There was a stream by my school

On every visit to our tharavad house I pass by my first school, at Palli Veli. That happens quite often. But I hardly notice the church owned institution consciously while driving by. You know, just another building, a different scene, en route.  

But last week it was different for no apparent reason. Seventy years is a long time in human life, but not for a church. I stopped by the beautiful church that has just been built near the school. I remember the construction of the old church when I was a boy. That structure is still there, in apparently good condition. I can’t help wondering why a new prayer house became necessary and how much money was spent for it. But that was a passing thought.

It was the school that was in my mind. Mr. Narayanan Nair was the Headmaster when I joined the institution. It had two buildings. The long one was north-south and the other east-west. Both were thatched with pleated dry coconut leaves. For some reason Class I was in the middle of the main building. Class II was at the South end and Class IV in the north. The other building housed Class III. The logic behind this arrangement is still difficult to understand.

Would you believe that I was admitted to Class II because for some reason I did not like the teacher of Class I? Such things could happen those days – the Feudal Era, before World War II.

The region around the school was topped with white, loose sand. In fact the central part of Pallippuram Island where the school is situated was almost desert-like.  There were quite a few sand dunes. Some were pretty large. It was fun running up one of them and rolling down. A couple of times I have taken my children (grown up people now) on such excursions on moonlit nights. They loved it. 

The school didn’t have many trees around it. If I remember right, all that grew there were three cashew nut trees and one tamarind. Now the desert like areas of Pallippuram Island has changed as the photo below from Wikimedia Commons shows:

 

The greening of the region started with the locals and those who moved in planting coconut trees. Then the sand was mined deep enough in certain locations to enable paddy cultivation. Sand dunes were also leveled to build houses to accommodate the increasing population. It is hard to believe now that the place was once our little Sahara.

Where did all the sand go? In the beginning people just took away the earth to fill low lying areas. In fact that was the main use. The white sand was also periodically spread to beatify courtyards of large houses. Then, with the discovery that the sand contained silica, the manufacture of bricks and glass started. Today Pallippuram sand is a controlled item. It is almost impossible to get even a truck load for private use.

Oh, I nearly forgot the stream.

Between the school and the nearby church the land sloped gently to a small stream. Really a trickle, less than three feet wide and water level below one foot. I don’t know where it started but it came from north-east of the school, bent right and after a short distance turned left and flowed to a canal far to the south. The water was absolutely clear. One could even watch the tiny fish moving in the creek. They were not big enough to catch though.

The stream suddenly became a sports area. Some boys started making paper boats and racing them during lunch break. I was not aware at that time that many of the boys those days were poor and had no noon meal. That realization came to me only recently. (Please see A 100 years old school sustains the memory of Sree Moolam Thirunal Maharaja)

We, my cousins and me, used to have food brought from home and eat at the Vicar’s dining room. We sometimes joined the sailing game after that. But the amusement slowly faded away. The other boys probably could not get enough paper to make boats everyday. Another reason was the lack of excitement in the competition. There was no skill involved. All that one was permitted to do was to blow merely to free the vessels that got stuck on the growths in the stream and not to speed them in the race.

Then someone came up with a thrilling idea. The World War II had started and there were several stories going around about naval engagements between Brittan and Germany. Why not divide our paper boats to two fleets? Throw stones from the shore at the floating armadas and sink the vessels. The side with more surviving boats wins the battle.

What quashed this war idea was the lack of ammunition. In the white sand there were hardly any pellets or stones. All that one could occasionally find was a clam shell.

The potential admirals shifted to other run of the mill games. I wonder how many of them are alive now. But currently the place, Palli Veli, is a booming junction. The school has new buildings now, but in the same pattern. Wonder whether the Class II room in which I started my formal education is still at the south end.

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Recently I read somewhere ‘Put the words “SAVE NOSTALGIA” in the message box'. That prompted this post.

Back to The School

As the schools reopen in Kerala after the summer holidays, ‘Padavarambu’ (see Autobiography of a School) is in the news again. Yesterday’s Malayala Manorama, the leading Malayalam newspaper, carried a feature written by K. Tony Jose on this beautiful little book that tells the story of the government lower primary school in Olavipe. This institution, which was started in 1961, is facing closure for dearth of students. This is a trend seen at many places in the State.

The alumni who were behind the publication of ‘Padavarambu’ are determined to do everything possible to keep the school open. According to the Malayala Manorama article, all the profits from the sale of the book are to be utilized for that purpose. A noble endeavor, one must say.

The report also says that there are plans afoot to translate the book into English. In fact, after seeing the post about this autobiography in my blog, Sunil K. Poolani, Publisher and Managing Editor of Frog Books, Mumbai (www.frogbooks.net, www.zzebra.net) sent me a mail that he would like to read the book. I had informed the publishers about this and suggested that they send him a copy.

It doesn’t matter who brings out the translation. The important point is that the book is published in other languages as well so that the entire world can read it. The material is that good.

Ends.

Autobiography of a School

When I reached Olavipe on the morning of May 13, I was presented with a hot-from-the-press copy of ‘Padavarambu’ -- an autobiography of the local government lower primary school, ghostwritten in Malayalam by some of the alumni.

The next day The Hindu, one of India’s leading national newspapers, carried a feature by Dennis Marcus Mathew on the book. “Autobiographies,” it said, “are nothing new. But one by a school… is something unusual. (It is) said to be the first by a school in Kerala, probably in the country.”

‘Padavarambu’ is a fascinating little book. It is well produced and illustrated. The language is simple, almost poetic. I am proud that my village has people who can write like this. The authors used what they termed ‘memory boxes’ to collect data. Each old student available was asked to jot down his/her experiences relating to the school. From that collection evolved this poignant piece.

The book covers a short span of time, a period during which Olavipe saw great socio-economic changes, the transition from feudalism to an increasingly egalitarian society and the opening of the passage to knowledge and wisdom through the gates of the school. Forays into the past offer glimpses of the history of the land.

The most interesting parts of ’Padavarambu’ are the school’s reminiscences about her children. The epigram reads, “Some children know how to fly kites very well. Some do not know how to fly kites. There are others who themselves are kites.”

Here are some of the scenes: An old lady near the school regularly collects fallen mangoes and distributes them to the boys and girls. Another, stick in hand, chases off children who try to pluck mangoes from her tree. Then there are the innumerable little things – friendships and fights, a little girl crying because her skirt fell off.

One incident is about a boy who was asked to stand up on the bench in punishment. He bolted from the classroom, ran to the Olavipe Lake and jumped in. The teachers and the locals ran after him, pulled him out of water and brought him back to school, wet clothes and all.

Slowly, the situation changed. As the family planning campaign took effect, birth rate in the village dropped. Parents started sending their children to better schools outside Olavipe. This too was progress.

The autobiography concludes with these words: “Through the same paths that I reached the village, English School buses came. As I watch, they drive away with the children. What can I tell those kids, except ‘ta ta’?” One can almost feel the deep sigh.

This Mater is still young – only forty-six years old. She is dying though, facing closure for want of sufficient number of students. Only around fifty are left.

Some people like the publishers of the book (Group of Friends. Office: Shade of the Mango Tree, School Compound, Olavipe, India – 688 526) still hope that the lady would revive. But progress, which she herself helped to set in motion in my village, is a blind bulldozer. It rolls on, regardless.

Ends.

Going to school in a feudal era - Part 1.

I’m talking here about the late1930s. There was no school bus, no horse-drawn cart, no bicycles. Not even a road in Olavipe those days. Walk to the church-run primary school about a mile away, through coconut groves, over the bunds of the rice fields, wade through water in some low-lying areas. Ramble along almost all the way though the family properties.

If one is late to reach the class, no matter. The teacher might glare briefly, but would never reprimand. The Headmaster put me in the second grade directly because I didn’t, for some reason, like the teacher in grade one! That was how it was those days.

The picture below shows a portion of our route to the school:

Photo: Patrik

There was a code of conduct for other pedestrians during our way to school and back. No one could overtake us unless permitted. The drill for people coming in the opposite direction was, (1) ‘untouchables’ like Pulayas had go off the path to a respectful distance, or step into the water if they came across us on a bund, (2) Ezhavas and other lower castes would have to shift a few yards away and wait for us to move on. The higher castes were to stop and let us pass.

Can you think of children going to school without carrying slates and books and pencils? Well, we were like that. There would be at least one male servant to carry our school bags, umbrellas, water bottles and the like. After escorting us to the respective classes he would go back to fetch our lunch, which was eaten in a room at the vicarage made available exclusively to us for the purpose.

Then came the best part of the day. The area around the school and the church was sandy. A small, shallow stream ran between the two buildings. Launching paper boats in the clear, flowing water and racing them was great fun. Back to class after that. The servant/s would wait on the school verandah to take us home in the evening.

No games at school with the other children. Get back to the house and after a high tea, it was play time, with a selected few local boys. Some of the games that we played were native ones for which no special equipments were necessary. But mostly it was football, ball badminton and, later, cricket. Interestingly, cricket came to Olavipe in 1941. That’s another story.

Looking back from another age, these may sound incredible. But mine was a pioneering generation, nevertheless, in our family. We were the first to attend a local school and sit in the classroom with 'all and sundry'. Till our time, the family members were tutored at home and some like Appan went city schools and colleges for higher education.

My parents were strict about two things. We were to be polite to the other students and respectful to the teachers.

[ A brother of mine has sent the following email comment: "I read your piece 'about going to school' in 1930s. I of course knew the same reality and can appreciate it. I do have a slight concern whether part of it might be interpreted as underlining a superior social position. But it was the reality anyway. by the way, the photo in it is superb." Note: What I have done here is to present the situation as it was seven decades back, before World War II. Abraham Tharakan.]

Next part of this story would follow shortly.