It was a wintry Saturday afternoon and as I watched Washington Redskins game, only to have enough information to engage in a meaningful post game analysis at work, my wife expressed the desire to eat something sweet. Now that is not an uncommon occurrence, knowing Swati has, what I call, candyphilia. But I felt the need to remind her about our new year resolutions. She quickly reminded me that it was 14 days since the new year and she had been nice so far – so a little indulgence would hardly hurt.
14 days since new year – does that not mean makarsankranti? A day that took me back into a classroom of 50 young 15-16 year olds, wearing grey and cream uniforms. Now I know you would ask me, what makarsakranti has to do with a bunch of teenagers in school uniforms. It so happened that the 50 odd class of 10-C, in the year 1994 was the only class of M.B High School that was in uniform on makarsankranti. It was supposed to be a day when everyone in school dressed up in traditional clothes. It was the day of festivities. It was a day when the school staff and management distributed the traditional sweet – til-gul. But it was not supposed to be all that for the class of 10-C.
A day before makarsankranti, our Sanskrit teacher had a rude awakening to the fact that none of the 50 pupils in her class had done any Sanskrit homework for the past eight months. Not a single student having any Sanskrit homework complete, is not something that she had seen coming – after all it was only the C division that had the privilege of having Sanskrit as a subject. Part of the punishment was that the entire class would be excluded from the festivities, would have to come to school in uniforms and would sit in the dull and boring classroom to complete the homework, while the rest of the school enjoyed the festival of makarsakranti.
What actually happened on 14th January 1994 would be an event that I could never forget and the vivid memories of that day came back. The Class of 10-C did come to school that day, awkwardly dressed in our school uniforms, complete with the school badges, bearing our house colors and the blue and white canvas shoes. The guys didn’t get to wear the kurtas, dhotis or other traditional clothes and the girls didn’t know what to tell their moms about the saris that had requested to loan for a day. It was after all, one of the last such opportunities while in school.
I remember that morning, as if it had happened just yesterday. I bicycled my way to school at 6:45 as usual, but there was nothing usual about that. I remember the prefects, in perfect traditional dresses, standing at the school’s entrance, checking to make sure that we had our uniforms in order and that we abide by all the rules. They had the expressionless look on their faces - I knew that look all too very well…. I had remained a house captain and a prefect a year before.
There were no regular classes that day. We were all supposed to sit and complete the homework that was now pending for the last eight months – a very agonizing exercise – especially given the fact that we were all going to tuition classes and doing our homework very religiously there.
The silence of the morning prayers, continued after that as well – a very unusual thing for Class of 10-C, otherwise known to be very noisy. An eventless early morning, was soon followed by buzz at the backbenches. Soon the conversation changed from a discussion of our disappointment about the worthless exercise of doing eight months worth of homework to angry outbursts regarding the fact that we had been excluded from our last makarsakranti celebrations in school. I remember that usually the class monitors would try to check the noise and try to bring the house to order; however, Kedar Agarkar was in no such mood that day. He let the backbenchers (included me) have a field day. We came up with the brilliant idea – we would boycott the til-guls that school staff and management distributed amongst students on that day to revenge the insult. With the support from both the men and women backbenchers, we made the announcement that we all would not accept til-guls.
Til-guls are sweets made from sesame seeds and sugar. It is a tradition in Maharashtra to give these til-guls to each other and wish that people always talk sweet things (“til-gul ghya, god-god bola”). A revolt like this would certainly be unprecedented in the school’s history. We had our doubts, but we also had the support from everyone – even from the hardest critics of the backbench nuisance makers. This was perhaps the first time during my five years in school that I had seen such a unity in the Class. As expected, our Class teachers, Mrs. Jani (a wonderful person, I must add), came to Class with the bag of sesame sweets.
Surprise! It was unanimous – we did not accept the sweets. Mrs. Jani did not know what to do next. She tried talking us out of it, but it was of no use. By this time our tempers and emotions were at an all time high. Mrs. Khan was brought in to negotiate as it was considered that she had some influence over some boys in the Class. The principal and the Sanskrit teacher (who was also second in-charge), were also brought in to help prevent what was turning out to be a major embarrassment for the school authorities.
The situation had taken a 180 degree turn now. It was now our time to do the talking and we did. The real turn of events was when Manasi broke down into tears while trying to explain our side of the story. That was soon followed by Jui, Preetam and then you know….. I remember I was sitting with Makarand and his voice started chocking as well. Now, this was really going too far.
The tears can speak far more than fiery speeches or emotional outbursts – a fact that I know now better than ever. Everyone listened to the story of our humiliation. We accepted the sweets at the end and everyone called it a day. (I still can’t remember if we had to complete the homework or not – I am certain I did not!).
This to most readers might seem to be a meaningless story of a bunch of high-school kids, who tried to revolt against the establishment. It is not. It is a story of friendship. It is a story of 50 kids, from diverse backgrounds and of different personalities, who were united for a cause. It is a story that finally dissolved tensions and misunderstandings between classmates. It was an event that paved the way for a great three months through till the SSC exams in March. We had a fabulous farewell party a few weeks later. Girls got to wear their saris. We stood united regarding our frustration about the special classes, which were soon discontinued. I still have the shirt from my final day in school, which has good wishes and messages from friends written all over it. We all went in different directions later. I am glad that some of us are still in touch and I think makarsakranti of 1994 has a lot to do with it.
This is the story of the 10-C class of 1994 – a very special part of my life.
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