers.

Wedding invite is not the issue. If you don’t wish to invite somebody for your wedding, that’s your personal decision. In any case, all of us miss somebody or the other on such occasions.

The broader and real question is why we do not bother to write even one letter to any school teacher, after a few years of our leaving school. We often remember our teachers but we do not let them know that they are in our thoughts. It will take us less than an hour in a year, to light up the life of a teacher. If so, why not make the effort by posting a letter, sending an e-mail, calling up, or surprising a teacher with a visit?

A few old boys do contact oft-forgotten teachers, and not just the ‘star’ ones. These are exceptions, and exceptional. But why should they be exceptions? Why not make ‘keeping in touch with teachers’ the general rule, or as we often love to say, a Loyola tradition?

After that invite round of 2003, Vivek handed me the address list he had compiled from the school’s records, I keyed it in, and Abishek V (2001) uploaded it on the old boys’ association’s website. And something happened.

Mr V, one of my batchmates, used the address list to send wedding invites. He doubted whether teachers remembered him. So, along with the invite for the reception in Trivandrum, he sent a one-page letter explaining where he was, and how he was grateful to his Loyola teachers. On groom’s day, outside the reception hall, there was a battalion of teachers. As they strode into the hall and blessed him, it was difficult to say who was more happy  — the old boy, his parents, his teachers, or other invitees.

In the coming weeks, I’ll try to get Loyola teachers’ addresses again, and upload them here at loyolites.com. (Update: Teacher addresses uploaded.) Please contact at least one teacher, preferably someone you haven’t seen or heard for years.

This September 5, let us play the game and watch the teachers win.

Download the PDF version of The Loyolite 2008.

Pages 01 to 21 (including cover; 9.5MB)
Pages 22 to 40 (9.3MB)
Pages 41 to 56 (class photos; 7.4MB)
Pages 57 to 120 (excluding Principal interview; 8.7MB)

If the files are too large for download, please read the Table of Contents (1.8 MB) first and identify your favourite pages for download. Given the discussions we have had on this blog, you might enjoy reading the Interview with Principal (transcript; 74KB).

This year’s school magazine was released before Loyola closed for summer holidays. I am told that this was the first time since 1999 that the magazine was distributed before the holidays. Kudos to the editorial team for bringing the publication date back on track.

This year’s magazine makes it to the Web here thanks to student editor Arun Sudarsan (2009 ISC), and old boys Hari Gopal (2005 ISC), and Jiby John Kattakayam (1998 ISC).

Missed last year’s magazine? Hop over to The Loyolite 2007.

As class-teacher of final-year students, Ms Deepa Pillai used to invite old boys to interact with her class. In 2003, when she invited me to Loyola, she hoped that it would get her students to think positively about careers other than engineering and medicine. Nobody (including me) knew what I was — an economist? a political scientist? a journalist? — but I was clearly neither an engineer nor a doctor, and my pedigree hinted that the guys would be excited. As it turned out, they were not just excited, they were agitated. I barked at people and things the class held dear, and they complained that old boys like me should not be given the platform thereafter.

It was there for the first time I heard Loyola students express their career preferences. Engineering was an overwhelming favourite. Law was on the radar — a few old boys had recently joined the National Law School. Only one said that he wanted to be an economist at the World Bank. I came away concluding that students were opting for occupations they knew little about. They desired the fast lane, or to emulate somebody who had been praised in family or society. It was more about things and others, not about work or themselves.

Here, at this Loyola blog, many readers have commented on the engineering-medicine tunnel that Loyolites find themselves in. On his blog, Jiby (1998) recently wrote about his life crisis. I suspect that the roots lie in what Geo wrote in response to Jiby:

After LKG, it was always UKG. After 3rd standard, it was always 4th standard…Till about 10th or 12th we all had well laid out paths in front of us to traverse. We knew our goals and benchmarks.

The way I see the career confusion is: “Loyola-CET” is the default setting in a final-year Loyolite’s operating system. And few know how to change it.

I thought of a few conventional ways for students to reboot their system:

1. Get information on what exactly your parents, relatives, family friends, and well-wishers do in their jobs. Talk to them. Don’t just harbour a wish to be an IAS officer; find out what that guy does from 9.30am to 5.30pm. Gather specific information (micro-actions), not general and vague ones like “administering a district”. This is an essential step for all who believe that they want to be engineers.

2. Read biographies and autobiographies, or profiles in magazines. They tend to glamourise people and jobs, but hey, you need inspiration after hearing your mad-hat cousin in advertising, who’s fed up with his job.

3. You’ve seen teachers and you’ve seen the school gardener. Now, pick up the Essential Guide to Careers in India to know what other mainstream careers exist.

Once you know what you want, and (more importantly) why you want it, find out how to get there. And click “Restart”.

What I’ve written will help to change the default setting of your system.

But, but, but … you’ll still be running the same operating system.

How about chucking Windows of ready-made opportunities and choosing another system? Let’s learn from a fashion-designer in Chennai, a cinematographer in Bombay, and a cricket-writer from West Indies.

School-mate Vivek Karunakaran (1998), the young fashion-designer who continues to make waves, told us a year ago:

I have always been interested in art, craft, design, music, dance, etc.. I always looked forward to the Youth Festival [at Loyola]; loved the interhouse competition and all the fun that came with it.

Film-maker Santosh Sivan (1976) blogged about watching clouds and predicting rain as a kid:

But unconsciously what it did was, while watching these clouds build up or disappear I also started seeing different shades of green and blue, and how this plant looked against this kind of blue, or against this kind of cloud that green is beautiful. I started seeing magical moments in it.

And look what C.L.R. James recalls from his school days, in his much-admired book Beyond a Boundary:

When we moved into Port of Spain, the capital, I read two daily papers and on Sundays the green “Sporting Chronicle” and the red “Sporting Opinion”. I made clippings and filed them. It served no purpose whatever, I had never seen nor heard of anyone doing the like. I spoke to no one about it and no one spoke to me.

Each seems to be telling us: Yes, I do well, thank you. I enjoyed doing this, even as a kid.

Gently, they are reminding us of the young fashion-designer, the photographer and the cricket-writer in them, long before they pursued their passion. Please note that they are not drawing our attention to examination marks or their favourite subject in class. Instead, they are pulling us out of the classroom and showing us what they did in their spare time.

Recalling a hobby in which you immersed yourself for hours, and plumping for it as a career, is akin to pursuing a sign.

I call it a different operating system because it’s not user-friendly and is intimidating — you might start with a low income, and waltz with unknowns. No wonder most of us stick to traditional windows.

But see it differently, if you can. “One has to follow one’s passion — it shows in your work output,” says Deepu John (1986), Principal at venture capital firm iSherpa Capital, and a former Best Loyolite. With the passion you bring to the job, you will most probably excel in that field and rise to the top. In all professions, there’s a lot of money at the top, at least a lot more than you really need.

Our heroes probably did not realise all this in their youth. I certainly didn’t in mine.

As a teenager, when I published a neighbourhood magazine or a family newsletter, I didn’t imagine I would be an editor or writer. I did all that for fun. While studying for BA and MA, I would always find time to publish newsletters and articles. Still, I did not take up wordsmithy. A few twists and turns later, I now write and edit for a living. I am no genius and nowhere near the summit. But I often catch myself saying: “Yes, I do well, thank you. I enjoyed doing this, even as a kid.”

Did I go about writing or did writing come to me? I do not know. But there were signs in my garden. What about yours?

ON BECOMING A FOUR-YEAR OLD BOY

‘Sabse aage ladke kaun..’
You remember those words, don’t you?
And how they fell from your lips,
With the passion of a kiss.
The sweet nectar of a fervent chant
In it we found reassurance.
Something to believe in,
Lapped up by generations of us.

From a baby to a boy,
Not much to ask
Boy to man,
A difficult task.

Your school performed the feat,
You yell to all you meet.
“It moulded me,
It breathed life into me.
The perfect creature I am now
Is because of my school.”
And your eyes slyly ask of theirs,
“Whither your little school?”

But just pause, and wonder.
The others; the boys and the girls.
Study in your school they did not,
Yet there they are, in your office.
At the desk next to yours.
Men and women, doing just what you do.

Look at them; like you they are.
The only thing that defines you,
The ID card around your neck.
The number that you are.

If for you, Loyola was your sun
For them, their school was their moon.
So, ask of yourself this,
How can the sun be better than the moon?
For long years, proudly,
With faith unwavering
You have worn Loyola.
But repulsive the accumulated dirt of condescension,
And perhaps the time has come,
To take your skin for a wash.

For thirteen months, I’ve managed to run this blog without writing about Santosh Sivan (1976), the most famous Loyola old boy. When he won an award for an ad film or earned praise for a new short film on AIDS, I pretended that I hadn’t heard. Because I believed that my mission was to write about less-known Loyolites who did interesting things or performed well in their fields, away from the glamour of filmdom. But look what Santosh Sivan has gone and done now. He makes history such that no self-respecting Loyola history blogger can skip the moment. Folks, I give up.

Because Santosh Sivan is taking Loyola to Hollywood. On 9 May, Before the Rains, his first Hollywood movie — an English language film, an American production — will hit the screens of New York and Los Angeles. I haven’t heard of any Hollywood movie set in colonial Kerala, or with Malayalam dialogues. In that sense, Santosh Sivan is probably taking Kerala (not just Loyola) to Hollywood.

This is the time for renewed debates on “How would Padmarajan have fared in Hollywood?” or “What if Mohanlal had rubbed shoulders with Al Pacino?”, or “Is Santosh Sivan that great (even if Hollywood sees potential in the man)?” But more likely, Indians will rush to occupy the high ground and yell “What Hollywood? What is so historic in this? Bowing before the white man!” Yes, please brace yourself for yet another sms poll.

I am an ordinary guy and so I asked the man-of-the-moment a few ordinary questions. Excerpts from the interview with Santosh Sivan.

Q. In their youth, many Indians desire to become cinematographers or directors. What’s your advice to such people in their teens and twenties?
A. You have only one life. Do whatever you want to. Time is the most valuable commodity, so don’t waste it. If you have a dream, just go for it. The rest follows.

Q. On the screen, when people see a picturesque landscape, they exclaim “Nice cinematography.” Beyond that, what should viewers be really looking out for in the movies, with regard to cinematography? What is good cinematography from a cinematographer’s point of view? When does a cinematographer say, “Ah! I’ve done well.”?
A. Difficult question, it needs a debate actually. Cinematography should be like music…explore the scales for melody and respect silence. Cinematography can be imitative, though one appreciates it when it is innovative. Innovation often happens when you actually try and draw from your experiences and the visual culture that influenced you — the place where you grew up is what makes you have a certain sensibility. And you want to create your own worlds. You tend to imitate more when you are recreating works which have influenced you.

Q. You see the dance of light in a way that most people don’t. Do you see comedy in light? Can we expect a comedy movie from Santosh Sivan?
A. Ha. Humour, yes. Comedy movie, not yet. I enjoy them, though.

Q. Like M.T. Vasudevan Nair, you raise the standard (and win awards) in whatever you do — ad films, films, children’s films, documentaries, short films. Have you thought of giving us a world-class TV series in Malayalam?
A. NO. I love being “hungry” always and exploring new avenues and ideas. It was a dream to release a Malayalam/English film in the US. So Before the Rains is a first of its kind, presented by Merchant-Ivory. When we were to make it, the folks at Hollywood asked me, “Why Malayalam? Our research says, Hindi and Punjabi are better options, since Malayalis don’t see films and only buy pirated VCDs”!

Q. Asoka was partly inspired by your history teacher in Loyola, and Malli was an adaptation of a story you studied in school. Is there a Loyola connection to Before the Rains?
A. Though the story is from the Hollywood producers, it deals with a colonial background, where there are always cultures clashing. For instance, it’s perfectly normal for us to sit in front of computers and crack our head on logic, and equally normal to sit and do religious rituals and break coconuts. I was always fascinated with the roads that wind up into the Wayanad hills, and the efforts to build them. Sort of clashing of nature and man. A road is always a leftover of the clash. And becomes timeless. So many landmarks are British. So these images trigger off. Imagining about them and their life in Kerala and our forefathers, and their relationship. The movie is about such people. Rahul Bose, who is caught in-between and the choices he has to make. So with Linus Roache, Jennifer Ehle, and Nandita [Das] who all have to make choices. It resonates today too where all have to make choices. The film explores the grey areas. No one is stereotyped black or white.

* * *

Is the movie then a world away from Loyola, about which Santosh Sivan once said “Everything from blackboard to the priest’s dress to the school uniform to the pencil to the pen… everything has a black and white quality to it”? Or is there a Loyolite beneath Rahul Bose’s character, who reportedly “has the mentality of an Indian but also wants to be an Englishman”?

1. Do you feel there should be a Campaign to make Loyola a great school?
86.7% (52 votes) said “Yes, I am in favour of a Great School Campaign.”
“No. Loyola is already a great school”: 10% (6 votes)
“I don’t care”: 3.3% (2 votes)

2. Who should lead the Great School Campaign, if there is one?
The top preference was for Loyola Old Boys’ Association (LOBA) to lead the Great School Campaign.
LOBA: 38.3% (23 votes)
The Principal or Vice-Principal: 18.3% (11 votes)
loyolites.com: 18.3% (11 votes)
None of the listed options: 13.3% (8 votes)
Parent-Teacher Association (PTA): 8.3% (5 votes)
School Leader: 3.3% (2 votes)

Many of those who chose “none of the above” favoured a combination — for example, LOBA and PTA, or the authorities and PTA. Other candidates proposed to lead were “a former teacher”, and “a senior and distinguished alumnus”.

60 people participated in the survey. Thank you, guys!

Will LOBA take the next step?

* * *

I feel that there should be a Great School Campaign, and that the PTA should take the lead. Let me explain why I (still) favour the PTA, and not LOBA.

Due to the aura around Fr C.P. Varkey’s reform efforts in the late 1970s and early 1980s, many of us believe that the Jesuits lead the school. But that seems to have been an exception as much as exceptional. I feel that the Jesuits are led by parents and the prevailing social environment. That’s why I favour the PTA to lead the Great School Campaign.

When Fr Kuruvila Cherian became Principal (around 2000), he tried to bring back the emphasis on extra-curricular activities. But the pressure from parents was such that the school turned around to place a premium on academic study. According to a reliable source, when the academic result was not so glorious one year, parents expressed concern at the damage to image — a school producing poor results — caused by increased emphasis on extra-curricular activities. The Jesuits panicked, and Fr Cherian was forced to leave, goes the story.

Though there has been a crackdown on Loyola teachers taking private tuition, the school itself has not shied away from organising extra classes. A few years ago, I was witness to extra classes being held for a Plus Two class, when several sports day competitions were going on in the main field. More shockingly (for me), when student interest in the youth festival declined — initially in the late 1980s, but significantly in the 2000s — the Jesuits responded by slashing the number of festival days. Instead of convincing parents and students why the youth festival should be held the way it used to be, the Jesuits even okayed in-camera competitions — three judges and the competitors in a room — thereby signalling that extra-curricular activities are “extra” in Loyola. The merits of participating in an event or reciting a poem before the school were ignored; festivals were organised as rituals to select winners and write certificates.

Didn’t Fr Varkey face pressure from parents? I am sure he did. He explained his reform philosophy to the parents of the day, and won them over. His charisma may have helped, but he also benefited from the prevailing social environment. Fr Varkey may not have succeeded among today’s Loyola parents.

Consider the parents of today. Most of them grew up in a competitive era, and they believe that competition has only intensified since then. Also, most of them enjoyed reasonably good, private-school, English-medium education, and for their kids, they set a higher standard of success. Add to this today’s social values — the worship of wealth (the hype surrounding salaries emanating from an IIM diploma), and a tacit acceptance of getting what you want by hook-or-crook (result-oriented actions). All this is a planet afar from the Loyola parents of the 1970s and 1980s, and the environment they raised their kids in. Is it any wonder that Baker is out and big is in? Is it any surprise that children should play less and playgrounds should be fenced because cars have to ply on the school’s road?

For good or bad, the parents are more powerful than the Jesuits — he who pays the Piper calls the tune. If you wish to make Loyola a great school, I believe that your best bet lies in convincing the parents and letting them lead the Great School Campaign. What happens in Loyola happens because the parents let that happen.

Postscript: From my LOBA experience, I would say that the worst group to lead the Great School Campaign would be the LOBA. Its leadership lacks the intellectual strength and commitment to lead such a campaign, and the organisation is powerless in the school’s scheme of things. That’s hardly surprising, since all of us have left it to the rest of us to run the organisation. But if you insist that LOBA should lead the Campaign and make it a success, I suggest that you get enough friends from various batches to turn up at the next General Body Meeting, capture the organisation’s leadership (the six key posts and the Executive Committee) and settle down to business. The real poll is offline, not online.

When I was a very young Loyolite, I chose SS House. There were three weighty reasons: the attractive red flag of Sputnik Spacemen; the logo with a prominent Superman-like ‘S’; and that the House Captain commuted along with us in Bus Number 3.

Ten days ago, I met the man behind the red flag and the super logo.

Giles Francis, son of an army officer, was schooled for the most part in northern India. In 1963, he returned to Trivandrum and joined Mar Ivanios College to study Economics. While there, Giles did not merely draw demand-supply curves as I was to do thirty years later; he enrolled in a correspondence course in art. By the time he graduated in economics, Giles had also become a qualified commercial artist.

In the early 1970s, he drew greeting cards (bought by USIS staff in Trivandrum), designed textiles for firms in Madurai and Coimbatore, and in his spare time, privately tutored schoolboys in Hindi. Among his students were Loyolites.

One day (in 1973 or 1974), a Loyola student of his took the artistic Hindi teacher to Fr C.P. Varkey. The four Houses in school — Green, Yellow, Blue and Red — had recently been rechristened Apollo Pioneers, Gemini Giants, Jupiter Jetsetters, and Sputnik Spacemen. Giles was asked to design the logos of the four Houses and make a flag for each House.

Giles Francis in front of the building where he painted the House flags in the 1970s – Photo: Ashok R Chandran

In going about the task, was he influenced by the Houses in his own school, the Jesuit institution St Xavier’s, Hazaribagh? “No. The Houses there were Britto, Gonzaga, Loyola and Xavier”, Jesuit saints light years away from the space age names he encountered in Sreekariyam.

“I was interested in calligraphy. For Apollo Pioneers, I used a monogram with the letters A and P joining together,” Giles revealed. “Sputnik Spacemen…the House colour was red. For the logo to be prominent on red background, I chose white. The ‘S’ with an orbit just struck me.”

I told Giles that I found the Gemini Giants logo quite complicated. I mean, AP had the spacecraft and SS had the orbit, but GG was bewildering. He asked, “Isn’t that the Gemini twins?” Even as I wondered whether it was he or me who had a memory lapse, I quickly drew a crude version of the logo. He took one look at it and said “Yes. That’s the astrology symbol for Gemini.” In less than a minute, by pointing to the stylised symbol for Gemini, Giles had snatched my admiration from the SS camp and placed it in GG.

As a kid I could barely say Jetsetters and the dark blue House vest is as unappealing now as it was then. Thankfully, I was in Jupiter Jetsetters only for one year. Yet, that’s where my loyalty lies. Because I led JJ House in my final year of school. And when you are house captain, you don’t fail to notice that on Sports Day, you carry a light blue flag but wear a dark blue vest. Giles unravelled the puzzle. “On a flag, from a distance, dark blue can look like black. That’s why light blue was chosen,” he explained.

Giles should know because he was the one who went to Chalai and selected the cloth for each flag. “The cloth is crape, not satin,” he said. That’s another Loyola myth broken. How little we know about the objects we worshipped in school! Giles tells me the benefit of silk,”Satin is heavy. A flag has to flutter. Crape is best.”

Giles used fabric paint to paint the logos on the flags of Houses. He then made badges for the House Captains, the School Leader, the Assistant School Leader, and the General Captain.

Giles’ artwork for Loyola was not limited to the logos of Houses. Fr Kuruvila Cherian was a man of ideas. He had worked with Giles on the design of logos, and as Vice-Principal he commissioned a series of paintings on Jesus Christ (Jesus as a toddler, a young boy, and so on), one to be hung in each classroom.

In the 1980s and 1990s, Giles drew a school map on a wooden panel, designed a school magazine cover, and served as a judge at La Fest. His other connection with Loyola is that Giles is a cousin of the former Rector Fr Dominic George.

When Giles’ father retired from the army, he had settled in Trivandrum and set up a foreign languages institute. But it did not take off. Today, on request, Giles takes language classes in German, Russian, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, and spoken English. His students include Japanese computer professionals visiting India, and Indian doctors wishing to learn Chinese.

After retiring from Keltron (where he worked in the advertising and public relations department), Giles has also been running a homestay for tourists. It was at Graceful Homestay, with a glass of pineapple juice in one hand and an afternoon breeze in the face, that I heard the story of Loyola’s logos. “You are the first to ask me about it,” said Giles.

As I took leave, it was his turn to quiz me, “Do you know who designed the emblem of Loyola School?” I began hesitatingly “Er…you did that one too?” “No,” he replied, “Laurie Baker designed it.”

Acknowledgement: The tipster wishes to remain anonymous. Fr Edassery and Madhu uncle helped me take the photo of the new JJ flag.

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Here are excerpts from the 2 pages of extracts in the souvenir.

The admission policy of the school is to select the students on the basis of an entrance test. However, Catholics and close relatives of the Jesuits and of the School’s employees, and children from the immediate neighbourhood are admitted independently of ranking.

The School grants the following fee concessions: (1) Free education to the children of Loyola’s employees, (2) Half or Full fee concession to about 60 students, the norms for selection here being the economic backwardness of the parents.

The School has a sufficiently well equipped library and laboratory. The library has over 7,000 books. The School subscribes to 20 periodicals and newspapers. Rs 10/- per student is annually spent in the library. Every week 100 to 150 books are issued to the students of Stds VI to X. In the library, book shelves are kept open and are ascessible to students.

The standard of discipline is rated very good in respect of both staff and students. There is a remarkable atmosphere of freedom and fearlessness prevailing among the students. The whole campus is also remarkable for neatness and cleanliness, as well as a sense of decency and courtesy in behaviour. Wall writings and things like that are not to be seen anywhere. Smaller boys have no need to fear bullying by bigger ones. Smoking is unknown. Corporal punishment is not allowed.

What immediately strikes one about Loyola is that here there seems to be a conscious, systematic and consistent pursuit of certain goals. Imagination, ommitment and drive seem to characterise the school’s leadership. This is shown in every aspect.

It goes without saying that in terms of academic achievement Loyola must be given Very High rating. The contribution of the School to educational thinking, taken in a broad sense, through its bold experimentations innovative programmes, (and numberous seminars by the Principal to as many as fifty schools and parent groups) must be considered significant.

Nearly 90% of the respondents characterize the School as outstanding academically and in discipline, and about 25% as Fostering creativity and critical thinking.

The souvenir presented these extracts with the heading “Know the School Better”. Three things struck me:

1. All the extracts showed the school in a positive light. I’ve quoted only a few here but there was not a single sentence in the others too about any weakness or discomfort in Loyola. Didn’t the entire evaluation report have any? If it had, why were such points not published in the souvenir?

2. The article did not give any details about the team of Jesuits that conducted the evaluation. Were all four working in Loyola in 1980?

3. The evaluation was conducted in 1980, and extracts of the report were published in 1983. Even when published so late, no information was shared on how many people of different groups (Jesuits, teachers, parents, students, old boys, outsiders) were surveyed.

It could be that the entire report was placed before the Parent-Teacher Association before publication in the souvenir. There are several missing pieces and I hope more facts will come to light to clear the air. Till then, let us examine the revealed bits.

Earlier, while writing about politics in Loyola, I mentioned the Jesuits trumpeting their virtues, sometimes with good reasons. Prior to it, in the context of LA Fest, I had sneered at the culture of whitewashing that plagues recent school magazines. Read along with the publication of 1983 (of the evaluation), I discover that the school has a history of practising “Ashwathama hatah”.

Such reluctance to tell the whole truth surprises me. If the school stood out in the early 1980s (in Kerala, if not in India) it was rooted in an honest and critical look at existing practices, and challenging of entrenched beliefs. The stopping of corporal punishment, for instance, would not have happened if all were busy sweeping stories under the carpet.

On the bright side, the extracts in the souvenir reveal that an evaluation took place. I do not know whether it was a regular practice of the Jesuits. But elsewhere in the souvenir, we learn that staff evaluation and planning started in Loyola in 1979. It is remarkable for a school to have a culture of self-evaluation. I remember that a few days into every academic year, a lengthy staff meeting was held. Students played to their hearts’ content for hours. Looking back, those afternoons benefited us off the sports field too.

Or did they?

“Staff planning and evaluation” still exists for sure. This is what happens when some visionary kicks off a good practice; people follow it as a tradition.

The spirit of the evaluation — to look critically and constructively at one’s own practices — must be applied to the evaluation process itself. The school can, for example, widen the scope of the evaluation. How about including parents, teachers, old boys, students and outsiders in the evaluation in 2008? Will the school lose more than it might gain?

Re-read the extracts from the evaluation of 1980. There’s not a single sentence there that helps a good school think ahead. Its publicised findings are a listing of outcomes of reforms initiated between 1976 and 1979; they contain no insightful reflection to take the school forward.

Could it be a coincidence that the school, in terms of education, eschewed reforms and went into ‘maintenance’ mode soon thereafter? New Principals and Vice-Principals — many of them good individuals — came and went but none took the school to noticeably great heights. They focused on strengthening the hardware: facilities such as a mosaic basket-ball court, a rebuilt tennis court, a large playground, or a large auditorium. I suspect that it took their attention away from the software: education, curriculum, training and other invisible, yet key domains. Maybe the school needed a good dose of hardware then. Maybe it needs a similar dose of software now.

I often hear old boys say “Oh! Loyola is not such a good school these days. My neighbour, whose son is in Loyola, tells me…”, or “There is no longer an emphasis on extracurricular activities” and so on. From the other corner, I hear current students and those who passed recently speak highly of the school. Each of us consequently has pet theories and grouses grounded in anecdotes than any fact, or meaningful survey.

Schools, like firms or organisations, have to improve their services, not just to compete with other schools but also for society’s progress. I believe that a Great School Campaign is needed, and that it should begin with trying to understand the school today. The first step could be an honest and critical assessment conducted by a mixed team (of Jesuits, teachers, parents, students, old boys, and outsiders). After sharing that report with the public — yes, the school is embedded in a community and non-Loyolites too have a stake in Loyola — the old boys should institute endowments, promote alumni participation in school activities or do whatever emerge as action points. Old boys, instead of pumping money in a fit of nostalgia, should behave responsibly with meaningful interventions.

In 2008, the Parent-Teacher Association, with its deep stake in the school, should initiate a comprehensive and systematic evaluation of the school. That way, when Loyola celebrates its golden jubilee three years from now, the school will have a blueprint for life after 50, not merely a glossy, colour brochure patting itself on the back. The school will benefit more from a gutter inspector’s report than another round of whitewashing. Let us not turn the clock back to 1980.

Can I ask for 2 minutes of your time this month? Please participate in a 2-question survey on the Great School Campaign. Poll open till 28 March. Results will be announced on 30 March 2008.

Update! Results of the 2-question survey are now available.

Here are two I liked, for different reasons.

1. “Such, Such Were the Joys” by George Orwell
2. “My Favorite Teacher” by Thomas L. Friedman

Orwell is an author I’ve enjoyed reading. I loved Animal Farm and often return to “Politics and the English Language”. When I ploughed through his essay attacking St Cyprian’s School, I did not take an instant liking to it. The tone was so negative that I felt I should read Cyril Connolly’s positive recollections of the same school.

But why I list Orwell here is probably because he has done what I have not dared to: he has gone public. Now, you won’t catch me always singing hallelujah to Loyola, but I shy away from presenting (what I feel is) the ugh-liest side. As a blogger, that’s a dilemma I face. If I hear about corruption or paedophilia in a bygone era, should I investigate and if true, publish about it in this blog on Loyola history? Forget the school. Should I publish a story about a Loyolite whose extraordinariness lies in his current misfortune or notoriety? Even when the writer in me wants to probe and publish, the editor in me is too green to weigh the merits and demerits. Maybe I should learn from Orwell who knew his article to be libelous; it was published in the US only after Orwell’s death, and in the UK, even later — after the villains died.

Thomas Friedman’s piece, in contrast, is a feel-good story that will evoke memories of Loyola. It is as American as Orwell’s is British. But that’s not why I bring it to your attention.

For Loyola bloggers, Friedman’s article is an example of how to write a polished recollection of one’s school or teacher. For students in Loyola, it shows the potential of LENS and the need to re-ignite the paper. For the rest, the essay is a steady flight to a higher plane — of gratitude, excellence and responsibility.

Enjoy!

A few years ago, in the feedback forum of the Old Boys’ Association website, students from the 1970s and 1980s posted comments recalling their teachers, at times naming a few. What struck me was that some of the lady teachers who earned the praise, would have to beg for such expressions from later students. Simply put, they did not enjoy a healthy reputation by the 1990s.

Lady teachers who were good and popular when I was in junior school had turned bad and unpopular by the time I was in high school. Their counterparts in senior school too were good and popular, but invariably lost sheen by the time I left Loyola, or within a few years.

What do I mean by a “good” teacher? A good teacher is one who treats students like her own, tries to innovate in class, or encourages students to realise their potential in extra-curricular activities. A bad and unpopular teacher is conservative in the classroom, spends little time with students, hurts students through harsh methods of punishment, and appears to hate students than love them.

If we plot a teacher’s age on the x-axis and a teacher’s “good”ness on the y-axis, the career graph of a lady school-teacher would be a downward-sloping curve from left to right.

What could be the explanation for this? Is it that people grow tired over the years and prefer to go over the motions? Is it that the salary is not attractive for constant innovation?

My pet reason is as outlandish as the observation: the lady teacher’s son grew old.

Let me explain. A lady teacher enjoys solid reputation when she teaches students who are older than her own child. She is at her best when her students are roughly the same age as her child. As her child outgrows her students (remember, a teacher remains in Std IV while her son or daughter moves up), the teacher gradually turns indifferent, impatient, and generally less-liked. The lady teacher grows with her own child. So, typically a retiring lady teacher is likely to be less popular than in the past because her son or daughter would have entered college by then. That seems to have been the case of teacher X in senior school, who was popular in the 1970s and early 1980s, but less so by the 1990s. Teacher Y in junior school was popular when I was her student, but less so ten years later, because her child was by then studying in the senior school.

(The internet’s permanence endows it with an ability to be damaging and nasty. I also recognise that my article is based on anecdotal evidence, not a scientific survey. So, in all fairness, I desist from naming teachers.)

I do not see such an unhappy coincidence in the case of male teachers, though. Indeed, the opposite seems to hold true in their case. A male teacher is at his best when he approaches retirement (or teaches after retirement).

If we plot a teacher’s age on the x-axis and a teacher’s “good”ness on the y-axis, the career graph of a male school-teacher would be a wavy curve that initially rises, then falls, and finally rises.

Let me guess what’s happening. As a new broom, he is adventurous and popular. After a few years, as he is reined in by “realistic” colleagues and withdraws, his career curve starts falling. In this phase, he is a bad teacher: shunning innovation, strict, inward-looking, and apparently hurting students in words and deeds. Somewhere along the way (I haven’t found an inflection point like the lady teacher’s son’s age) the male teacher matures, turns accommodating, becomes open to students’ ideas, is less spiteful, and is most knowledgeable in the subject as well as pedagogy.

I repeat, I do not know why this happens. Probably, he has reflected on his career and is trying to avoid the mistakes of the past. Like the lady teachers, the male teacher’s children too may have grown older than his students, but that does not seem to have adversely affected the male teacher’s performance in school.

The male teacher seems to be career-driven while the female teacher is family-driven.

There are two reasons why I share my outlandish observation and theory publicly.

1. If what I have sketched is true, then it has an implication for hiring teachers, and training them at appropriate stages in their careers. An “experienced” lady teacher, not the “pretty, young thing”, might be the one who badly requires a refresher course in education. Similarly, the middle-aged male teacher needs help and should be encouraged to reflect actively. A combined refresher session — male and female teachers of all ages sitting together — may not be the best course for Loyola to adopt.
2. I seek validation or repudiation. Is my observation true? What has been your experience at Loyola or any other school? Is my explanation correct? What could be happening here? (Please do not identify teachers by names, especially if you are portraying them as “bad” teachers.)

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The Loyola search engine is a product/service that improves our lives in a simple and small way. It is not the first of Loyola products, but it highlights the potential and likelihood of a new generation of products for Loyola old boys.

Generation 1 Products

The earliest Loyola alumni products were the newsletter and the directory, both launched by the Loyola Old Boys’ Association (LOBA) between 1990 and 1992, when P.A. Murukan (1984) was the secretary. Since then, the newsletter has invariably appeared twice a year. The revised editions of the directory have been less frequent. Bringing out a revised directory is a mammoth task, one that calls for a Pradeep Kumar (1974) to lead and accomplish. An online version (partially revised) appeared in July 2004, but is no longer available on the web.

Gen 1 products were initiated by the Association, and were used by LOBA members of various batches. These products emerged in an era when people looked up to the Fat Man to deliver the goods. If one or two Loyolites had an idea for the alumni community, they would approach Fat Man, and after deliberations among office-bearers, Fat Man would either accept (and implement) the idea or reject the idea. If the idea was rejected, Little Boys would go home, instead of implementing it on their own. Because even though LOBA members did not account for even 1/3rd of the students who studied at Loyola, the Association was synonymous with the Loyola alumni movement.

Generation 2 Products

Somewhere in the late 1990s, things changed. As the economy liberalised, people became confident of trying things out on their own; looking up to the state went out of fashion in India. In LOBA’s case, more than the social environment, it was probably technology that ushered in a new era. The internet made it possible for Little Boys to ignore the Fat Man.

In several batches, one or two Loyolites created e-groups. Little Boys did not bother to pitch the idea to Fat Man; they just set up the groups and started exchanging mails. As the internet became ubiquitous and more Loyolites joined the infotech industry, e-groups mushroomed and buzzed with activity. Some batches (like 1988, 1991, 1998 and 2001) set up their own websites.

These Gen 2 alumni products/services were initiated by one or two individuals, and were aimed at serving their own batch. An exception was the 1991 batch’s website, but that too was set up initially for the batch, and was only later extended to the entire Loyola alumni community. The ‘batchward’ sentiment of the era is also reflected in the rise of batch names. Boys of Seventy-Seven (BOSS – 1977), Ninety-One Batch LoyolitES (NOBLES -1991), Knights (1988) and Sabse Aage (2001) became prominent.

Generation 3 Products

And now we have Gen 3 — products initiated by a few individuals, but for the entire Loyola community (and possibly beyond). The Loyola search engine is an example, but not the first of this kind.

The earliest Gen 3 products were the communities of Loyolites at Orkut, which helped old boys get in touch with friends, including seniors and juniors. The Loyola School Trivandrum community, the biggest of them, was set up in 2004 by Christophe Manshoven (2001) and handed over to Deepak Madhusoodanan (1996). Note the inter-batch co-operation without mediation by LOBA. loyolites.com too sprang up in 2007 at the initiative of a few individuals of different batches, and serves all Loyolites; it was neither conceived nor implemented by LOBA.

The shift from Gen 2 to Gen 3 too has been driven by technology and how people use it. Today, tools for creating small products are available on our personal computer, and the expenses involved are negligible. Preparing an audio-video feature on Loyola no longer calls for signing a deal with a TV production company; if you or your friends are talented and tech-literate, it can be readied over a weekend. I think we’ll see more Gen 3 products coming from tech-savvy Loyolites who are in college: they have ideas, they are enterprising, and they embrace technology.

What product/service can you create?

T-shirts, posters, coffee mugs or any of the merchandise typically produced for universities in the US and Europe? How about a Loyola alumni letterhead that old boys can use to write letters to teachers? Heard of the guy who created a “Cheer Loyola Sons” ringtone? Why not offer an MP3 collection called “Songs of Loyola” for download? Students of Loyola, why not publish the LENS on the internet? Why not sell a CD of the school magazines? Why not…

Contrary to beliefs, it does not take much time to create a product. It took me only one day to set up the Loyola search engine. It may have taken me 25 hours (spread across months) to set up the system for the monthly e-newsletter; it takes less than two hours a month to deliver the service.

Why would you create a Loyola product? For the sheer fun of it. There are bonuses in store too. If your product is offered free (like my blog or the e-newsletter), you’ll be happy when a Loyolite calls you from London to say that he enjoys using your product. If your product is sold at a price, you can earn a few bucks. In my experience, there’s a vast pool of Loyolites eager to consume Loyola products. There are buyers waiting for sellers.

In the past, people expected Fat Man to do things, and complained whenever Fat Man failed to. Today, Little Boys take the road less travelled, and oh boy, hasn’t that made a difference! So, think of a Loyola product and run with it.

I look forward to hosting a “Loyola Shop” at loyolites.com in 2008.

What’s your idea, mate?

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• For a school that has made a mark on the national quizzing scene in recent years, the most significant development of 1982-83 was probably the setting up of a quiz and debate squad — “the brainchild of Mr B.O. Sebastian” and guided by Mrs. Santha Nair. Mitu Gulati (1983) wrote “The Squad started its work with house-wise quiz programmes for different standards. In the second term, a debate for Std IX and X was conducted on the topic ’20th Century Man: Better Off than his Predecessors’.”
• 105 students were involved in service squads, whose number rose from twelve to nineteen in 1982-83. (It is not clear as to which ones were introduced that year). There were service squads for maintenance, auditorium, wall diary, buses, safety, picture display, weather chart, indoor games, inter-school competitions, morning study, and LENS. Sankar Krishnan (1983) wrote about LENS, “Loyola English Newspaper Service aims at reaching all the item of news in the school to the students through their weekly publications. Some special issues regarding the School Day, St. Ignatius Day, the Loyola Basketball Tournament and indoor games have also come out. We carried out a few interviews and also conducated an indepth survey of Cheruvickal School to find out exactly to what extent it profits from Loyola’s helping hand.”
• The School had children from four religions — Hinduism, Christianity, Islam and Sikhism. Prayer services or special assemblies were held before major festivals, and programmes included singing of devotional songs by the school choir, reading of extracts from sacred books or of well-known writers, and an explanation of the festival’s theme by the Principal.
• “Every Saturday our blue bus rolls by / Every Saturday we Loyolites in blue get on” to go to school for NCC parade, wrote Rajiv Narayanan (1985), then in Std VIII. Rajiv’s poem reveals that aeromodeling was taken seriously, and so was shooting. “When they whistle after theory class / We Loyolites jump up from the grass” suggests that the class was held outdoors. I counted about 70 cadets in a photograph. And yes, the Troop Commander was Mr C.T. Varkey.
• It was the year of the Asian Games in Delhi and the sports fever was quite high in Sreekariyam. In school sports, there was a Loyolite in the state hockey team, one in the state athletic team and two in the state cricket team, not to speak of several in the district teams, including eight in the Trivandrum district basketball team. Loyola were the district champions in basketball.
• But Loyola was runner-up in the school’s own basketball tournament, losing to St Thomas 63-85 in the final. Varghese Varghese (1983) in his analysis of the ninth Loyola basketball tournament wrote

[t]he St. Thomas team are older in age and experience, and are taller too. We Loyolites, as an average are of medium height and in basketball, height has a great advantage. lacking this we should patch this up with accurate shooting, for which we have not yet got the knack. Quick and short passes with drive-ins can often change the tide of the game and the St. Thomas players dominated in all these fields. But in outside shots, we Loyolites are far superior…. Coaching is another factor which decides the fate of the game. This coaching given by Mr P C Thomas though very useful was really very brief and short. The lack of dedication and interest taken by the players is responsible for this. We have yet to master the art of man to man defence.

• Students of Std VII went on a half-day study tour to the neighbouring Central Tuber Crops Research Institute.
• The School Day was held in November, as in the previous year. This was probably a hangover from the past, when the academic year (till 1979) was from January to December. “About 350 students, i.e. 1/3 of the whole school” appeared on the stage. Earlier, “about 85%” of the students had taken part in the school’s own youth festival, according to the Principal’s annual report.
• Loyola organised an inter-school youth festival for neighbouring schools. “About 150 students from five neighbouring U.P. and L.P. schools participated,” said the Principal.
• On the social work front, the school was active. The Principal’s report says, “Students donated Rs 1,000 to Sisters of the Poor, Rs 3,000 for the rehabilitation of the blind and Rs 10,000 to the Cheshire Homes. They donated text books and uniforms worth Rs 6,000 to poor children studying in neighbouring schools.” A later publication put the figure at Rs 5,000. The school offered full or half fee concessions to 61 students.
• The construction of the silver jubilee block (building) was in progress. It probably began in 1982-83. If so, some of you may see this as the biggest contribution of 1982-83 to Loyola history.
• Principal Fr Varkey conducted a day-long seminar for parents, on child psychology. Dr Manoranjan Rao, a scientist at VSSC wrote “Topics like Motivation, Responsibility, Jealousy, Sex education etc. were also dealt with. Also certain case studies were analyzed by the participants who were divided into ‘groups’ for this purpose. The ‘group discussions’ were carefully ‘guided’ by the Principal…” Fr Varkey’s ‘human relations approach’ seminars were popular in not just Trivandrum, but far away Bombay too, revealed one letter from a parent in the metro.
• Old boys outside Trivandrum wrote letters to the school. Rajiv Vijayan (1980) wrote from IIT Madras “Dear Fr Varkey, I reached IIT on 12th July. Our classes began on 19th July. I am staying in Mandakini Hostel….Here I have met four ex-Loyolites–Lagichan, Joseph Mathew, Roy Mathew and Vani Prasad.”
• The School Magazine of the previous year did not have students on the editorial board. In 1982-83, five student editors appeared: Paul Augustine, Sajit N., Anand M., Sankar Krishnan and Sanjay Kumar (all 1983). Though the editorial board did not mention his name, the statutory declaration said that Fr C.P. Varkey was the Editor.
• I have not confirmed this, but it looks like the medal for the school topper in the SSLC exam was named after Renji Mathew in 1982-83. The previous year’s school magazine mentions it as “Loyola Medal”.

* * *

What are your recollections of 1982-83?

How different is Loyola today (or the Loyola you studied in)?

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In the first year of blogging about the school, could I have asked for greater acceptance and recognition?

As year 2007 ends, here are a few lessons, sweet and sour.

1. Loyolites are hungry for news about the school, teachers and old boys. Even though the biggest discovery of my blog was probably the composer of the school song, it got overshadowed by two news reports: Deepa Madam Moves On, and IAS Exam: 3 Loyolites in Top 10. There is a lesson in this for Loyola Old Boys’ Association, the school, and other ventures based in Trivandrum.
2. Readers come to read online, not act offline. Your blog can pump out ideas (like digitising school magazines, Great School Campaign), but you should not expect readers to take the initiative for implementing them. At best, readers will do activities that can be done online; primarily, supplying intellectual inputs. They don’t lead, they follow. For getting things done, you have to write to people personally, ask for funds privately, and mobilise action offline. Like the Joseph Uncle Campaign. You will get support, not leadership. The blog is in a wired enclave.
3. You can’t please everybody. One of my beliefs when I started the blog was that the content would be attractive to not only Loyola old boys, but also old boys of other schools in India, especially Kerala. People who read about the school song will think of their own school song, people who read about Loyola’s buildings will think of their own school building, and to go back to their school, they will come to this blog, that was my train of thought. The meagre feedback I sought from non-Loyolites suggests that they do not find the blog attractive. “You are writing about your school, and I can’t identify with it,” said one. But the bigger surprise was that there were Loyolites who did not find this blog appealing. Why? The language is not casual (none of the “Hey dude! Gr8 to c ya”), the matter-of-fact tone is dry, there is no nostalgic “Loyola is great” tom-tomming, the topics are too intellectual…you can add your grouse to the list.
4. Blogging steals time, like television. As a blogger based far away from Loyola, I knew that I could not channelise a news river from the school. That’s why the blog was to revolve around the social history of the school, rather than what was happening in Loyola now. Blogging about people, places and the past wouldn’t be difficult, right? How wrong I was! Writing a new and interesting article every fortnight drains your energy and time. Replying to comments, answering queries via e-mail, planning and co-ordinating specials (like on Fr Pulickal), writing posts…phew! Where’s the time to market and monetise this blog, to make it self-financing?
5. To be a happy, amateur blogger, find a niche and be regular. I chose Loyola’s social history as the pivot for my blog, after months of research on blogging. When I floated the idea, there was silence from some quarters and opposition from others; not even one person welcomed the choice of topic. All wanted me to blog, but friends (including Loyolites) and relatives groaned and asked, “Haven’t you grown out of this Loyola thing?” But within months, the same friends and relatives were applauding. Whatever success the blog has achieved is mainly due to (a) the niche topic; (b) the regularity of postings; and (c) basic writing techniques.

I enjoy every interaction that arises via the blog and thank all of you for your encouragement through online visits and offline phone calls, blogpost comments and e-mails. Two among you have been regular and unwavering in your support from day one — Jiby (online) and Roshen (offline). I cannot thank you enough. Syam appears villainous on screen but is a hero backstage — he scouts energetically for the Loyolites’ Blogs section.

My blogging goals for 2008

1. Deliver good content and regularly.
2. Build the great school campaign and spark a few more ventures.
3. Make the blog self-financing, at least to pay the webhosting charges ($10/month).
4. Do all this more efficiently, i.e. in less time.

A few weeks ago, Ashok Mathew (1995) reminded me of Loyola’s reputation as a place that had classes even when other schools were closed for bandh or hartal. Indeed, as schoolgoers, our most celebrated political encounters were on bandh days. In case the previous day had ended with only a lingering rumour of the impending bandh/hartal, the suspense would have been carried over to the day’s morning newspapers and radio news. And even if a government official had announced a holiday for schools, there would be anxious parents and hopeful kids who asked, “But is it a holiday for Loyola?”. After all, the Jesuits were known for combing through an announcement and coming up with clarifications like “It says holiday for city schools. Our school is not inside the city. It is a working day for Loyola.”

The Jesuits were proud of successfully resisting bandhs/hartals and when talking to students, would add it — along with “punctuality” and “merit-based admissions” — to the mystique of Loyola. The anti-bandh sentiment of Loyolites seems partly rooted in this culture of resistance (to resistance) which we grew up in. So, when Cheru Cherian John (1995) narrates a Kerala bandh to his classmates in a business school, I see Loyola in it as much as I see Wharton. Similarly, when my classmate joins the anti-bandh caravan with his comments, I find him carrying a satchel from school.

The Jesuits in our school were anti-Communist (who can forget Fr Pulickal’s potshots at the communist leaders, especially E.K. Nayanar?) and there was no Leftist teacher let loose on the students. So, instead of fair or serious discussions of communism and socialism, we got only caricatures. The school did not sensitise us to the struggles of the poor, or of the castes and religions discriminated against in India.

I say these not to attack teachers or Loyola but to point out that the school left us in the safe tents of Kerala’s anti-communist, secular, middle-class politics — a terrain marked by political apathy, than intervention. Even those Loyolites who later dabbled in college campus politics on an SFI platform may not be able to identify any strong and genuine political streak in themselves. Perhaps, the lone exception is Joy Elamon (1978), who took to pro-poor politics seriously, and in whose case Loyola would be the last to claim credit.

For sure, being political is not just about affiliating oneself to a political party. The school inculcated in us values like fairness, honesty, dignity of labour and concern for the poor — all of which define the contours of our worldviews, including our politics. And in everyday encounters, faced with choices, we reveal our preferences and our politics.

When a lady is harrassed at the bus-stop, a Loyolite is likely to watch inactively, or move away. It is unlikely that he will step in or gather a crowd to stop the injustice. The Loyolite will avoid such a political act in a public space, if he can. This apathy, I believe, stems from the school’s fostering of obedience and acceptance as virtues, and questioning and protest as inappropriate.

For like any “good, Christian school”, Loyola was free from campus politics. The gate was always closed to political student organisations like the SFI and KSU; this ensured that no students’ issues entered the campus from outside. Strikes by students were unheard of, and when Loyolites left the school and entered colleges (where strikes were common), they nostalgically wrote letters praising the no-strike atmosphere of Loyola. Recently, I came across one such letter in a school magazine of the early 1980s.

Within its walls too, on issues specific to Loyola, the school discouraged voicing of opinions in public. The English newsletter LENS and the school Assembly unique to Loyola were platforms that could have been used for pamphleteering or political speeches.

But in the Loyola of the 1980s, the fear of suspension and dismissal was so high that few dared to question any action by the authorities. Each batch may have had its school Assembly or farewell Assembly where a student boldly aired his disapproval of something that had happened. For example, in our farewell Assembly in January 1991, one friend lamented Loyola’s razing down of the beloved “jungle” to make way for a stadium. But such Assemblies with local political content were rare.

Every year, there was only one major election in Loyola for students: to choose the school leader. In the elections from 1985-1990, the SSLC vs ICSE spirit ran high and students voted along SSLC/ICSE lines. Since crude identity politics played itself out, I would classify the elections of those years as mildly political. Otherwise, elections were essentially popularity contests, not issue-based political battles. After all, the school leader was not really involved in the running of the school. I hear that these days, teachers too vote in the election of the school leader.

In many such ways, as Loyola protected us from having to take sides or join in a common cause, it also distanced us from the rough and tumble of politics. If today we are establishmentarians and loyalists in our workplaces, the “discipline culture” of Loyola probably has something to with it.

Invisibly too, the school might have shaped our political attitudes, as for instance through the textbooks we studied. In Brown Man’s Burden, Amar D. Dhinsa writes about studying Ricky Ticky Tavi in the Radiant Reader

This story was written by Rudyard Kipling an English writer. It was an English perspective on India. We were taught to identify with the English family rather than with the snake. In actual fact, the cobra is the ‘normal’ element in India and the English family was the ‘abnormal’ element. Therefore we were being taught to identify with the outsider. We were being educated to see our country through imperial eyes, to see Indianness as the other.

I would not go so far as to accuse the priests and teachers at Loyola of choosing “imperialist” stories and texts to shape our young minds. Such influence on our worldwiew flowed unknowingly, I believe.

Was Loyola of the 1990s and 2000s different politically? I do not know. My guess is that politics is still a dirty word in that part of the world.

While the school seems to have thus shaped our politics visibly and invisibly, it would be unfair not to acknowledge others. If we are anti-bandh and anti-hartal today, the credit should largely go to Kerala’s political parties and their student outfits, whose terror tactics have devalued democratic forms of protest. For our “let-us-not-get-involved” political apathy, who can deny that Loyola fostered only what our families practised and desired. As we moved away from Loyola, we might have become more aware of political issues, but our busy workspaces keep us distant from political action, as much as Loyola did. If we are anti-communist, it is also because we watched the decline and decay of communism in the 1980s and 1990s, and grew up when neo-liberalism was on the ascent. And then, of course, there are the hard knocks we have endured alone, starting with having to pay a bribe at a government office.

When it comes to politics, we have learnt more from life, than from Loyola.

Long long ago, circa 1996, Geocities.com was one of the most popular websites. It was also among the first webhosting services that allowed users to host webpages free-of-cost. If you wanted to build a site at Geocities, they would first ask you to pick a neighbourhood (“SiliconValley” for tech-related websites, “Hollywood” for entertainment-related websites). And just as your postal address carried your neighbourhood’s name, your web address too would.

It was in this world of Geocities that Mathew Joseph Pongonthara (1976), the school leader of his batch, decided to build a “cyberhome” for schoolmates. He appears to have been inspired by the other Loyola in his life — Loyola College, Chennai — whose old boys had set up an alumni website the previous year, and on which, Mathew had posted a comment.

The Loyola College alumni website was at Geocities, in the neighbourhood for education-related websites (“Athens”), on block 6166. Mathew built his school’s website in the same neighbourhood, but a few blocks away, in 7744. By the time Mathew decided to establish our school’s online presence, owners were required to choose a suburb too. Mathew chose “Acropolis” inside Athens.

Thus the two Loyola websites had strikingly similar addresses.

http://www.geocities.com/athens/6166/loyola.html

http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Acropolis/7744/LOYOLA.HTM

If you look under the hood — the source code of the school’s page — you will see that Mathew did not envisage the school’s webpage to be vanilla white. He seems to have wanted the same background design as his personal website. But the school site ended up having a plain, white background.

The Loyola College alumni website existed as early as July 1996 and has survived to this day. The school website appears to have come later — in August 1997 — but was not updated after October 1997.

The school site mentions a reunion held in the US; perhaps the idea of setting up the website was discussed in that reunion. To find out, this month I began my search for Mathew and a couple of old boys who might have attended that reunion (in 1997?), but efforts so far have drawn a blank. Webpages tell me that when Mathew is offline, he is in Canada. If Mathew or his friends read this, let us get in touch and fill the gaps in the story of Loyola’s rise on the internet. At loyolites.com, we love the past as much as the future.

by G. MAHADEVAN

A bearing that evoked respect, a beard that brooked no insolence, a laughter that was infectious and a twinkle in the eye that was unmatched. Those of us who were fortunate enough to have known Father Mathew Pulickal can well be excused for talking about him in superlatives. After all he was one who taught us that life is as often about the superlative, as it is about the positive and the comparative.

It is difficult to define such a man: he was not just a priest, he was not just another of those jolly old men…do you get my drift? You can only go on saying he was not this, not that, and yet never lay your finger on what he was — in its entirety. Of one thing I am sure. Mathew Pulickal, the man, was never ashamed of his human frailties (Oh boy, was he fond of jalebis…and was he a diabetic!). He was also fond of a ‘good un’ as much as any of us imps around him. In short, he loved life as it is.

I can go on like this. But in one sense it is wrong to speak of Fr. Pulickal in the past tense. Yes, the man is gone. But, whatever he stood for, lives through all of us, doesn’t it? It must be fun having him up there.

G. Mahadevan (1987) is Principal Correspondent and Deputy City Editor of The Hindu newspaper in Trivandrum. At Loyola, he was Assistant School Leader.

(c) G. Mahadevan, 2002. Reprinted here with the permission of the copyright holder.

Fr Pulickal taught me history in high school, and on every question paper he set for us, he inscribed “A.M.D.G.” in the end. There it was: centre-aligned, in Courier typeface, on the cyclostyled paper. (The typeface would vary on the odd occasion that Fr Pulickal keyed in the question paper on butter paper by using his own typewriter in the Residence.) I thought of celebrating his anniversary by doing what he might approve of — go beyond the question paper, explore the history of the abbreviation he introduced to us, and in the process combine the twin axes of this blog — history and Loyola.

AMDG is mentioned in dictionaries and encyclopaediae, but even in specialist works like encyclopaedia of Christianity, the explanation is almost always limited to “Abbreviation of ad maiorem dei gloriam, Latin phrase meaning ‘to the greater glory of God’. Motto of the Society of Jesus.”

Wikipedia has the longest explanation of AMDG I have come across. In contrast, Encyclopaedia Britannica does not even have an entry on AMDG. A blogger tells us that the phrase and the abbreviation were not created by Ignatius of Loyola. Another tells us that “for hundreds of years, this esoteric acronym [sic] has been used by many Catholics as either a prefix or suffix to practically any written work and, in it’s colloquialism, has stood for ‘All My Duties to God’ (AMDG).” Judging the state of AMDG today in popular and authoritative reference works, I would argue that the decision of St Ignatius to make it the motto of Jesuits explains AMDG’s survival into the 21st century.

The usage of AMDG has changed over time, noted Walter Ong S.J. in his 1952 article in the Catholic journal Review for Religious. A note on Ong’s article informs

In the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, A.M.D.G. means the moment of decision after one has searched one’s soul trying to make a difficult choice. When faced with these difficult choices, St. Ignatius directs his readers, one should make one’s decision based on which option will be ‘for the greater glory of God’. To use this expression as a dedication in a book or on a building, Ong asserted, is inappropriate, for no particular decision has been made. It is sufficient to pronounce that the book or building exists simply ‘for the glory of God’, without the addition of the word ‘greater’.

Ong seems to have argued that the use of AMDG in dedicatory fashion was not wrong, but that the essence of AMDG was soul-searching.

In Loyola, if Fr Pulickal was the most celebrated user of AMDG, outside the school it was Pope John Paul II. When Time magazine awarded the Man of the Year title to the Pope in 1994, it reported,

Every morning, before his private and general audiences, John Paul devotes an hour or so to writing or – increasingly, as age and injuries have taken their toll – to dictation. When he can, he composes quickly, in Polish, with a neat, flowing hand, using a black felt-tipped pen. On the top left of every page he prints the letters AMDG.

Other well-known names associated with AMDG, the Wikipedia tells us, have been the music composer Bach, and the novelist James Joyce. From that tip-off, I set off on the trail of the latter.

James Joyce studied at a Jesuit school, which is the backdrop for much of his semi-autobigraphical novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, published in 1916.

In Chapter 2 of the novel, a para begins,

The next day he sat at his table in the bare upper room for many hours. Before him lay a new pen, a new bottle of ink and a new emerald exercise. From force of habit he had written at the top of the first page the initial letters of the jesuit motto: A.M.D.G.

We know from an autographed manuscript at the Cornell University Library that Joyce himself wrote “AMDG” at the top of each page in one of the weekly compositions for his English class at Belvedere College in Dublin, the Jesuit school he attended.

Around the same time that Joyce wrote A Portrait…, another novel appeared, this time with the title AMDG. Published in 1910, and written by the Spanish novelist, poet and critic Ramon Perez de Ayala, AMDG is a “bitter satire about the author’s unhappy education at a Jesuit school”, says Encyclopaedia Britannica. Here again, I am struck by the close association of AMDG with Jesuits, and the probable death of the phrase and its abbreviation, but for its use across centuries by Jesuits.

“Many Jesuit schools ask students to write the initialism at the top of their papers, to remind the students that their schoolwork is ‘For the Greater Glory of God’,” the Wikipedia tells us. This is consistent with Joyce writing AMDG in his English class, and later describing the act as a “force of habit” in one of his novels.

The Jesuits in our school did not follow this practice. Fr Pulickal was the only priest, in my years there, who wrote AMDG in public documents like question papers of exams. Nor did the priests advise or insist students to inscribe AMDG in notebooks or answer sheets. The priests probably felt it better to promote and project cosmopolitanism, rather than invite allegations of Christianisation. After all, in modern Kerala, despite the Malayala Manorama, and the extensive network of Christian educational institutions, any recommendation like inscribing AMDG on every page or notebook would have provoked the ever-suspicious Malayali and invited bad press.

It could also be that the use of AMDG is not the norm among Jesuits in Kerala. In the letters and e-mails I have received from Jesuits over the years, I have not seen AMDG in every correspondence, but only in a few.

There is some evidence, however, that a few smart Loyolites wrote AMDG at the end of answer papers, to score brownie points with Fr Pulickal for they were “hoping against hope that those 4 letters would compensate for an almost blank history answer paper coupled with the strictest valuation possible and save us from sure failure.” Jiby’s collection of Loyola anecdotes, where this is mentioned, fittingly ends in nostalgia with an AMDG inscription.

Tailpiece: At times, Fr Pulickal used to have quizzes in his classes. He would come with his pink or yellow scroll of notes, and shoot one question after the other. Here’s a question he never fired at us. Who is the patron saint of Jesuit students?

Fr Pulickal passed away in his sleep on 2 November 1998, at Calicut.

In the past, Loyolites have discussed him on the Web, in their blogs as well as on Orkut. To complement such efforts, here is a double-post tribute to him, in the week of his anniversary.

1. Fr Pulickal’s Four-letter Word by me
2. Defining Father Pulickal by G. Mahadevan (1987)

In Indian history, the most famous school was located outside India — Harrow, in England, where Nehru went to at the age of sixteen. In prison in the 1930s, Nehru “stuck pictures of Harrow in his diaries and drew up lists of poets and politicians who had been to Harrow,” says Sarvepalli Gopal in his 3-volume biography of Nehru. Those lists of Harrovians would have included the poet Lord Byron, Winston Churchill, and six other British Prime Ministers.

Today, India’s most well-known school is Doon School, in Dehra Dun.
When the school celebrated its golden jubilee in 1985, the New York Times called it the ‘Harrow by the Himalayas’. After all, the then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi had studied there. And now we know that Doon School, like Harrow, has produced not only cabinet ministers and chief ministers, but also men of letters, notably Vikram Seth and Amitav Ghosh.

For an institution founded in 1935, Doon School has done well. With 500 students in a given year, Doon is smaller than Loyola, but it boasts of an impressive list of alumni and is regularly talked about as one of the best schools in the country. Such popular perception has been fuelled by a mystique of elitism and sustained press coverage. Last year, the Wall Street Journal wrote about the spartan life at Doon, where “to help blur class lines, boys perform menial tasks such as pruning plants or window-cleaning.” If your mind raced to the sweeping of classrooms by students at Loyola, and the absence of press coverage, I will not blame you. All the same, I think it would be better to acknowledge that there is something right in the Doon Valley. Reading articles about the school, and thinking about its students’ achievements, gave me the impression that Doon is Loyola+.

Spot quiz: Name three good schools outside the state you live. Quick!

Doon School, I would argue, is the top national brand among schools in India. Mayo College (Ajmer) and Scindia School (Gwalior) are known in the north, Lawrence (Lovedale) in the south, and the two La Martiniere schools (Lucknow and Kolkata) in their respective regions. Among the alternate schools, Rishi Valley School (Madanapalle) is perhaps the most well-known and appears to be recognised nationally.

Unlike these boarding schools with a small number of students, South Point High School (Kolkata) — with 13,000 students and affiliated to the West Bengal education board — would be vaguely familiar to the rest of India for once being the world’s largest school. The ubiquitous Kendriya Vidyalaya is a stronger national brand than Doon, but here I am talking of the attractiveness of individual schools — there is no particular Kendriya Vidyalaya or DAV branch that I know which appeals significantly beyond its city or region.

Can Loyola become a Doon?

For sure, being well-known is not the only test of a school. But when I ask whether Loyola can become a Doon, or wonder why Loyola is only a city brand, I do not mean replicating every inch of the Doon experience or launching a publicity blitzkrieg for inches of newsprint and pixels. I only ask whether Loyola can become a model of excellence in India and sustain its position over decades. I only ask whether Loyola can become a great school, and figure prominently on the country’s educational map — a school that India cannot ignore.

What should Loyola do to become a great school? Is it the monastic experience of Doon and the boarding culture of brand schools that Loyola should emulate, or better still, innovate for its day-scholar crowd? How can Loyola’s emphasis on the development of all-round personality be strengthened? What would it take for Loyola to become a national brand?

Hi, this is Roshen, Ashok’s brother. B.O. Sebastian sir’s comment that he and Teresa madam had never been to Nigeria has come as a shock to Ashok and me. Old memories are being looked up, puzzled looks are being exchanged…

The story begins when Ashok joined LKG in Loyola. Unlike now, he was a very silent kid and rarely spoke a word. A few days after joining Loyola, he came home prattling “akka chakka nova, leh misa, leh misa, gudu gudu misa, gudu gudu misa”. No really, I didn’t make that up. He said that – many, many times.

As the elder brother, I was amused by this sudden eloquence and showed off my brother to our neighbours. No one could understand what Ashok was trying to tell us.

Our mother, worried, went to meet his class teacher, who had newly arrived from… ahem… Nigeria. According to family legend, his class teacher Teresa madam, told our mother that Ashok was actually singing a song she had taught the class. “akka chakka nova” was a song she had picked up from her days in Nigeria. There was nothing to worry about the boy. In fact, he seemed to be appreciating other cultures very well. At least, that’s what our mother told us when she came home.

And now BOS reveals that he and Teresa madam have never seen the shores of Nigeria. Ashok has frantically been googling for “akka chakka nova” today. Zero results!

Putting all pieces together, it’s clear now why our mother used to sleep so little those days. She was hiding Ashok’s gibberish from the rest of us. Teresa madam’s Nigerian connection was invented to “explain” the prattle. And thirty years later, we still thought BOS came back from Nigeria.

K.T. John joined Loyola in 1986 to teach maths in high school. Within two years, by the time he became my class teacher, he had earned a reputation on two counts—the first as a brilliant teacher, the second as an efficient organiser of events.

In 1989, P.A. Mathews passed Fr Pulickal’s tests to become a teacher at Loyola. I have heard that Fr Pulickal asked him to spot three mistakes in an English passage, and he identified four. “PAMs” was a teacher whose diction and gait conveyed that English was as much to be learnt as to be lived.

“PAMs” was followed by “JAMs” (Jacob Mathew) who taught at Loyola from 1991 to 2001. Jacob Mathew, with his charming smile and inventive ability to teach chemistry, was a popular teacher in not just Loyola, but in the whole city. Students thronged to his private tuition classes but his integrity was such that we never heard charges of favouritism levelled against him.

Back in the late 1970s, B.O. Sebastian too came from, I think, Nigeria. As his students would attest, “BOS” (pronounced “boss”) was a very friendly and popular teacher. Unlike K.T. John, PAMs and JAMs, he was young when he joined Loyola. With his cloud-burst smile, he spread cheer and was always among the students—whether playing in the basketball court, directing a play on the youth festival stage, coaching us in mass PT for Sports Day, or strengthening alumni relations at an old boys’ meet. He too was a good organiser of student and staff activities.

Each generation of Loyolites, thus, would have their favourite “teacher from Nigeria”. It prompted me to find out more about this African country 8,150 km from Loyola.

In 1960, thirteen years after India gained freedom, Nigeria gained independence from Britain. Till then, most schools in Nigeria were run by missionaries, with grants-in-aid from the colonial government. After independence, the Nigerian government set up several schools. This is strikingly similar to the history of school education in Kerala: during British rule, there were numerous schools run by missionaries in Kerala, the grants-in-aid system was popular, and it was only after Independence that the large-scale expansion of government-run schools happened, especially in Malabar.

In the 1970s, Nigeria experienced an oil boom thanks to discovery of oil in the Niger delta, and the government set up several schools and colleges. Several people from Kerala and Tamil Nadu migrated to Nigeria and a few other African countries to take up teaching positions.

Britannica tells us

Nigeria’s educational system declined significantly in the 1980s and ’90s. There was a shortage of qualified teachers, and the government was sometimes unable to pay them in a timely manner. Moreover, the number of schools did not increase proportionally with the population, and existing schools were not always properly maintained.

The collapse of the system probably prompted (and was fuelled by) Keralite teachers returning home. An article in The Week magazine mentioned that “a change in governmental policies and xenophobic outbreaks forced them to leave” African countries. Such scattered bits of evidence fit well into what we experienced—it was in the 1980s and 1990s that teachers from Nigeria took up positions in Loyola.

While this potted history of education in Nigeria sheds light on why we had teachers from there in the 1980s, there are other questions which remain to be answered.

What lies behind the success of B.O. Sebastian, K.T. John, P.A. Mathews and Jacob Mathew? (How) did Nigeria prepare them to be stars at Loyola? And also, why Christian teachers?

Nigeria is four-and-a-half hours behind Indian time. But it appears that it was years ahead of Kerala in school education. Or perhaps these teachers were moulded in Cambridge’s IGCSE system in Nigeria, and it helped them fit well and shine in the ICSE system later at Loyola. One day, when I meet these teachers again, these are stories that I would like to hear in detail.

Those who remember Anand — thin as thin can be — will be amused to hear that he is running a marathon this year. To us of the 1991/1993 batch, it is no surprise to see him stretch himself for supporting education projects in India.

At Loyola, Anand was known for his academic brilliance and quizzing. What followed was predictable: 49th rank in the IIT entrance exam, B.Tech from IIT Madras, MS from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and then to Berkeley for PhD. But life was not all engineering, electronics and academics for this lanky Iyer from Perunthanni. At IIT, under the spell of a few Professors, Anand had imbibed a degree of social consciousness that was wide and deep. We caught glimpses of it early on in our batch’s e-group, where Anand sounded like Arundhati Roy — green, anti-nuke, anti-Hindutva, anti-capitalism…in short, that guy who asks us uncomfortable questions. (Is it a co-incidence that their initials match?)

But it was not all jaw-jaw. At Illinois, Anand became a volunteer of Asha, the highly respected organisation that raises funds for promoting education in India. Now, eight years later, Anand is President of Asha, heading 66 chapters worldwide and 1,000+ volunteers.

As one would expect, the job is challenging. “Unlike the typical nonprofit, the coordination team in Asha has to work as a facilitating body and take decisions based on the majority decision among chapters. So it is crucial to be able to implement decisions that you might personally disagree with,” Anand said in an e-mail interview. “In a completely volunteer-driven organization, being able to motivate people to deliver tasks they volunteer for is another challenge that volunteers at every level in the organization face. Trying to see the larger purpose of the organization’s mission and objectives even in the middle of handling several unrelated emails, phone calls, paperwork, meetings and discussions is something that is important as well.”

Anand plans to run the Silcon Valley marathon on 4 November 2007 and raise funds for Asha Darshan — a project in Nalbari district of Assam, which runs primary and pre-primary schools in an area affected by insurgency. Last year, for various projects, Asha raised about $650,000 from about 350 runners in the US through the TeamAsha marathon training programme. Anand’s personal target for this year’s marathon? $2,400.

He explained, “The idea is to contact friends, family, coworkers and anyone else and tell them that you are training to run a marathon (something that is fairly difficult and requires a lot of commitment in terms of time, fitness and resources) towards the cause of education, and ask them for their support to meet your fundraising goal. It is amazing how folks step up to contribute, especially when they see your commitment towards the cause, and to running. After a long training run, having a limp while walking into work also helps .”

I see very few Loyolites persevering in such activities for years. Most of us pursue careers and personal life goals, and have little energy left for voluntary work. Out of curiosity, I therefore asked Anand whether there was anything from Loyola that drove him towards charity work.

“More than charity work, I view the role of organizations like Asha as empowering people,” Anand replied. “Not just the people who receive the funds that we raise, but all the people who come in contact with the organization. I, for one, have got a lot more out of the organization in terms of awareness of issues around education and empowerment, than what I have given back in terms of time.

“Empowering people basically requires an egalitarian, democratic setup where no one is considered too big or too small, where there is freedom of expression and where there is commitment towards getting things done from everyone, so you motivate each other towards one goal. I think that several of our teachers and classmates at Loyola have been role models in this sense of empowering us as students, and more than anything else, I think that is what I took away from those years as a valuable lesson for the future.”

What can Loyolites do to instil in their children a spirit of charity? “I think the notion of seeing such work as charity has to change. The perspective has to be more about empowering people so they can ask for what is legitimately theirs. A nation that is in the headlines for being a superpower in the making cannot afford to have two-thirds of its population making under Rs. 20 a day, or 50% of its children under five malnourished. Just the sheer magnitude of these stats should remind us of what we need to do to help every citizen of India. Never get complacent with what you see around yourself everyday.”

He then added, “I wish that the social sciences got more importance in every higher education curriculum. Even though people like Fr. Pulickal gave us an incredible grounding while in school, science and engineering curricula pay lip service to social sciences and if anything, we need informed and educated human beings as much as we need great doctors and engineers, and this is an imbalance we need to correct outside of school through regular reading.”

Anand’s page on the Asha website quotes Sahir Ludhianavi

It is true, we did not turn this world into a garden
But atleast we removed some thorns from the paths we travelled

Know more about Anand’s run

Note: The views expressed here by Anand are his personal views.

A Long, Long Lunch Break
There was an age in Loyola when juniors greatly respected seniors: ran small errands for them during the youth festival, the sports day, the school day and the LA Fest; held seats for them in buses; hung around seniors and listened admiringly to their adolescent stories; and tried to imitate them in every field possible. I don’t know if all this continues.

In our 12th we came across a handful of juniors in one class who were seen as an aberration of a great tradition that continued right from the awe-inspiring batches of the ’80s. These boys went for an inter-state athletic meet at a school in Trivandrum, where they had no reason to go, got into some frivolous disagreement and created some damage on the premises. In the evening, a few friends of ours from that school told us of the incident and all we could do was hang our heads in shame.

The next morning, we went up to Fr. Edassery, the vice-principal, (who too had heard of the incident) and vented our anger. He asked us, “What should I do?” We told him, “Give us a long lunch break and please don’t come up, whatever happens.” He readily agreed. At sharp 12:20 PM we pulled up the offending students from their class and took them into Std 12. I won’t go into details on the methods used or what happened next but they left our classroom humbled, teary-eyed and apologetic. In the evening, Sara Madam who heard of what we did, came over and congratulated us. That must have been the only lunch break that got extended in Loyola School history at the request of a class.

Loyolites Hate to Lose
We were a batch that stood incredibly united. But we forgot that unity for a few days in the academic calendar — during the youth festival and the sports day.

It was our final year. AP had gone down fighting SS in the youth festival, and AP and GG were fighting neck-to-neck for sports day supremacy. The final event of the sports day arrived with whoever winning the 4 x 100 metre relay would take home the first place for sports day and the Overall Best House Championship given at the year end. C.T. Varkey, our PT Sir had conducted years and years of successful sports days and this one too looked set to end in that fashion. He gave the get-set-go whistle/gun/shout (I forget which!) and everyone took off…except Vince of GG House. Apparently another Sir, who just joined that year had shouted out, “False Start” and Vincekuttan expected the other sprinters to return to their blocks. They never bothered and we had to egg Vince to start off, albeit late. In the end GG rallied back finely, but ended up losing to AP tantalizingly. The trouble started then.

We of GG cried foul and asked for a restart. AP knowing that they stood no chance if a re-run was ordered, stood their ground. Our class split into three–one backing GG, the other AP, and the third begging for sanity…the danger of coming to blows was real. In the meantime, a parallel fight broke out among the teachers with CT giving grief to the new Sir who had messed up inadvertently. AP finally yielded to a re-race and though they lost both the race and the sports day trophy, they won everyone’s hearts with their sportsmanship and sacrifice.

All of us went home bitter, wondering if our batch would ever come together after the acrimony of the day. The next morning, as I came walking in through the Loyola College gate, I saw my band of brothers huddled together, joking and laughing, as though yesterday had never happened.

I first heard of him four years ago when Rajiv Varghese (1977) told me of a Delhi-based batchmate who maintained a huge collection of books and comics. In July 2007, I contacted Vineeth for this blogpost and he suggested that we meet at Daryaganj.

“I am a great western fan and have currently got a collection of 3,700 odd westerns, almost 90% of them purchased from Daryaganj,” Vineeth wrote in an e-group four years ago. His other envious collection is of comics, which includes the first Indrajal comic: The Phantom’s Belt, published in 1964.

In January 2002, when Vineeth was invited to contribute to Outlook magazine’s Special Issue for Schools, he wrote an article ‘Thought Balloons’, where he described how comics grew on him:

It was Phantom who pulled me into the world of comics when I was seven. But it was only at the age of 15, when I read the Asterix books by Goscinny and Uderzo, that I began noticing new facets of comic books. They now had more complex characterisation and narratives. The old good-against-evil storyline had changed now and the whiter than white hero had begun to acquire shades of grey. Batman now began to show psychotic traits. The Incredible Spiderman was a super hero all right, but he also was an insecure, nervous and even neurotic teenager who I could totally identify with…Comic creators like Walt Kelly in Pogo and Garry Trudeau in Doonesbury were producing scathing satirical evaluation of political climate of the day.

At Daryaganj, as Vineeth moves from one bookseller to the next, it is clear that he is known in these parts. “Yes, when they get a ‘new’ old comic, they inform me on the phone,” Vineeth says. There are buyers and there are buyers.

Today, he has picked up two June and School Friend comics, a 1968 edition of The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley, seven westerns, and four other books. For just Rs 107.

Not all the booty is for his collection; some of it is for book-loving friends he has met in e-groups. Vineeth is active in international e-groups and bulletin boards on comics and westerns, where fans converge to share story summaries, upload cover scans, clarify one another’s queries, and occasionally bump into the artists and creators of the comics. When members ask for books and information, Vineeth procures them to the best of his ability. “Without Vineeth’s help this whole web site would not exist and the joys of Indian comics would not be open to us all!,” writes Terry Hooper-Scharf of indopakbangcomic. Elsewhere on the web, Vineeth is thanked for his “amazing efforts” in preparing a publishing history in India of the Phantom, or for helping to compile a list of Indrajal’s Mandrakes.

Seeing is believing. So, we head for his flat in west Delhi.

Cartons of comics and shelves of books touch the ceiling. I wish to see the first Indrajal comic and he fishes it out for me in less than five minutes. In the process, out come a few others–Sherlock Holmes comics, Art Spiegelman’s Maus (which won the Pulitzer), the Pogo collection We Have Met the Enemy, and He is Us (a famous quotation picked up by environmentalists), and Ompa-pa (who makes cameo appearances in Asterix but has a series of his own by creators Goscinny and Uderzo).

In Maus, Spiegelman depicted Jews as mice and Nazis as cats. In the world of comics, which character does Vineeth think is closest to a Loyolite? He replies, “Phantom.” What??? I know that Vineeth is a big ‘phan’ (that’s how Phantom fans call themselves), and that he lurks among the phans as Patrolman (his chosen avatar in the e-club), but I can’t hide my surprise. So Vineeth explains.

“Phantom is for the whole family to read. When he shoots, it is invariably to knock off a pistol or scare somebody, not to kill. Honour, truth, goody-goody. He is not a superhero, but an ordinary man who has developed his abilities fully. He has a treasure house in a jungle but uses it for the community, not for personal gain.” After I’ve taken down all this, Vineeth adds, “Not a realistic character, too good to be true.”

Even as Vineeth preserves the older comics in plastic covers, new comics keep arriving. The white packet on the table has just come from a collector in Australia, who has sent him the 1,500th issue of Frew Comics’ Phantom. It starts with a reprint of the first-ever Phantom comic, The Singh Brotherhood (1936).

Vineeth pulls out Phantom comics from different publishers (Goldkey, Charlton, Moonstone, Indrajal, Budget) to show me how the same story appears differently when published across time and space. Vineeth does not buy every comic that comes his way — the year of publication, and the artist matter. Sometimes, you judge a book by its cover.

Vineeth grew up on the reprints of foreign comics, which he says are more sophisticated in art and content than the Amar Chitra Kathas that came later. That’s why, despite having a decent collection of ACKs, he is not a fan as much as his juniors might expect him to be.

Cliched, but I have to ask. Favourite author? P.G. Wodehouse. “In the sixth standard, I was reading some pulp book in the Loyola library, when vice-principal Fr C.P. Varkey came by. He asked, ‘Isn’t this your games period? What are you doing here?’. I told him that I liked to read and I was not the only one not playing.” Fr Varkey picked a book from the shelf, handed it to Vineeth and said, “Read this, if you must.” That book, Right Ho, Jeeves, introduced him to Wodehouse. More than thirty years later, Vineeth tells me, “Anything that Wodehouse writes will have takers. Even his laundry list.”

Not surprisingly, Vineeth is a mine of information on comics: Dhenkali in Phantom comics was Bengali in the original foreign editions; in the Indian version of Spiderman, you will meet Pavitr Prabhakar (Peter Parker) and Meera Jain (Mary Jane); one comic in Vineeth’s collection is going for Rs 1,500 on the web…

Ah! Any plans to sell? His collection would be worth a few thousands of dollars, right? “No, not for sale. I never bought any comic or book with that in mind. I kept on buying because I liked reading, that’s all.” Vineeth’s wife Fisal says,”In Irinjalakuda [his hometown near Thrissur], he has stocked the almirah with books, instead of clothes.”

And is there an old school magazine in the Irinjalakuda racks? “Yes,” says Vineeth, “there is a copy of the 1972 magazine, the year in which I joined Loyola.”

This 44-year old desk officer in the central government is different from most Loyolites I know. He has built expertise over decades with dedication, focus and fun. While many of us, I suspect, do this in our professional area, excel at work and earn the respect of peers, Vineeth has done it outside the cubicle. With a hobby from his school days, Vineeth Abraham has created a world of joy outside the workplace.

The holy grail is Donald Duck Finds Pirate Gold, Dell comic, issued 1942. “Once I get it, I’ll probably retire on that.” It’s for sale on the web. A blog reader might gift it, I tell him. Vineeth smiles and says, “It’s selling for $10,000.”

Vineeth will pick it up from Daryaganj one day. For Rs 10.

Acknowledgement: Fred Gomez (1977) helped me get in touch with Vineeth. Joshua Newton clicked the second photo in the opening panel.

Update: A modified version of this blogpost was published in the Business Standard newspaper (subscriber login required).

The story is recounted in ’10 Years of LA Fest’, a souvenir brought out in 2005. On page 2, under the heading ‘The Rising’ it says:

In November 1996, Vivek Krishnan, Harish K., Rahul Warrier and their 12 standard classmates pleaded with the class teacher: Madam, we need a break from the grind of textbooks and classes; let’s organise an inter-school arts festival.

The idea gathered momentum among students. But somebody had to get the green signal from the Principal Fr. Mani Manimala.

One afternoon, as the school bell rang, the teacher surrounded by students egging her on told Fr. Mani, “The students have been saying that they want to organise a festival for schools in the city.” The Principal, full of energy but looking stern as ever, replied, “If you are ready to take full responsibility, go ahead.”

The students who overheard this were ecstatic. The teacher who had bravely conveyed the proposal could not back out. Her students would ensure that, year after year.

The last page of the souvenir reveals who the teacher is.

LA Fest claims to be ‘an all-student affair’. But the invisible hand of 12 standard class teacher Deepa Pillai (DP) has been there in every fest since 1996. Her passion for anonymity forced us to delete her name in ‘The Rising’ (page 2). But we have the last laugh.

Every year, the school magazine’s LA Fest report captures the excitement of the fest. But I would argue that these reports do not capture the fest well. I have heard that within 2-3 days of the concluding ceremony, the student volunteers sit and critically look at their work in organising the fest. The LA Fest, in fact, ends only after that group session.

But such wonderful spirit of learning does not make its way to the school magazine. Instead, we get reports that are too self-congratulatory in tone, with each successive batch rushing to claim that they organised ‘the best LA Fest ever’. I see this whitewashing as emblematic of modern Loyola, where a culture of advertising and hype prevails. But more about that another day.

For now, best wishes to LA Fest 2007. And brothers, please write a fair report for the school mag. Or as you say in Loyola these days, the ‘best report ever’.

BONUS! Download ’10 Years of LA Fest‘ (.pdf; 0.4 MB)