Essays

Sports in our School by Sudhanidhi Kasliwal

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy is an old saying and not without reason because sports is an integral part of education. Our school gave us all the opportunity to play and I remember it all from the day I joined Xavier’s in KG way back in 1958. Our teachers inculcated an importance of sports even when we were toddlers. During one of the periods (means classes and not what your dirty mind thinks!) they would take us out in the fields and we were allowed to play different games which the teachers devised for us. Sometimes the kids played with the rabbits and guinea pigs which the Fathers had kept in fenced enclosures near what is now the hostel building. And sometimes we would play in the sandpit, under the giant ‘ardu’ trees just behind the school building. There were swings and see-saw but what was unique was that we had a Jungle Jim which was popular with the kids. When the bell ending the interval rang out, the kids swung out of the Jungle Jim shouting “last man donkey.” The poor kid who was last would then get a spanking from the rest. I recall little Deepak Maheshwari was a King of Jungle Jim.

Anyway, as time went by and we also grew up and from 6th std. onwards we began to play Baseball in the last or 8th period. Sometimes we also played Volleyball supervised by Mr. Junia. Compared to other schools in the city, our school had the most number of games available and maximum number of well maintained fields. There were 4 distinct fields – the Senior, the Junior, the Lower and the Upper fields where we played cricket, football, hockey and track events. Near the Father’s quarters there were Basketball and Tennis courts, a Senior swimming pool and a Junior swimming pool. Once upon a time, there was a Carpentry Workshop sandwiched between the two pools, where one could learn to work on wood and other crafts. There was also a Gymnasium and Handball courts. You name it and we had it. Unfortunately, there was no billiards but some did play the pocket version. The school also provided professional coaches. I recall there was Mr. Marshall for cricket, Mr. Prithpal Singh for basketball, Mr. Pritam Singh for senior swimming and gym. Miss Raj Bala was in charge of the junior swimming.

Everybody knew I was not the studious type. My true passion lay in playing games and I enthusiastically participated in almost every sport available: cricket, football, hockey, basketball, volleyball, swimming, track events, high jump, javelin throw, marathon runs and more. Among my peers were Karni and Ram Singh Ras who were swift and exceptional football and hockey players, while Hari Singh Rathore was also good but was occasionally outmaneuvered.

In the track & field events, Fateh Singh ran like a Cheeta in the 100 and 200 mtr. sprint races. It was Rajiv Kanwar and his brothers who held sway in the swimming pool where Ajit Singh Shekhawat and Anil Kasliwal also made their mark. Deepak Korla had the agility of a chimpanzee on the parallel bars and rings. After school, Korla made his mark in swimming while studying in the Delhi University winning a gold medal in the All India High Board Diving Championship held in Delhi.

The first five in the Basket team our batch Sushil Saboo (captain), Raman Gupta (Bhalu), Dalpat Singh (Dolly), Naresh Joshi, Nirmal Kumbhat (Neebu) and of course, yours truly (Sudha, Babe, Cas) for whom Fr. Willmas wrote “he has magic in his fingers” in Blue & Gold. Other basketball players were Ajay Jain, Srikant, CR Sitaram. But it was Raman Gupta who excelled in the game and after school, he went on to represent India at the Asian Games for seven consecutive years, and was also awarded the Arjun Award. He was so dedicated to Basketball that he started coaching students in his home town Alwar.

Cricket was of course the most popular and preferred sport to sign up and there were many who did from our batch. Under the legendary Mr. Marshal, as a coach, there were many I recall such as Vinay Dharwadkar, Sunil Agrawal, Zakir, Rajesh Gupta, Ramesh Tandon, Rajiv Loiwal, Yash Chowdhary, Pabuwal etc who got training. Many Indian test players came to practice in our school like Salim Durrani, Parthasarthi Sharma, Hanumant Singh etc.

Although I also played football in the School B team, but the star players amongst us were Dalpat Singh and Anil Ram. I also played and represented Rajasthan in the Softball Nationals Championship at Lucknow in 1971 along with Nirmal, Naresh Joshi and Ajay Jain. Although in passing, I must also mention about the ‘elaichies’ chepod by Ram Singh Ras on the handball courts on the back of Nihal Mathur, who still remembers them!

I am proud that some of my sport mates excelled in their fields in their professional lives. BSF Commandant Ram Singh Ras was given a gallantry award for fighting the infiltrators on the borders with Pakistan and defeating them even after getting shot in the bum! Col. Karni Singh received a Vir Chakra for gallantry in fighting insurgency in Assam. It also saddens me to acknowledge that some of my sports mates have passed away. Let us pay our respects to Hari Singh Pilwa, who died from an accidental bullet wound and Col. Karni Singh who succumbed to cancer. Our dear friend Raman also passed away unexpectedly in 2020 of sudden heart failure in his hometown Alwar. Sports have been an integral part of our overall education and that is why our school had provided all facilities free of cost to us in our growing up times. Sports were not only great fun but also taught us teamwork — an important value that is needed in our lives. Besides generating a competitive spirit to excel, Sports also helped me to forge lifelong friendships. Sports also taught us that winning is not everything and how you handle defeat with grace. I would like to thank our educators for all what they did to make us who we are today. I would like to end with remembrance of my beloved wife Anuradha , who if she was here, would have loved to join us all, showering her blessings to all. Those were the good old days my friend, we thought they would never end ……..

Coming of Age by Dr. Pavan Shorey

In the seventies, a movie, Summer of 42, created waves for its coming-of-age story of a teenager who has an affair with an older woman. For us, it was Summer of 69 when raging male hormones raced in our veins. It was an era of conservatism, of prudishness and hush, hush conversations. Bits of revealing skin in magazines or some books were devoured by the boys, fuelling sexual tension in them. A magazine of our times was ‘The Illustrated Weekly of India’. It underwent a metamorphosis when Kushwant Singh took over as the Editor. There were issues devoted to red light areas of Bombay, Cabarets in India and the short stories had overt sex in them. It was snapped up by our generation.

I remember the issue on Cabarets of India. The cover had a dancing semi clad woman. We had a regular subscription of the magazine at home. I clandestinely hid the Cabaret issue in my bag and took it to school. It passed lots of hands during the interval. Naresh Joshi snatched it from me and took it home despite my pleading that I had to take it back. At home, my father asked for the new issue. I asked Naresh to get it back the moment I reached school. He was good enough to fetch it during lunch break. He gave me a crumpled magazine like he had physical relations with it! I went home and left it on my father’s table. When my father saw the state of the magazine, he didn’t say anything. He was an adolescent once and sensed his boy was growing up.

Then we had this paperback, Bond Lovers, brought in by Ramesh Tandon. It was carried home by one and all, the semi-nude images leading us to sin with ourselves. The English movies showed only so much skin that was allowed by the censors. I remember two ‘hot’ movies of that time: Blow hot Blow Cold and The Girl on the Motorcycle. These had lots of sex scenes.

There is an interesting incident about the movie, blow hot, Blow cold. Our class had gone for an overnight picnic to Delhi and we stayed at St Xavier there. Connaught place was the happening place of Delhi at that time. Our target was to see the movie, Blow hot, Blow cold in Plaza cinema there. Pradeep Chopra and myself bought tickets for the movie. Pradeep tutored me to say that my age was 18 when asked as it was an adult movie. The ticket checker was a burly man, he asked my age, I blurted out 17 and it was the end of our dream to see an adult movie. We saw the movie in Jaipur where the checking was lax.

The young lady teachers of the primary class were on the radar of boys of our class and we had our favourites. I will not mention names out of respect for them. The class was enamoured by one particular teacher, let us call her Miss PST (primary school teacher). She had a svelte figure; she was very fair (Oh! the obsession of North Indian males with fair skin) and she was beautiful. Our class was opposite the principal’s office on the first floor. Five minutes to nine, the teachers would leave for their respective class. They would climb down the five stairs to the courtyard and walk to their class. It was the moment we waited for. Miss PST would also make her appearance at this time. I describe one such morning.

All the pubescent boys would be in class at quarter to nine.

‘When will she come?’ A guy asked.

‘Why are you so impatient? She walks down the stairs at 8.55 am. Why don’t you relate some fantasies about her?’ Another interjected.

‘I would like to waltz with her in the courtyard below to the music of Blue Danube.’

‘Chal, Angrez! I will be the zamindar smoking a hookah and she will be the nautch girl dancing in front of me.’

A tiny voice spoke out. ‘I will like to be in bed with her in the nude!’

All eyes turned to are short statured classmate.

‘Hey! Piddu, does your instrument even work?’

‘She is coming! She is coming!’ Somebody whispered.

All gathered at the windows, eager to see her. Miss PST was aware of the adolescents ogling at her. She was dressed in a sheer nylon blue sari with tiny floral prints. The sari draped her body so elegantly and some cleavage was also visible. As she made an appearance at the threshold, a collective sigh went up the classroom. She took small, dainty steps, her hips swinging slowly. The pallu of the sari was flowing the air and, in some moments, she was gone!

The frustrated lot gasped for air, she had left everyone unsettled. This went on for some time till a father caught us in the act. He came to our class and forbade us to crowd near the windows.

During our last days in school, the fathers arranged a motivation class in the audio-visual room. The motivator was a father from a school outside Jaipur. Their aim was to prepare us for life after school. We were thrilled because there were no classes and free hostel food was served to us. It went on for two days. It was a bit of a bore but it perked up when the Q&A session came at the end of the class. All had to write their questions on a piece of paper and drop it in a box. The father thought that we would have existential questions but there was only one topic: SEX! One was about night emission, the father answered it so elegantly, I still remember it word by word.

‘When the bag of seed is full, it overflows at night, it most often is attached to a dream; it is normal and you must not think too much about it.’

The other popular question was on self-abuse [read masturbation]. Will I get physically weak if I do it often? Why do I feel so lethargic after doing it? Will it spoil my eyes? Will this habit interfere in my normal sex life? The list could go on and on. The Father answered patiently to each question and allayed our adolescent fears.

We relate our coming-of-age story, our minor peccadilloes, which pale into insignificance when we compare it to the present generation who have free access to pornography at the click of a button!

St. Xavier Jaipur by Rohit Bhandari

My stint at Xavier’s was in a way minimal, as I joined the school in July 1969, in the middle of the ISC course preparation! I was studying at St. John’s Chandigarh, when my father got transferred to Jaipur in May 1969. I got admission to St. Xavier’s and shortly before the start of the session in July, I visited the school for an interview with my new class teacher Fr. Zubricky. That was perhaps the weirdest encounter I’d ever had since the beginning of my schooling! Zubricky looked and acted intimidating and he grilled me on what all I had completed in the ISC course till that time. As it turned out, the English Literature books I had prepared for in Chandigarh were totally different from those being followed in Jaipur. Likewise, the portions I had completed in Chandigarh in other subjects were still to be taken up in Xavier’s, resulting in duplication in many cases and a massive catch up on my own in others. By the time we ran through the curriculum and how I was so horribly out of sync, Zubricky turned sternly towards my father and asked him bluntly “Why are you doing this to your son? How is he going to cope up with the rest of the class?”

Not the best introduction to my new school and class teacher. For once my always confident father seemed somewhat disconcerted and I was in quite a daze to say the least! After the usual pep talk from my father, I started school when the new session started in July 1969. To make matters more complicated, we were living in the A.G. Office colony in Bajaj Nagar, which in those days was at the edge of town, a good 4-5 km away from school. Thus started my daily ride on my bicycle to school and back in the piercing heat of the afternoon and on some days it happened twice when there was some after school activity that I wanted to participate in. To cut the long story short, initially I had a great struggle trying to catch up on the course content while simultaneously on my own I was coping with portions already covered. During this period, somewhere along the way my relationship with Zubricky became highly elevated as I found him to be a highly inspirational teacher (Literature was my favourite subject) and he probably got impressed at my efforts to catch up with the rest of the class. At the same time I was fortunate to develop some good friendships with a few of our class fellows while I found the overall batch to be a good mix of friendly young aspiring men, each pursuing a dream and charting a course for the future. Having had my prior schooling from various schools in different towns, I did find it somewhat strange that most of my class fellows had been together from Grade 1 (or even earlier) which had resulted in strong bonds for obvious reasons. The school management style too was quite different for me as St. John’s was run by the Christian Brothers who were basically educationists and had a strict and formal relationship with the students whereas Xavier’s had Jesuit Priests who by nature were more engaged with the students and their welfare.

When the ISC results came, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had scored a 1 point in my favourite subject English Literature, which I believed would guarantee me admission to my dream course of English Literature Honours at St. Stephens. Alas, at the same time I managed to score a decent all India rank in the IIT entrance examination, and before I knew anything I found myself being firmly steered by my dominating father towards a career in Chemical engineering. That’s how I ended up qualifying initially as a reluctant engineer, but that’s another story altogether!

Overnight Picnic to Sariska by Sudhanidhi Kasliwal

It was way back, when we were in 8 Std. that we were allowed by school authorities and parents to go on an overnight picnic with our classmates. The pockets were tight, so destination had to be close. School masters decided where to go, when to go, how to go and what the menu of the meals would be and most importantly, who would be the cook. Our chosen overnight destination was the Sariska Sanctuary the closest forest near Jaipur which had tigers! Since there were no hotels or serais in Sariska we had to carry our beddings to provide minimum comfort.

So one early morning we class fellows clambered on to the school bus and departed in high spirits, feeling on top of the world, thinking ourselves to be seniors, singing joyous songs, playing pranks and just having plain simple Fun! We reached Sariska in about 3 hours, after crossing Amer, Kukas , Achrol , Chandwaji, Shahpura , Viratnagar , Thanaghazi to arrive outside the main gateway entrance into the Sanctuary. Thereafter we went on a bumpy drive in to the forest area, along narrow winding roads, looking out keenly to spot the animals. Some guys started jumping upon spotting black faced langoors, even though there were some amongst us in our bus!! We were lucky to spot some chital and sambar deers, neelgais, a porcupine and even a fox or was it a jackal, I cannot remember. A snake crossed the road and so did a pair of mongoose. We also saw a mean looking monitor lizard but a glimpse of the Tiger, mighty king of the forest, eluded us.

Anyway our luck was not with us but who cared when all the friends were together! Anil Satija, Ajit Singh, Anil Ram, Rajiv Kanwar, Anil Kasliwal, Naresh Joshi, ‘Pochi’ or Raghubir Singh Kunadi, Pradeep Singh Paduka, Joseph Jacob, Dolly, Mahender Pal Singh, Basant Khetan, Sadiq Umer, Akhil Jugran, Ram Singh Ras, Hari Singh Pilwa, Anil Sehgal, Yadvender Singh, Bhojraj Singh, Subash Ajmera, Manoj Mathur, Ravinder Yadav, etc are some of the names I recall now and my memory fades for other names.

We finally reached our first destination, the Hanuman temple in the core area of the forest. We jumped out of the bus and rushed towards the waterfall at Pandu Pol but to our dismay found our seniors from 9^th Std. already there! After some fool hardiness we came back to the Hanuman temple where we prayed to God for giving us a glimpse of the Lord of the jungle. After eating our packed lunch we moved out to see the Mansagar Lake, Kali Ghati , Jhilmil etc and by sun down we came back to the forest guest house and office. We were directed to camp for the night in an under-construction building of the present Tiger Den Tourist Bungalow. The building had no electricity, no doors or windows, and we scrambled to find our places to spread our “holdalls” for the night. It was nearing dusk and we helped collect firewood so that tea was prepared by the cook with which we washed down a bun, two biscuits, and a banana. Some of us went on the terrace just to encounter the 9 Std. guys parked there for the night. We almost had a fight when they scared our guys by acting as ghosts! Anyway, after early dinner, exhausted we retired to have a sound sleep but that was not to be. In the middle of the night we were woken up by Basantt who declared that he had to urgently respond to the call of nature! So those of us who were not afraid of the dark night volunteered to escort Basantt to a nearby clearing where two guys with torches and two small knives stood guard in case a tiger (no less) showed up! Others went to fetch water. Operation ‘Drop the Load’ was completed successfully and thereafter greatly relieved, we all fell instantly back to sleep and woke up only when the sun was shining in our eyes. Some guys rushed into the forest with their water bottles for ‘morning business’ while others went to the well for a quick bath or just a wash. Meanwhile the breakfast was prepared, which consisted of two slices of bread, two biscuits, a boiled egg, an apple and tea. After breakfast we packed up quickly and left for Jai Samand and Siliserh Lakes. Finally we ended up at Narayani Mata temple where we got freshly cooked lunch. After discovering the environs, we played around “gulli danda” for a while. Well, all good things must come to an end, so from there we proceeded for home. Return journey was as expected dull and sleepy because guys were tired and rolling over each other. When we reached school just before dark, we collected our luggage and rushed home to tell our tall tales!

Then again in 1969, when we were in X Std. we had Season Two of Sariska overnight picnic because no other place was available for overnight stay which was free of cost! And although Tiger Den Tourist Bungalow had now started functioning but we couldn’t afford it. So we had to contend with spending the night at the roof top of the Hanuman Temple in Pandu Pol.

With both XA and XB boys, we started on a joyous journey full of expectations in two buses. To our utter dismay when we reached Pandu Pol at about 11 am we found a group of guys and gals from SMS medical college already spread out all around. Although we had a tiff but finally we had to leave after keeping our luggage in the buses. We ventured out down the road to the big pond we had seen during our bus ride, where we wanted to swim and fish. We were prepared with fishing hooks and cords, which we had picked up from Fr. Willmas and some from Civil and Military store on M. I. Road. We quickly stripped down to our shorts and jumped in the pond where we could see a lot of fish, water snakes and crabs but nobody cared! We had great time swimming. Guys also caught fish but were jeered by the Langurs from safety of the trees. After we finished swimming we started to walk back to Pandu Pol but not before Hari Singh threw a grenade in the pond which he had “gayab karod” from his brother who was in the army. After lobbying the grenade we all crouched behind the big boulders and waited for the blast, which to our utter disappointment, it did not happen. Hari wanted to retrieve his ‘phus’ grenade but nobody had the guts to dive in and fetch it back. And imagine the stalwarts amongst us: Dalpat Singh, Rajiv Kanwar, Randhir Singh Dhinsa, Sunil Hoon, Ram Singh Ras, Anil Satija, Anil Sehgal, Ajit Singh, Raman Gupta, etc.

While walking back, it seemed as if the langurs were teasing us with their “chi chi ching” calls and threw figs at us. In retaliation we hurled fish at them! We were starved! And upon reaching the buses, we grabbed our packed lunch boxes and just gobbled it. Satisfied with food in the tummy, some of us relaxed in the buses while others went to a nearby stream. After some rest, we climbed the steep steps of the Hanuman temple and prayed for giving us a chance to see the mighty Tiger. A group of us ventured up the road towards the Pandu Pol waterfall, which is supposed to have been created by the “gada“ or the mace of Bhim during the Pandav’s “banwaas” or forest exile . After a lot of fooling around and loitering we came back to the buses and had evening tea with buns, bananas, biscuits etc. To help the cook make dinner, we fetched buckets of water from the open well nearby.

At dusk, the jungle came alive with various sounds that reverberated in the hedged-in valley. I distinctly recall hearing “chakoo, chakoo, chakoo.” Years later I came to know it was made by a bird called night jar. There were parrots screeching, peacocks calling, whoops of monkeys and occasionally a sambar call. Amidst all this, someone excitedly said Fr. Pereira was missing. Some said he had gone down the road for a walk, others suggested they had seen him going towards Pandu Pol waterfall. Since nobody was sure, we decided to look for him. We divided ourselves in two groups with torches and whatever manner of knives we had! It was Randhir Dhinsa who had a Kuhkri, from his dad’s collection, to fight the Tiger if we came face to face! It was a moonless dark night and it was pitch black. We walked down huddled together loudly talking amongst ourselves to hide the fear. There were eerie sounds of rustling leaves, whistling of the wind passing through trees, the swishing of water from the stream, twinkling eyes of the deer in our torch light and occasional howls of the jackals but alas! Fr was not to be found. Now we were worried and we contemplated worst case scenarios. Maybe a tiger had dragged him to his den or perhaps a leopard was making a meal out of him!! Disheartened and distressed we went back to the buses and found the other group also had no luck finding Fr. Pereira.

Amongst all this chaos, the cook was busy preparing our dinner of “aaloo puris” when suddenly Fr. appeared from behind a bus from the stream side. The bus was one obvious place we had not bothered to look in and he had a hearty laugh when we told him what all had happened. Whatever, it was an adventure we still remember 50 years later! Anyway, it was getting late and we all had a large meal as we were famished but it seemed that Nihal had a much larger share! Soon after dinner we spread our “holdalls” on the roof of the temple verandas. In the temple downstairs there was a lot of “hulla-gulla” since a “jagaran“ was going on. It had been an exciting day and even though we were very tired nobody was in any mood to sleep with sexy jokes and poetry especially from Sunil Agarwal. Just when sleep was overtaking us Nihal did a Basant from Sariska Season 1! Obviously he had stuffed more “aaloos” than he could handle! Again, fearless volunteers had to escort Nihal to a safe position which happened to be atop a sloping tree over a stream! No ‘chakkar’ of getting water this time for a cleanup job!

Thereafter we all slept fitfully under a star lit heavens only to wake up when the sun had broken from behind the hills. After morning ablutions – all alfresco – we had a steaming hot cup of tea and some biscuits. Breakfast consisted of two slices of bread, a banana, biscuits, a boiled egg and tea. Recharged, we packed up and loaded into the buses. We went to Kali Ghati , Jai Samand and Siliserh lakes where we had lunch. Some did boating where Joshi and Kanwar sat on one side the boat almost tilting it. It was quick action by the boatman that he did not let it over turn. These two jokers were removed from the boat. Some fooled around with the red faced monkeys, who were in abundance while others relaxed in the terrace of the Siliserh palace. After tea and snacks we departed for Jaipur. Today as I sit and recall little stories I still remember that we all had a wish to come back to Sariska yet again only to keep the date with the Tiger.

Adrenaline Rush of a Fighter Pilot by V.P. Singh

Let’s call it a Jet trainer instead of a jet fighter, a two seater plane, capable of carrying and delivering armament stores and also certain combat missions, either for training or fighting for real. A lot of fighter planes are full fledged fighters, but found very good for training too. The Hunter is one of them. Another is a MIG 21

Also, there is no such thing as discovering in your first solo on a particular type of fighter. Simulators, dual checks in the 2 seater trainer version of the plane and thorough study of the pilot notes of the machine is a must before you go for your first solo.If you’re the surprising yourself type, or looking for thrill, the first solo is not for you!

We had finished our basic Flight training on a Piston engine propeller plane- at EFS (Elementary Flying School), on the HT2 in the first half of 1975.

We were now destined to move to FTS, “Fighter Training School.” We arrived and were suitably impressed by the Threat or Encouragement emblazoned on the front face of the Flight office in block capitals, reading – “THROUGH THESE PORTALS PASSED OUT SOME OF THE BEST FIGHTER PILOTS OF THE WORLD!”

High standards indeed! They were talking to us, and we couldn’t afford to fail.

Bouncing back in time, it so transpired, that the IAF had decommissioned De Havilland Vampire jets. Some Kiran HJT-16s (Hindustan Jet Trainer) had been brought in and brand new jet trainers, the TS-11 Iskra(Spark) were expected soon.

Being short of planes, the course was divided into two. Some of us boys started flying Kirans which reduced us, the remainder, to “low life”. To add insult to injury, we were called “You Bloody Turdies” while they trotted off to their allocated plane in flying overalls, gloves, helmets and maps, to complete external checks and await the arrival of the instructor, in the cockpits.

Soon, they were progressing and being launched solo, doing aerobatics, recovery from stalls and spins, formation flying, navigation at high level and low level.

Every dog has his days. A couple of months later and unannounced, we saw a Big AN12 transport, with foreign markings the Polish Flag on the tail. We couldn’t miss seeing him, because as we sat in the verandah with our legs dangling, looking spell bound at this phenomenon.

Our time had come. Two streamlined fuselages of two pretty Iskras were visible along with four wings decked alongside. The AN 12 departed in a couple of hours. Soon, we would be in business!

Just in shorts and chappals, with no other clothing, we got to work soon and assembled the “semi knocked down” kits as fast as further shipments were delivered. Aircraft strength built was up.

The Aircraft was a sleek beauty, in fore and aft tandem configuration, equipped with ejection seats. With a neat cockpit lay out offering a wide field of view and impressive instrumentation, including a neat gyro gun-sight- one of the best I have come across. This cockpit was one of the best for night flying, with UV lights illuminating the instruments, even after electrical failure. A light, easy on fuel [1200 litres] goes into the wings, and you’re good for 1200 km. Very responsive power assisted controls for doing aerobatics or other combat manoeuvring.

Now, talking about flying the plane and the thrills of this very fighter like trainer plane- or a mini fighter made by the Poles. They, as a nation, are aviation loving, particularly as participants in air shows, including low level aerobatics and/or formation flying. I really enjoyed my hundred hours of training on the Iskra at Hakimpet.

Four of our instructors had been trained in Poland. We had been gunning up on aircraft systems, checks and procedures. Soon the Circus was on the road.

We had another axe to grind, in our Kiran-Iskrafued.

Almost all the Kiran boys had finished their solos, but the solo party for the course had not been held because of the Iskra delay. The Instructors throw the party at the officer’s mess. Towards this, an invitation card was dropped at the Iskra Flight, for 22nd Nov ‘75. So, Sardar P Singh, our Chief Flying Instructor carried out my mandatory progress check to follow the procedures and slated me for a Solo check on the 22^nd Nov.

On completing the solo check, he asked me, “Confident”? My reply, ‘Could be nothing but confident”.

“Right – Go and kill yourself” (for luck)! Follow the General Handling profile”.

Soon, the Iskra guys too, had at least one candidate, and have both groups enjoy a good bash at the Officers mess in Sikandarabad.

Aviation has its moments of amorphous momentary sights, sounds, shivers and pure glee, which sometime make you ask “Oh God! What did I do: “Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must’ve done something good! (Song from The Sound of Music) to deserve this divine profession, not available to Earthlings.

It could be a contrail (Vapour trail) you see emanating a milk white cloud trail extending from your wingman’s exhaust and you look up at your rear view mirror showing the same tell-tale thread meandering for a 100 km behind. One can whip into a quick turn or barrel around your partner, almost like a dog chasing his own tail.

Sometimes, you see your own shadow travelling on the layer of cloud below, ringed by a full 360 deg rainbow.

You get paid (not much though) to horse around. There is so much of freedom in 3 dimensions. It’s fun – and its training. Its high, gut wrenching, sweating, hyperventilating and adrenal stuff, yet its work and exhilarating. It’s part of combat manoeuvring. And it gets you hungry enough for your breakfast in the crew room soon after- Not bad for an early morning briefing, a 30 minutes of flight, and it’s still 0730 on the breakfast table.

Eyes down to the next number, who’s the chap flying IF( Instrument flying) with me. Ask him to check if the trainer is ready and meet me in the briefing room. I’ll be back from my son’s school…. In half an hour. Some F’up. Teacher wants to meet me….. The irony now was, that the brand new Iskras had good serviceability and availability. We finished our flying off about 100 hours of our flying syllabus, while the Kiran lot were struggling to complete the course. They were the “Turdies” now. The good news was that we could catch the bus from Dhungalmari village to see the evening movie in Hyderabad. The bad news was, that it again fell upon us, to do all the PT, parades. Ground classes, exams, punishments, dinner nights and bumf

Indian Administrative Service (IAS)- Successor to the Steel Frame by Dharam Pal

Yes, the IAS is the successor to the ICS known popularly as the “steel frame” of India. The ICS was a Service created to serve their colonial masters. In contrast, the IAS is a Service that serves the people of democratic India. The IAS Officers are Indians who take an oath at the LBS National Academy of Administration to serve the people and to protect the Constitution of India. The IAS Officers are expected to assiduously work behind-the-scenes to implement policies of the Government of the day – Central or the State- within the confines of our Constitution.

The initial years, after the training at LBS National Academy of Administration, Mussoorie, are tough especially if the Officer is posted in a State away from his Home State. The young Officer, generally just out of College or University, is required to adapt very quickly to the language, culture, food habits of his cadre State. And if the Officer is posted in a Northeast State, like I was, it’s a real challenge to adjust and to survive. Those who adapt quickly enjoy serving a diverse set of culturally vibrant people inhabiting the Northeast. There are a few who drift or even drop out.

In the Northeast context, the probation period is the real challenge, with little support and assistance from local senior bosses. The first posting as a Sub Divisional Officer (SDO) brings to the fore the big responsibilities and extracts maturity from the young Officer, alone & still unmarried. Most often the sub divisional towns are small, remote & difficult to access and with few facilities. To cite an example, it can be tough to even find a cook to cook what you have been so used to all your life. Quick adaptation is the key to survival. Of course, life in the mainland States like Uttar Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, Maharashtra etc. is often comfortable & the young Officer gets a feel of the administrative power very early. Not so in the Northeast where even finding decent accommodation is a tough task.

The IAS Officer gets a true feel of the administrative power once posted as a Deputy Commissioner/ District Magistrate & Collector. Both the support & the infrastructure is better at the district level and this is the stage at which the IAS Officer has the autonomy to serve the people and make an impact. He must be savvy enough to get along with the elected representatives, MLAs & MPs, who will invariably place demands often discomforting to the young Officer. It requires a certain skill and maturity to perform while remaining on the right side of the CM, Ministers, MLAs & MPs as also the senior bureaucracy.

My service as Deputy Commissioner (DC) in Churachandpur District of Manipur State, a tribal inhabited district bordering Myanmar, was a pleasant experience. I could expedite the pace of implementation of development works and ensure uninterrupted foodgrain supplies in a perennially foodgrain deficit district. I loved interacting with the tribal people while trekking through hilly & wooded interiors of the district. I would patiently listen to their woes- most often centering around poor healthcare and educational facilities. School and Primary Health Sub-Centre buildings were in dilapidated state with hardly any staff available for teaching and providing medical care. Roads in rural areas were abysmal and we made efforts to improve them under various Government programs.

Once posted in the in the State Secretariat, the IAS Officer finally gets integrated into the bureaucracy- long hours of file work, tedious meetings, inane minutes make the early Secretariat posting quite uninteresting. In the Secretariat, the Officer’s ability to quickly absorb new concepts and to write/ dictate good notes, summaries & to conduct meetings with diverse set of Officers is honed. The need to get along with the Minister, who most often is very demanding, is of utmost relevance.

The Central Secretariat at Delhi is far more rules bound and it takes a while to get used to strictly following the rules & regulations. At the junior level the support is often scanty, and the Officer must rub shoulders with the wizened (and often unfriendly) Central Secretariat Officers. At the Joint Secretary level, the IAS officers are the core of any Ministry, and their contribution is well recognized. Every IAS Officer aspires to be a Secretary to the Govt. of India but just a handful out of each batch make it to those coveted posts every year.

In the States, the highest an IAS Officer can rise to is the post of the Chief Secretary. There is keen competition among the IAS Officers for the top post. It requires a combination of factors to rise to the highest post in a State. That includes dedicated sustained work over the years, building bridges of competence and confidence both with the higher bureaucracy and with the political executive as an Officer who can deliver results across a spectrum of public services. Core competence required is the ability to co-ordinate effectively through the bureaucracy with vastly varying levels of competence. It goes without saying that the Chief Secretary must enjoy the complete trust & confidence of the Chief Minister and must develop a healthy rapport with the senior Ministers as well.

I had the opportunity to serve as Chief Secretary of Manipur for over four years from 2009-13. I must place on record my gratitude to Fr. Zubricky, who mentored us through the final years at school, and honed not just our English, but our personalities as well. I doubt if I, a small rural Punjab farmer’s son, would have risen through the IAS to the highest post of Chief Secretary without the immense contribution of Fr. Zubricky and a host of other Teachers at St. Xavier School, Jaipur. May God bless them.

Sports In our School by Sudhanidhi Kasliwal

“Seventy and Still Sassy: Embracing the Golden Years with a Wink” by Basantt Khaitan

“Hey guys, how have you been doing? Great meeting the gang after 50 years! So, I (we?) will be turning 70 in just 5 months. Lately I have started observing how life has become a mix of grand adventures and unexpected surprises – like trying to find your glasses parked on your head or wondering where you left your mobile till it rang in the jacket hanging on the chair behind you!

With all it’s unpredictability, life is far from over at any age.

Imagine how fortunate we were to jump the 2 world wars, 2 major pandemics, the nuclear bomb; by just 2 decades and yet be there to witness and participate in using high-tech for our work and personal life. Back in our school days, Software meant something Mom wanted me to wear to bed; Digital was something containing digits: like maths; Internet was the Net we used for Indoor badminton; Clones was just a spelling mistake for Clowns, and Electronics was something to do with Electrons that we learnt about in our Physics class!!

Wifi, smart phones (wonder how they became smart without being punished at school), food deliveries, emails – all have become an extension to our existence. Instead of jokes, I’m made to believe that it’s actually emojis that make one laugh.

Depending on how carefully you’ve attended to your health, life at 70 can be full of joy, wisdom, and plenty of hilarious stories to share. Slowly yet surely, one starts appreciating that getting older has its advantages. For one, people automatically assume you’re wise. They look at you and think, ‘Oh, this person must know what he’s talking about.’ They seem oblivious to the fact that their confusion will be our entertainment. 😊

Getting to 70, you start noticing changes in your body. Wrinkles on your face that make you redo your iphone profile, the middle bulge that stays longer than 9 months, movement slows down as if preparing for a race with snails and laziness sucks like a croc soaking in the warmth of the sun – all symptoms that need care & attention through old age tricks: Yoga, meditation, balanced diet, deciding to let-go more often, being grateful for what you have and finding time & reason to look in the mirror and smile at yourself more often.

But hey, count the silver linings too. Being 70 means Doctors appointments tend to become a hobby; I can pretty much say whatever I want and get away with it – I mean, I can dish out the sass and call it ‘wisdom’, you know – like it’s my superpower! In our traditional Indian families, suddenly the joys of retirement retire, just when you dream there’s someone to look after you (your son & daughter in law) you wake up to realise that the care lasts as long as you look after their children. Much to your dislike for time management, you can now afford to allocate more time for what you like – but seldom for what you ‘really’ like (roulette anyone?).

The anxiety of forgetting your pills on time makes you sick, losing one’s train of thought mid-sentence adds to the comedy, realising that the party you were invited to was yesterday makes the stomach churn and celebrating your wife’s 70^th birthday on your anniversary day – results into … (let’s take time off to rewind here)!

Of course, we must engage in the endless debates circling fountain of youth. But let’s be honest, who needs a fountain when you’ve got a pungent sense of humour that keeps you forever young? At seventy, you’ve honed your wit to perfection (almost), and you’re not afraid to use it (also almost) – whether it’s to tease the grandkids or to roast your friends during get togethers. Or maybe you’ve become a star bathroom singer or a freak in cycle marathon (using the gym bike ofcourse)! Did someone just mention abstract painting?

Spend time catching up with stories of where life has taken you, what family has meant to you, exchanging wonderous and disdainful life hacks, funky school memories, the fun and amusing moments you almost forgot, silly adventures that made you laugh your stomach out, events that shot you to fame or rubbed you down, stories from the voyeur in you, medals you won or lost, the bout that stole your two front teeth, the smoke ring championship in the school toilet and unforgettable moments like the rooster-pose punishment for sticking chewing gum on the Math’s teacher’s seat. Deep in the night amongst friends, with the ice cubes still looking golden in the glass you’re holding, release your anxiety and finally reveal where you hid those horny mags. And don’t forget to whine about your Guru who made you wise(r) almost to the point of a monk! Everything except the secret of why your girlfriend didn’t marry you! ….. man – one can go on & on!

In conclusion, my fellow seventy-year-olds, life at this age can be as riotous an adventure as one wishes – filled with laughter, delight and the occasional dash trying to befriend smart gadgets. Simultaneously you carry a wild appreciation of your simpleton image on realising you are wearing mismatched socks – with the awe and enthusiasm, a kid in a candy store would express.

Let’s embrace our wrinkles, our quirks, our forgetfulness, our stubbornness and all those hidden traits for which you always wanted time to improve – all because life at 70 is one heck of a ride – a Free ride!”. At seventy, every laugh line is a badge of honour, and every extra day is a reason to celebrate. So, while parting, look for the spark in each other’s eyes and WINK – it’s a friend’s way to say ‘Thx for being my pal!’

Cheers to us, the sassiest septuagenarians – grateful for still being around to celebrate our GJ reunion. Thank you, Life!

St. Xavier’s Jaipur by Rohit Bhandari