Anecdotes contributed by Aditya Somani

In one of his health science classes, Wilzbacher asked a question and someone hastened to give, ofcourse, the wrong answer. He was unmoved and continued teaching,poker facedly. Then he made a Jeeves like statement,”refrain from counting your juvenile poultry before their period of incubation has fully materialised”. At the end of the class he wanted to know what he had said. Before I could answer,TM, with alacrity answered,” don’t count your chickens before they are hatched” That was the teaching style. Thus I still remember his words verbatim. Great teacher and human being

This incident,in particular, I had in mind.
You may use it for the souvenir.
The other one about Tony Satija coming in a big late when Zubricky was discussing Julius Caesar and the the going lines were,”here comes Caesar s body”. Tony entered right then and said ” Fr may I come in”
Not only ludicrous but hilarious. Even Zubricky burst out laughing and welcomed him, though late.
Great funny moments of yore!!

In our Modern Short Stories, one of the stories had the word SOD. Zubricky was at a loss in explaining the meaning of the word when we, innocently, asked him. He literally blushed and said that it would be discussed later. Could have been embarrassing for. To tell the truth, even I didn’t know the meaning. Could only guess because of Wilzy s semantics, assuming SOD to be the short form

In class 4A, Mrs Anand was our class teacher. I used to go to her for tuition,opp. Kanoria college.
She taught me more of geography as I was weak in it. She was setting the geography paper for class 4a and revealed a few questions that would be there (but, could be expected).
She was right BUT even till date I only know the anatomical north and south, and east and west.
Otherwise, my geography is still weak I remember an incident of Fr Chanderlain, the giant with a petrified face….
We were sent to play volleyball in the last period. One of our mates collected the volleyball from the store and, on way to the court,was dribbling it on the road Suddenly, Fr Chanderlain appeared like an apparition,on his bike. He let the bike fall on the road and rushed to our guy and gave him a kick which sent him flying farther than the ball. Our teary guy got with Chanderlain towering over him to be admonished to never to dribble a volleyball on the road.
I vividly remember his quick feline move where had rendered a big kick before we could gather our wits.
I forget the name of our mate. Don’t think Fr Chanderlain stayed here for long. But he had a menacing look!

Loafers on the roof by Rajendra Singh Khandela

When you come out of the Physics Lab and go straight down the corridor, at the end turn right, you reach a class and then a door which normally remains closed

Once the trio of mischief makers, Ramesh, Pavan and me, managed to open the door and went up the staircase. On going up the stairs, we reached another door with a big lock on it, and a small ventilator along it. We decided to go on the roof through the ventilator the height not being more than a foot.             We brought a chair lying nearby to reach the ventilator. Tandon opted to go first, so he climbed the chair and with our help managed to wriggle through easily, being thin. Next was Pavan. He was flabby during those days, got stuck so Tandu had to pull and I had to push his torso up which made him burst out in laughter. Huffing and puffing, he eventually made it to the roof. I was the last but with the help of the two on the roof, managed to climb up.   

‘If the priests see us, we will be expelled! ‘ Tandon said gravely.

‘I will say that Tandon led us here, we are innocent!’ Pavan said flippantly.

‘Dont fight, just savour this moment. I think we are pioneers in climbing to the roof. We should get some medal.’ I said with an air of pride.

Tandon sighed,’ I wish I had a smoke here! ‘

‘ I wish I had a beer here! ‘ I piped in.

‘ I wish I could fly from here.’ Pavan said wistfully.

The view from the roof was phenomenal, a panorama seldom seen in those days.

Suddenly we saw a father approach from the fathers’ quarters. We bent and nearly crawled to the ventilator. Coming down through that ventilator was a very difficult task. We had to lie down flat on our stomach with legs towards the ventilator and push ourself backwards so that the legs go down first. I tried first with lots of difficulty managed to come down.  Then motu Pavan with lots of pushing and pulling was able to come down. Tandu too managed to squeeze through.

We, the loafers on the roof, a feat seldom undertaken by students. What an experience!!!

Just another day in paradise, in memory of Dilip Tandon

The brain has a capacity of 2.5 petabytes but how does it select memories to retain. I feel emotions and feelings associated with the event determine retention. A day is vividly retained in the labyrinth of my upper story even after five decades, a roller coaster day, leaving a taste – that of coffee. The three of us Raj, Dilip and self, ventured a trip to Kashmir, we were in 10 th Std then. We were more than classmates, family friends as well; permitted to go by ourselves, assured by our heights, both Raj and self were six feet and Dilip with his sweet and charming dimple smile. “Daffodils” as Wordsworth would say, focusing on the day etched, visit to Pahelgam.

We were staying at my uncle’s place in Srinagar. Morning assembly, we calculated the days spending and pooled with Raj, our fiscal controller. We were careful of expenses as we were frugal travellers on a shoe string budget, only the shoe was a size smaller. We stepped out, the cold fresh breeze hit us, a riot of colors in the front yard, roses of all colors and hues, even a black one – something we had never seen in our desert capital. We walked half a mile to the government bus stand to board the bus to Pahelgam for a day’s trip, we could not afford to spend for a night stay. It was a three hours’ drive; we boarded a bus which would touch Verinag and Kockernag tourist spots. We would use the half hour stop at each place to do the touristy thing. It was mesmerising, the beauty of nature, tall Pine trees flanking, the road parallel to the Jhelum for a stretch, it was sheer romance at first sight. At the first stop, we visited the source of Jhelum – Verinag – sipping cold crystal clear water at the place Jhelum is born. The second stop is where it all happened.

Kokernag has a set of seven springs and a place sought by the tourists. The bus stopped at walking distance from the springs – the water so cold we realised we could chill a beer in no time. Walking back, we saw a group of teenage girls pass us – Did they pause? A flicker of recognition? – Was it imagination – we surely didn’t concoct the smiles –surely, they were talking about us. Our hearts in flutter – the closest we had been to girls was the MGD walls. The moment of pleasure passed as they went out of sight.

Suddenly we found an Army jeep at speed pull up next to us. “Aap log Jaipur se ho?” The smart Jawan behind the wheels asked us. As we nodded he went on “Aap ko CO sahib ne yaad kiya hai.” Dwarfed the jawan and comforted of the fact that we had not misbehaved, we got into the Jeep. As he drove into a large manicured bunglow, we saw the group of girls along with their mother in attendance. The “CO Sahib” a Lt Col joined a little later as we were hosted to lunch. My first insight of the fauj life and culture – The parents had hosted us just because their wards had placed us from Jaipur – it was over whelming. We reached Pahelgam, driven in the same army jeep – The three of us in seventh heaven, heady with the proximity of teenage girls who had recognised us – each of us assuming he was Rajesh Khanna. Don’t remember too much of Pahalgam except strolling up the Lidder river and having Omlette bread on the roadside.

It was late evening when we boarded the bus back – An exciting day not knowing more was to follow. We reached Srinagar by 8 pm. We decided to have a meal outside so as not to inconvenience the folks we were staying with at this hour of the night. We stopped at the first nondescript restaurant – constrained by our pockets. Raj took the menu – calculated the bill from the price given against items – and ordered. The bill when presented shocked Raj – it was over the money we had with us –the taxes apparently had been missed out. Embarrassment in foreign land, we dug deep – knowing there was not any money with us. We had to get the amount from home. None wanted the scrutiny of the waiters.

We did a ‘Sholay’ – we tossed the coin and I lost. Raj suggested I order coffee and sip it slows to make it last. And so I did the first coffee, then the second and finally the third. I remembered the LP record at Raj’s house of the “Longest Day” – it just felt like that. Finally they turned up grinning

 “What took you so long?” “Oh uncle started chatting with us. “

All this while I was under scrutiny. Over time the taste of friendship and coffee still lingers.

A new phrase is born!

Father Mayer, our English teacher of class 11 B, was a jovial guy, adept at laughing at his own jokes and generally amiable. One such afternoon, he entered the classroom in a foul mood, started picking faults in the homework he had corrected. The boys were teenagers with rebellious hormones flowing in their veins, they could take it no longer. They stopped listening to him and started talking amongst themselves. Fr Mayer suddenly got up and said,’ I will not teach you.’ He barged out of the door. Somebody shouted, Ghodi! This was taken up by others and there was a crescendo of Ghodi! Ghodi!

Suddenly the door opened, Fr Mayer’s face, a crimson red like a Rhesus monkey behind, trembling in rage

He hollered, ‘ I vomit you out! I vomit you out! ‘ This phrase was new to us and we watched bemused.

‘ I know you call me by the disrespectful name, Ghodi. I put in so much labour for you and this is what I get.’

He stopped for a few moments, looked at the class and raged, ‘ I vomit you out! ‘ He left; his face still crimson.

All boys chanted, ‘I vomit you out! I vomit you out! ‘ Thus, we were introduced to a new phrase by Fr Mayer.

PS: A Google search indicates that the phrase comes from The Bible. Jesus says you are neither hot or cold but lukewarm, I spew(vomit) you out.

Dedicated to all my Batchmates by Nirmal Kumbhat

One day a Colonel Sa’ab from the Army, fell into a well. The soldiers would throw a rope into the well and pull the Colonel Sa’ab out. The moment the Colonel would come up, the soldiers would leave the rope snap to attention and salute. The Colonel Sa’ab would fall back into the well. This happened many times.

Someone suggested that a Brigadier be requested for help-because HE wouldn’t have to salute the Colonel. So, one Brigadier Sa’ab arrived. He threw the rope into the well and the Colonel Sa’ab grabbed it. The Brigadier Sa’ab began pulling the rope. As soon as the Colonel Sa’ab reached the top of the well, he spotted the Brigadier Sa’ab. He immediately left the rope and saluted. And he fell back once more, into the well. There was total silence. Then … Then everyone heard the desperate Colonel Sa’ab’s voice from down below:
 “You idiots – get hold of a batch mate !!”
MORAL OF THE STORY:
Classmates ARE important! They can save your life!

Coming of Age by Dr. Pavan Shorey

Naresh clarifies what happened to Bond Lovers” Tandon’s bond book tamasha ho gai. Guruji Mr R.L. Sharma saw it in my hand in the senior lounge may be got interested took it from me and said “aisi kitabe Padhate ho ‘and went away Tandu, what he did with it? Your choice
Naresh Joshi: To the souvenir committee bond book and senior lounge both are tackledFrom local mast ram we rose to juicy porn writing. And then came those color climaxes from Germany! The intrepid also arranged for 8 or Super 8 mm film projection with audio! Time was when we measured how far one could pee but then later Size Mattered!
Other such stuff

The Porcupine quills or how to pull your teacher’s hair and get caught! By Pavan Shorey

This incident happened in the 10th Science class of Father Totuvelli. Each student was given some practical task. Fr Totuvelli was moving around inspecting what the boys were doing. When he was busy talking to one student, Ramesh Tandon had a brainwave. He challenged Rajendra Singh to hold a hair strand on Fr Totuvelli’s bald head. They were three of them, stiff like Porcupine quills, some centimetres apart. The bet was taken by Rajendra Singh. He held the middle hair/quill on Fr Totuvelli’s bald head. To Rajendra’s ill luck, Fr Totuvelli bent down and immediately realised that someone was pulling his hair. He turned around and caught Rajendra in the act. Rajendra Singh, already dark,
already dark, turned many shades darker with this grim foreboding that he would be expelled from school. His eyes begged mercy from the Father.Fr Totuvelli said, ‘ You, you, always upto some mischief. 100 situps for you!’ Rajendra Singh was relieved and was ready to do 200 situps. Fr Totuvelli asked Yashwant Chaudhary to count the situpsRajendra Singh stated the situps. After he had done 20, Yashwant in a conspiratorial tone said,’ Do only 40, I will say you have done 100.’After 40 situps Rajendra Singh stood up. Fr Totuvelli came over and asked Yashwant, ‘Has he done 100 situps?’ Yashwant with a deadpan expression said,’ Father, he has done only 60.’ Thus Rajendra had to do 40 more situps to wriggle out of a situation where any other Father would have slapped at least a grey card on him.

Anatomy of a Bomb Blast by Ramesh Tandon

It was around Diwali time in the year 1970. For a change the school had turned into the LOC, with bombs blasting in the staircases, bathrooms etc. Michael Jain and Karni Singh were doing their job perfectly.

It was fun to see Junia and some other Padres running around to catch the culprits but to no result.

Pavan asked me ‘Where do the culprits vanish? ‘ I told him that are probably using some sort of a timing device like a cigarette or an incense stick to the base of which the bombers stick a fuse.

So, I told Pavan that we should also plant a bomb and watch Junia running around.

But by then, the padres and Junia had become wise to the modus operandi and had started to patrol and sniff around the corridors and bathrooms like sniffer dogs in each interval.

So the issue before the trio of me, pavan and Rajendra Singh (of khandela, as he used to write proudly after his name, to declare his blue blooded lineage), was where and how to do it?

But then Rajendra Singh (do not forget the ‘of Khandela part) was also known as UPTOHISTRIX, thanks to the Asterix comics that Nihal, the Obelix, had in abundant supply.

(By the way, Pavan was known as Cacaphonix).

So Mr Uptohistrix came up with a solution. He too started running after blasts with Junia n Padres and discovered that they never checked the staircases leading to the roof.

The second issue was that there should be no smell or smoke emanating from the timer.

Ashok Parnami solved the first issue about smell by giving me some raw agarbatti sticks that had not been perfumed yet.

Uptohistrix had already solved the issue of unpatrolled areas.

But smoke ka kya karey? It would have floated down the staircase into the corridors. A dead giveaway for Junia n the Padres.

So, one evening, in the cricket nets, I asked Yashwant Chow, to hit one up on to the roof. Chow willingly obliged.

Next morning, I asked one of the peons to unlock the wooden door to the roof and fetch our ball.

As he removed the lock and opened the door and went searching for the ball, I vanished with the lock n key. He had no option other than to close only the wire mesh door.

The stage was set.

During the second small interval, the three of us went up the staircase to the roof and planted the bomb near a well ventilated wire mesh door.

The bell rang and the three of us came and sat in the class, very very straight faced, with heart beats that could be heard.

And five minutes later, a satisfying, ear bursting explosion.

Even more pleasing was the sight of Junia and the Padres running around to catch the culprits.

We had managed to fool the school police like professional terrorists.

But after the blast, Shailesh looked towards me smilingly. Actually he had seen the bomb and incense stick in my bag. Thank you Shailesh, for not tattling.

The Eighth Wonder of the World by Sumit Das

It was the class just after lunch. Father Zubricky was the teacher and was trying to get the sleepy class interested in the Midsummer’s Night Dream. Full stomach makes one heavy lidded and the brain shuts off. Father Zubricky was extolling the subtle intricacies of the Shakespearean play. He had this habit of moving among rows of to make sure the students were awake, especially the back benchers.

Me and Deepak Maheshwari were short in height hence we were condemned to the first desk. I was fighting sleep and on a glance sideways I saw Deepak in a trance, his eyes open, giving a vacant look. His lids were heavy and were threatening to close. Father Zubricky noticed Deepak, bent down and put his elbow on his desk and asked Deepak, ‘What are you wondering?’

Deepak’s spell broke, he saw father’s face close to his and he shot up like a Jack in the box.

‘Father, there are Seven Wonders of the World.’ He rattled of the names of the wonders hurriedly.

‘Deepak, you are the eighth wonder of the world, the boy who sleeps with his eyes open!’ All Deepak could manage was a sheepish smile.

First Solo Flight on a Jet Fighter 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-Iskra fued.

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 dimension.

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 j