memories of the 1989 Batch

memories of the 1989 Batch

2

memories of the 1989 Batch

Memories… “Memories, pressed between the pages of my mindMemories, sweetened thru the ages just like wine” - Elvis Presley

A cold January morning in 2005. 14 years

had passed since I had last stepped into school. Here I was now, standing in front of the once familiar blue and white gate. A gate which I had passed through my entire growing up years. Today, however, as I stood there, I was apprehensive. Of what, I wasn’t sure.

Today the gate looked much more imposing than what it was. It wasn’t just an iron gate, it seemed more like a portal. A portal back in time. I tried hard to remember the day when I had last stepped out of that gate. I couldn’t. Time had flown by, taking me along. Right now, somehow, the flow stopped, as I stood there looking at the gate.

I stepped past the gate, into the school prem-ises and magically, time started moving again. Then it dawned upon me, what it was that I was apprehen-sive about. It was the memories that I had left be-hind. The memories of growing up. The book of memories which was created while spending most my waking days inside the school premises .

A book each one of us had left behind, full of memories of good times, bad times. Of love and bro-ken hearts. Bonhomie and jealousy. Moments of insecurity and struggles of growing up. Memories I had not revisited in all these years. Today, the book opened up and the pages started turning.

The sound of the morning bell. The chatter while we waited for the teacher to come in. The ritual of “good morning sir” or “good morning ma'am”. And a sea of supposedly innocent faces looking at the teacher not so much for knowledge but waiting for the bell to ring. The “silence!” which the teachers wanted but never really got.

The morning assembly. Surely a concept which took birth in an idealistic mind. What thought must have crossed the mind to say lets get pre- teens to meditate and sit silent. For a full half hour. The purpose of which never really dawned on any of us. The shuffle into the assembly hall, the bhajans and the constant fidgeting during the minutes of silence. The recess. The samosas and the cholle kulches, hand cricket and the fights. Exploring the undergrowths and the running around in the build-ings under construction, pretending to be pioneers. The race down corridors. The tumbles and falls. The split lips and chipped teeth.

Socially Useful Productive Work. Or in the student parlance “woo hoo no class!!”. Carpentary,

candle making, marbling and countless other stuff which we haven’t really socially used productively since then. But what the heck!

The day wears on, and the final bell strikes. Books are packed back in, hurried byes, and the rush to school buses, or in my case the walk back home. Look-ing out for the companions back home. When there were none, it was a walk back alone. Lost in my own thoughts, kicking the odd can or rock on the road. Stop-ping by at the local shop to buy my sugar fix.

As the pages turned, there were writings which were fading away. Yet others where the ink was fresh as if it were penned just yesterday.

My sights and senses slowly got adjusted back to the present. It was cold but bright and sunny. I walked along taking in the sights. The ashram, the Auro shop, the new buildings. So much had changed yet a lot remained the same. I kept on walking until I came to the football ground where a sea of humanity had gath-ered. I began to see familiar faces, and smiles of recog-nition started appearing. Voices started calling out and names being recalled. Old stories started being retold, “do you re-member” being a common refrain. Stories of crushes and pranks. Oddly, mostly happy memories. Or only the happy portions of the memories. There was a cer-tain comfort in seeing faces I had known, faces which were part of a time of innocence. The initial awkward-ness of the gap in time slowly dissolved away giving way to much back slapping and bonhomie. The unexplained bonding of childhood that stands the test of time. It all began to fall into place.

We were all exchanging pages in our individual books, keeping it alive, keeping it from fading. After all it is those memories which make us who we are today. With the happier memories tiding us through life, through thick and thin. For better or for worse.

Monish Das

** ** **

The Mothers International School: A School True To Its Name

As the name of our school goes....it contains a very critical aspect of our lives...the name Mother.

Our school could have had any other name as well...why not the Father's international school. .. I cannot say for all....but having lost my biological mother at the tender age of seven while I was in grade 2, my school took care of me in a manner only a mother would take care of her child. What does a mother give her children apart from giving birth?

Food...I was blessed to have a school which provided wholesome food during my growing years...the queues of the canteen in the ashram. ..the plate with its partitions...the taste and warmth of the food. ..self cleaning after the meals...all this care from a school with a motherly touch.

Physical and emotional Security. ..an environ-ment which was congenial for the growth of the self....possible only because of the secure environment provided by the ever watchful eyes of teachers and friends. Friends formed during this period who have proved to be lifelong assets...always there for you. ..unlike some of the friendships fostered during college days.

Year 2014 is truly special for many! It

marks the 25 years celebration of

batch 1989. On this momentous occa-

sion, the alumni from across the globe

have shared recollections from their

time in their Alma Mater - The Moth-

er’s International School.

3

memories of the 1989 Batch

Lessons in Honesty and Simplicity....mothers always teach us to be honest....our school taught us that...no worldly tricks of dealing with people but a sim-ple approach. Interaction with the Ashramites would make you believe that yes life could indeed be so simple.

A microcosm of Life…a mother knows how to modify the relations with a growing child.....when a child is born, a mother takes care as a gardener takes care of new buds.....during late childhood and early ad-olescence, a mother tends to be more friendly...during teenage years…a mother keeps a close watch...giving us an idea how the life shall be.....the twelve years in the school provided a glimpse of how life will be....early years of easy life. ..followed by tough competition in the middle school. ..and then once life has a direction there is a sense of relief...reminiscent of the three critical stages of the life that is childhood. ..youth....adolescence. ..a mother teaches her child to persevere under all circumstances...whereas generally a father would let the child learn on their own. ..and we were taught this aspect so aptly in our school.

.There could be so many other reasons and ex-amples to how our school took care of us the way a mother would take care...and the end of the journey resulted in mature, level headed individuals that we all are..

The only expectation a mother has that all her children should be healthy and live happily....and take care of each other when a mother’s physical overview is no longer there...it surely would hurt a mother when she would see that her children are not living happily ever after....from wherever a mother is looking at us…

To that end, our school has succeeded as a mother would, in bringing us up as happy, healthy, wholesome individuals

Prashant Bhatnagar

** ** **

The Dragon's Lair I joined formal school in April 1977. Sitting at

my desk in office today, I was wondering what my first year was like. Strangely enough, I seem to remember it, for some even stranger reasons.

School would start at 7AM, I was told, and end at 4PM. Here I was, a tiny little Bengali boy, attached to my mother like a new born leaf hanging on to the strongest branch of a large tree in a gail. The thought of spending all that time away from home was well; scary to say the least.

The first day saw me standing with mother in tow on the side of a road behind our house. I was wait-ing for the school bus. My mother, in the meantime, had done some homework herself. She asked two young fel-lows, who I later found, were siblings of my classmate, Jaijit Bhattacharya, to take "care" of me. She was petri-fied that her son would simply get lost. Little did she realise, that that bus would take me to an institution, which would one day make me find my way.

A rickety DTC bus came chugging along, driver in front, conductor at the rear. New faces, new words, the smell of school bags everywhere. The bus stopped after what seemed an eternity in front of the school gate opposite Sarvodaya Enclave. The large gate to me ap-peared to be some kind of gateway to a demon’s lair. In we went, large and small, young and not so young,

scared and courageous – all in one big mass. On the left I noticed a store and straight ahead was a large room with lots of books in it. I remember thinking that whatever this place is, it sure seems to have peo-ple reading quite often.

Straight onwards we went inside, never look-ing left or right, following the track. Yes, a track it was, not a road, made of red pit sand. We turned right, next to what appeared to be a strange room with frogs and lizards in long jars. I had neither seen a liz-ard, nor a frog before, and to my young mind, both of them appeared bizarre. I would often see older stu-dents in that room as well, and when the room door was ajar, a strange smell emanated from it, a smell I associated with a dragon’s breath. Perhaps this is where the dragon slept in the night, I thought to my-self.

Straight ahead from the dragon’s bedroom was our class. In I went, and sat on a bench under-neath an asbestos roof. My bench mate was a kid with porcupine like hair on his head and his name was Kal-yan Biswas. I think his mother tried a lot, but that hair of his was as obstinate as a mule. Kalyan had a bag with few books but a big lunch box. That was exciting, since a lot of food meant a lot of conversation. And a lot of conversation meant a friendship, the very rea-son why I remember his name 37 years on.

Everything was a line. There was a line to go to the field to play, a line to go to the assembly, a line to go sit in the bus, a line to go the ashram and a line to get in a line!

Monsoons were the best time. Water would leak from the roof. These precious drops would bring the English dictation class to a complete stop, as one big blob of water would severely disturb the ink from the fountain pen on paper. Oh ! what a travesty of the language when the letter 'o' suddenly became a drag-on’s mouth.

The rains also brought earthworms, crickets, squirrels, moths and leeches out of their slumber. What a sight it was. The smell of such a world around me was enough to fill up those long hours.

Many many monsoons have gone by. The dragon felt sad the day I left school, and seems to have disappeared for some reason. Perhaps he has gone to some other school to arouse the curiosity of a 5 year old . Nowadays, there are smart looking fields all around, and smarter children still. The dress and the logo on my daughter’s uniform look really nice and trendy.

But whenever I am alone, and its raining out-side, and I see the earthworms emerge from their bur-rows, and the squirrels scurrying for cover, I remem-ber the day the English dictation class was aban-doned, and we were given a free period. This meant an almost eternity of doing nothing.

Where is the dragon today , I wonder. Or per-haps, there was no dragon at all.

Joyce Ray

** ** **

“Abundance is the rule. Scarcity

is what we create.”

- The Mother

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memories of the 1989 Batch

The Ones Who Matter “At it's highest level, the purpose of teaching is not to teach—it is to inspire the desire for learning. Once a student's mind is set on fire, it will find a way to pro-vide its own fuel.” ― Sydney J. Harris

Twenty five years have elapsed since I left

school. At the time I felt a mild sense of sadness cou-pled with a bigger sense of excitement for what was to come. How quickly those years have flown by! Much has gone on in all our lives, as is the nature of things. However, this return to one's roots has, in a sense, rekindled a curiosity of what those years really meant to me.

Schools are institutions of learning. That much is a given. Textbook learning and life lessons go hand in hand. At the heart of all great institutions are the people who constitute it. At the heart of The Mother's International School, are its teachers. All of us had our favourites, and then the not so fondly thought of either.

Looking back over my journey, a handful of my teachers stand out.

Mrs Bhola, my first teacher at school. The most kind, loving, generous lady I had come across at the age of seven. The first one who bemoaned the loss of my locks, when in an instance of madness, I decid-ed to get shorn of them. A Maggie from The Mill on the Floss moment, I had taken the scissors to my hair and given myself a lopsided hair cut. My mother had, in her wisdom, decided that it was perhaps better to cut it all off. The dismay on Mrs Bhola's face is an expression I still chuckle over.

Mrs Ramachandran, my Maths teacher in the sixth, who had exclaimed that Iqbal and I had the sweetest smiles in the classroom. But then had promptly turned against me when I started missing her lessons in favour of dance rehearsals, prompting a lifelong terror of Mathematics.

Benny ma'am, the instigator of all this trou-ble, an equal and opposing force to Mrs Ramachan-dran. She, of the lithe feet and quick temper. She, who would brook no arguments, when it came to her dance lessons. She who poked and prodded us into the regional semi-finals of an all India dance compe-tition. It was she who instilled the love of dance in me. All through school, I would look forward to the castings for the Annual day dance dramas. I would be delighted to get a major role or devastated to be over-looked.

Flavia ma'am, the one who understood my love of books; nurtured it, encouraged it. The one who would give me a special smile when I was on Chapter 10 while everyone else was still ploughing through Chapter 3. The one who roped me into audi-tioning for school plays. Who cheered me on as I gave the performance of my life, but also hung on to the shaky set while I got carried away pounding on an imaginary door. Who treated us to samosas and pas-tries for winning the inter house play competition. Who introduced me to carol singing when everyone else was on bhajans. So many sweet memories of a sweet sweet lady, taken too soon. RIP dear Flavia ma'am. You will always live on in my memories.

A Single Rose Can be My Garden, A Sin-gle Friend My World!

Hell had broken loose, life crushed….in a state of turmoil and devastation I was! My teacher, guide and dearest elder sister was married off to a charming young Indian Army Officer, the whole family rejoiced whilst I wept tears of separation and fear, in a corner. My anchor, the pillar, with whom my learning journey began, from writing the digit 2 to understanding nu-merics, was betrothed to another man!! How could they do this to me?? I was abandoned, only days before joining a new school called The Mother’s International, in an alien city, but supposedly my homeland, India. For days prior to starting, I could not fathom who “The Mother” was, as I had only one…with whom I was very disgruntled while she was overjoyed about her daugh-ter's union, and I as her youngest, dreaded this monu-mental change ahead, without her sister. Joining a session in the midst of a term, is nev-er advisable.. .more so, if not coupled with a safety net, called “the patient sister”. A colloquial English accent from Liverpool does you more harm than good.. as simply, no one comprehends your intent or your intelli-gence, hidden behind a thick accent that The Beatles too carried. Fast paced, voluminous curriculums, short deadlines, assemblies with bhajans and incense sticks was indeed a culture shock. From The Liverpool Insti-tute, High School for Girls…that Charles Dickens inau-gurated to the esteemed Mother’s International School, quite the leap of Faith and Destiny I had taken! To top it all, there were boys! A gender I was acquainted but very unfamiliar with. In a glass bubble I sat huddled up… a little lonely, a little scared…

Amidst all this change, a hand of friendship reached out to me…her face wore a smile, which truly was a curve that could set anything straight. She ap-proached me with no reluctance but with an air of ac-ceptance and inclusion. Her prime concern, how will you clear the final exams?-we are only a few months away. I had no answer, but felt as though my heart had started pumping again…some one cared for me, in this madness. The hearty laughter and the little joys this friendship brought , sitting in our classrooms, or at the steps to the lawn post sharing our lunch boxes–imparted a spring to my step, a renewed appreciation for embracing my "new world". I started to enjoy and participate in the philosophy of our school and some-where deep down a belief sparked for the Teachings of the Mother. The exams were written, and we both cleared with flying colours.

It is now that I introspect : indeed it is an indi-vidual who makes the difference. My friend was pivotal in my case. However, it is with much regard I hold that institution that teaches you those fundamentals , the core values to realise “what the difference is”… Our school taught us many academic points, but also an ap-preciation for the true meaning of life and our exist-ence. A duty of care towards the community, our peers and a sense of stewardship for the generations to come.

My classmate, my friend remains till date, post 25 years in my life and shall remain “ The treasured Pearl from MIS” for time to come.

Anjali Chandra

** ** **

5

memories of the 1989 Batch

Alka ma'am, the dynamic, precocious, khaki clad Hindi teacher, who re invigorated us into loving the language in all its complexities. Her never-say-die attitude that rubbed off on all that came in contact with her. Her obvious puritanical, Gandhian leanings that had us view her with a certain awe. To her, I owe a debt for falling in love with the language. With the Mahabharata, with Munshi Premchand, Mahadevi Verma and a pantheon of Indian writers I may never have known otherwise.

Mr Bhalla, our History teacher. The young handsome man that all the girls had a wee crush on. He, more than anyone else, who nagged and chivvied and cajoled me into writing. Who sent my entries into the Newspaper in Education competitions, and took a fatherly pride in everything I won. To him, I owe a deep and abiding love of writing.

Then there was a teacher who I dare not name. Her acerbic tongue and whiplash treatment of me had me quaking in my shoes. To her I owe the ability to apply myself to a thankless task or subject (Chemistry) with diligence when the need arises. In my end of school autograph book she wrote about a diamond being polished through many trials and trib-ulations. I never forgot the trials of being in her class. But grasped that sometimes the route to learning may well be paved with the stones of petrification.

On the other end of the spectrum was Mrs Chugh. She, of the gentle demeanour, and infinite patience. Who liked me, regardless of my incompe-tence in her subject, Maths. Who exclaimed over eve-ry extra mark I managed to secure in Calculus. Who was a pillar through the turbulent run up to the dreaded Board exams. If, at this stage in my life, I have any working knowledge of numbers, then I owe that entirely to her.

Finally, there was Mrs Pillay. From the very first moment that I had met her, when she tested me on my Hindi matras, before I could join school, to when she very incisively informed my father that I was a literature student, and was making a big mis-take joining Commerce, she was a bit of an enigma to me. Here was a lady, who was obviously, an iron fist in a velvet glove. Her vision to make MIS one of the best schools in the country has finally found fruition. Yet she would allow her tears to flow freely in our morning assemblies. We would speculate over her beauty, but be equally aware, that it was suicide to cross her.

How much of a role these teachers have played in shaping who I am today! They have been beacons of light, slivers of optimism, shards of criti-cism, guiding hands that have led me to the doorway of life. As I return to my Alma Mater on the 26th of January, 2014, I come with a heart full of gratitude and a deep appreciation of what these brave, amazing people do, every single day of their lives.

Amen to that.

Poornima Manco (nee Sethi)

Marked for Life What I wish to share here is a conversation

that I had nearly two decades back…but it completely changed my view of The Mother’s International School – the school where I had spent 12 years of my life.

I was already few years into my profession when I was faced with a seemingly simple question: “What made you choose a profession in social develop-ment over other relatively more common streams?” My response was “…my desire to contribute to the so-ciety…and obtaining degrees in Social Work helped make that choice…” Till that time, this is what I be-lieved was the truth and may have continued to hold on to that belief much longer if the other person had not forced me to think deeper. It was the follow up question that left me thinking -- “…What made you select Social Work over so many other honors pro-grams?”

Upon reflecting back to the times when I had just completed my schooling in 1987 and was explor-ing the world of higher education, I’d learnt about So-cial Work program, which back then was almost un-heard of, and I was immediately attracted to it. It had a certain appeal. So was that the beginning of my in-terest in social development, I wondered? The willing-ness to give back to the society; interest in welfare of people; concept of a just society; rights and duties; respect for humanity; empathy; conscientious living and many others… were these an outcome of some overnight transformation. Maybe not!

The realization dawned upon me for the first time then that the roots were somewhere much deeper and goes back many years. All through my schooling, I was oblivious of the fact how with each passing day, my thoughts, interests, opinions, values, likes and dis-likes -- almost every aspect of me - was being whittled to the extent that one day these would define my choice of profession. The teachings of the Mothers’ and Sri Aurobindo; influence of the ashram culture; the long history of the school and its underlying pohi-losophy; due emphasis on values and discipline; equal weightage to co-curricular activities; exposure to cul-ture and art; introduction to social issues; an environ-ment of equal treatment to all children irrespective of their backgrounds; commitment of teachers; …and the list just goes endless. Practically every aspect of school life had sub consciously left an impression on me.

Did I value all these then…honestly speaking, NO! While I may not have consciously chosen to im-bibe these values that I just mentioned, the kind of environment the school offered has ensured that these get internalized in each one of us. At this juncture in life when I can appreciate this uniqueness, I feel noth-ing less than fortunate to have gone through that pro-cess at MIS.

Today 25 years stand between me and the school, but my connection with the school has gone stronger over the years. The sense of belongingness that I experience each time I visit the campus is simply unmatched. Despite many face changes, there still is a strange sense of familiarity in the unfamiliar…

Thank You MIS! Upasana Choudhry

** ** **

The outer reflects the inner. All life

outside is under man’s control.

- The Mother

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memories of the 1989 Batch

The Best 12 Years of My Life! While I was in India in April 2013, a wave

of nostalgia swept through me when I saw my little niece fussing over how her school shoes needed a bit of a clean – ‘they need to be sparkling white’, she said to her father. Looking at her white school uniform with the ‘blue bird’, I reminisced about the beautiful years I had spent at one of the greatest institutions in India – the one and only The Moth-er’s International School (MIS).

When I look down memory lane, I believe the most cherished memories are of these 12 years spent at the school. So many memories – I feel I am a child again…

Who can forget Dattaram’s bread pakoras, kulche chole and idlis with chutney at the canteen – the tempting aroma of which filled the huge canteen and the long corridors of both the junior school and senior school wing? Who remembers with fondness our dash during the lunch break to the Matri Store to grab the chocolate cake? Who all were scared of Shekhar Sir prowling the floors of the building and catching students creating mischief red-handed? Playing in the badminton and basketball courts during lunch breaks, the sprawling campus, the Houses (named after virtues), the Annual Days? Or Anna Didi’s bhajans at the morning assembly? So many cherished memories of those beautiful care-free days!

The Morning Assembly – at the time, felt these were never ending, but now I realise the true worth of everything that encapsulated the assembly – the bhajans, the recitations, speeches by Mrs Pil-lai and sometimes by other guests sharing words of wisdom! The Assembly ending with National An-them/Vande Matram and a marching song And walking down to the Ashram for the Ashram/Meditation Days… the teachings from Sri Aurobin-do and The Mother were very much part of our eve-ryday learning, which I feel strongly helped us in becoming better human beings.

The school that had the best teachers – leg-ends in their own right – Ms Anima Chandra, Mrs Mukherjee, Ms Sunita Sinha, Bhalla Sir, Kusum Singha Ma’am, Flavia Ma’am, Bose Sir…actually each and every teacher who taught us has played a big role in our lives.

The school that believed in good all round development – focus was not only on academics but other extra-curricular activities, including music, dance, drama, pottery, creative arts (handmade pa-per, tie and dye, Batik), sports just to name a few. All work and no play? – Well, that was never the case at MIS.

Having one’s mom teaching at the school came with its own ups and downs…well, downs mainly! You could never get into mischief as every-thing got reported back to Mrs Dutta (my Mom who was the Batik teacher at school…recently retired). She had her spies all over the school…but it was because of her that I had the privilege of studying at MIS…so thank you Mom!

Oh so many memories! How do you put them down on paper – simply impossible! They will, however, remain in my heart forever…

People often say that childhood is the best stage of life and I strongly believe mine was the ‘bestest’! The school gave me such beautiful memories and great friends – a strong bond that I still have with both. I really wish my children were also going to MIS but sadly since we moved to Australia, they missed out on the opportunity to attend this great Institution.

I summarise by quoting Nelson Mandela as I believe MIS has equipped all its alumni to change the world to be a better place…Thank you MIS! Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world – Nelson Mandela

Meenu Issar (nee Dutta)

** ** **

L

Sporting Glory!

When the day started we played; when the day ended we played. When others played; we played. When others prayed; we played. When others were busy with calculations and formulations- we played. Our day started at one playing field and ended at the other. If such was the sporting schedule of a batch for almost two years, you could well imagine how much influence sports would have had in shaping our ideol-ogy in life. Practice, patience and perseverance were the virtues that shaped my upbringing and have given me the courage and conviction to endure the highs and lows of my personal and professional life without much fret and sweat. The formative days did teach me that like in sports, in life too, do not take success to your head and failure to your heart.

Whilst, we had won and lost lots of matches in school and at zonal level, however, one particular instance which reminds me of our ‘sporting high’ was when the whole school, as usual, was at the assembly and we (myself, Raj Kanwar, Vikas Bhardwaj & Rajeev Bussi) were practicing for our basketball inter school matches. Pitched against us were our revered sport gurus (Gulshan Sir, Ghai Sir and (Late) Ashish Sir). Like other days, on hearing the bell for first period, the practice had to end and as was custom it hap-pened with ‘last basket’ . Both sides were desperately trying to score against the other as this was probably the most gratifying part of the whole session.

The attempts and efforts on both sides re-mained frantic and the struggle to score the last one stretched on for a bit. At last, the moment of glory came and we managed to get the last shot in! In the past too we had had many such sessions with our Gu-rus and had managed to put up a brave show at cou-ple of those matches. However, what made that par-ticular day special was the fact that as we turned around to walk towards our classroom we realized that Shekhar Sir had been witnessing the last bit of the practice session and for the first time saw a large grin on his face, which incidentally was directed to-wards us in appreciation of our hard work. Winning against your Gurus was definitely a special moment but earning appreciation from your super Guru made the moment priceless!

Atul Sud

7

memories of the 1989 Batch

Reliving Mornings at MIS Incense!!! I was lighting one that said

'sandalwood' on it. I always wondered what caused people to reminisce. Is it a smell that brings back memories or chiming lyrics of a song. The question felt lingering in my beats for days on end some-times....

Now I was feeling a very deep pleasant memory. And as the vapours of the sandal- loaded incense stick floated over my face, I felt a cloud of moments blind me. The morning assembly was wak-ing up in my soul. I felt connected to 24 years ago. MIS…the abode of learning that tethered me through high school was writhing through me. As I felt enraptured by the smell of sandalwood, a melody zapped in my head. It was feeling like a chant. Rhyming words and sacred poetry. Sufi words that touched some bliss in your being. I could feel myself floating away. A sense of calm swept my heart chakra. Ah! I was reliving our morning assembly.

Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. My cousin visiting me from out of town was speaking in my ear, "Are you ok?" I wasn't sure how to describe what had come over me a few seconds ago. How could I? Only someone from MIS would know!

Arpita Kundal

** ** **

Woh Lamhein I feel i am truly blessed to have got the op-

portunity to study in one of the most prestigious edu-cational institutions of India .

Even though I spent 10 years in this es-teemed organisation , I feel this school has played a very important role in my formative years especially in contributing to the values and the kind of person I am today .

I think the most important part which I have not been able to forget is the morning assembly in the school. I don't think any other educational insti-tution has this kind of assembly. Since I was very fond of music right from class - 1, I was actively in-volved in the singing of Bhajans along with Madhuri-ma and Lalitha in the morning assembly. I still have a copy of the arpan gaan and even today after 25 years , I remember most of the songs from that book. And on Diwali puja at home every year , i sing one bhajan from this arpan gaan .

Another memory that stands out is our memorable school trip to Kulu Manali in X Std. where our tourist bus met with an accident. We were all saved and came back as happy as always . That, I believe, was because of the blessings of The Mother and Sri Aurobindo .

Today each one of us has achieved some-thing or the other in Life but I am proud to say that even after having the best of careers or posi-tions , the students of Mothers Internation-al School are simple, humble and Down to Earth .

Shaarull Dewan

* ** **

My School, My Gurukul!

It is said that the world is a school and life is a teacher. A school teaches and examines while life teaches through the tests it takes!!

I remember once our class was called back from the sports ground and given a surprise grammar quiz. We all had returned grumbling. In my keenness to finish and get back to the games I scored 10 on 10. What fun :-). While checking my answers, smiling my teacher had said - I always knew you could do it.

There was never an occasion at school when I was told you can do better than x, y or zee. I was always told - you are capable of much more. Today I realize this is so very important. My school taught me -there is no competition in life; nobody but you are your competi-tion.

Whenever I recollect my time at MIS, I am sur-rounded with such a warm embrace. My school, all the teacher's loved me, helped me, nourished me so I flour-ished. Thank you MIS, thank you dear teachers.

It is thanks to you that I believe in Conscious Living ...Every day we go through life; we strive do so much.

As individuals whatever we do is either an expe-rience with nature, people, things or ourselves. We play our roles, we interact with people, work at office, do chores at home, socialise, exercise, pray, holiday, shop, relax, sometimes we just be; and all the while we are conscious.

In each of these experiences our endeavour is to improve, to live with enhanced awareness. We are think-ing conscious beings; we dream, mediate, trust and love.

Every moment gives us the opportunity for con-scious living.

A living that is conscious about the wellbeing of our physical, psychological and social world. A living that is increasingly aware of the impact it has on health, envi-ronment and society.

Every individual’s thoughts and experiences make a difference. So let us live consciously.

Saumya Chaudhary

** ** **

A School Apart

Leave things behind as we always do

Life moves swiftly when you are young

but then there is a pause when all seems lost

and what you had once a garden green.

From here I stand looking back at you

at the things I now know were precious so.

The difference you made just by being different

echoes somehow in my daily ways. We may have been cynical and not very thankful

but for all that you showed us ever now grateful.

Vani Viswanathan

8

memories of the 1989 Batch

The Great Escape On a dreary day in September, some studs of

XII D had had enough. The time was getting shorter for their beloved JEE exams but the XII grade CBSE lectures kept on boring them, belittling their intelli-gence and caging their ambitions.

A conference was called by a few for deciding the fate of others. Mutiny was contemplated but shelved as too risky (after all it was 1989 eons before social media could spark a revolution). Submission was another option but was very unpopular (such is the insolence of youth).

Then one of them got a brainwave – let’s just cut school. The proposal was hotly debated – never before had such a step been taken by our nerdy an-cestors. Could it really be done? Whispers turned into bravado and much chest thumping ensured there was no backing down now. Ultimately 3-4 brave souls decided to lead the way. These 3-4 were not born into royalty but set out to prove the adage – even ordinary souls can change the world, albeit the right or wrong way is debatable. In any case, plans were made, high fives exchanged and promises of secrecy made.

On the fateful period, these leaders made a beeline towards the exit from MIS (Matri Anta-rashatriya Vidyalaya). I believe two of them went through the side door (where the buses used to bring the students in). The remaining merrily walked out of the front gate, confidence oozing out of their pores.

Meanwhile, back in the class, the brothers stood in unity with their leaders. However, one of them was gripped by desire to snitch. Jealousy could be the reason (Righteousness is not in big supply at that age). Legend has it that this particular individu-al was offered a seat along with the others to join them on the outside, however, he declined because of fear. Eu tu RT?

A snitch had been found – the teachers re-joiced. Who were they, they demanded. The rule of the law had to be abided by. After all, that’s what the parents want. Not education but another brick in the wall. The rest of the brotherhood stood firm despite cajoling and threats but one snitch is quite enough.

Ultimately the 4 were paraded before the head teacher the following day. Parents were sum-moned in urgent notes. There was quite a bit of ac-tivity for the dreary month of September. Ultimately …

I do not know what was right or wrong. Jus-tice lies in the intelligence (or bias) of the reader. I have only one comment – slap my forehead – Did you have to cut school JUST for studying for IIT?!

Rohit Mittal

** ** **

MIS – Music Initiation School

I have been surrounded by music and melo-dy right from my very early years – at home, and being from a Bengali family, that may be a foregone conclusion. However, being part of the morning

assembly at MIS and those 35 minutes of listening to and lip-syncing songs from the Arpan Gaan only en-hanced the immersion into music.

Amongst all of the above, the one piece of music that I looked forward to every year, was a very seemingly Indian orchestra piece – lots of instruments, super rhythm and building to a lovely crescendo. This particu-lar piece was always used as the background music for the annual day drill, between the years 1981-85. I re-member vividly looking forward to that time of the year in school when this music would feature in that year’s Annual Day practice and drill (remember those drills – on the big steel globes). Once, I had even walked up to Tara Didi (a very intrepid move, or so I thought) and asked her what music that was – but did not get an an-swer. I searched for several years and finally found it during my Xth or XIth (that would be 1987-88) during a visit to a cassette shop in Lajpat Nagar. And I bought it and played it countless times before the tape got stuck in the cassette player head (some of you would remember those days)!

I always consider those formative years of mine and of the annual day preparations, as the years that introduced me to World Music – this piece that I am alluding to is called “Desert Hero” from “The Arabian Nights”, conducted by the famous musician Ron Good-win. You can hear it at https://archive.org/details/RonGoodwinOrchestra-01-30 . The other piece that used to be played in school is called “Dancing Eyes”, which too you can find on that web page.

I still thank Tara Didi silently every time I want to listen to that album.

Anirban Basak ** ** **

Guzara Zamana

Aaj mujhe woh guzara zamana yaad aaya Subah uthke uniform ki skirt double fold or socks

roll down karni Eco exam ki dimaag me tyaari honi

Saath me woh special crush ko dekhne ka intezaar Aaj mujhe woh guzara zamana yaad aaya

Teacher ke peeth mudne par bahar volleyball court

dekhna Phir attitude ke saath corridor me chalna

Ek baar phir accounts ka ratta lagana Aaj mujhe woh guzara zamana yaad aaya

Doston ke saath recess me gappe lagana

Chori chori from the side of my eyes apna crush dhoondna

Phir jaake canteen me juice peena Aaj mujhe woh guzara zamaana yaad aaya

Ye sab ab pyaari memories hain

Jo mai chahti hoon mere bachon ko bhi mile Ek neev jo mili hai mujhe MIS se woh saari zindagi

mere mein basse Aaj mujhe phir woh guzara zamana yaad aaya

Puneeta Kalra

9

memories of the 1989 Batch

Make Your Choice, The Right One

MIS, Mother’s International School: This school has a special place in all of our memories. Has it occurred to anyone that all of us, whether we have been a part of this family for one year or 14 years, feel so inti-mately connected to this school? The beauty of this place is in its simplicity. All of us as children have learned the value of simplicity in life. This school was never about fierce competition for admission in the best colleges, it was never about being the best, but it was always about being right. Most of the batch ma-tes and most of the people I know who are part of this family are at the pinnacle of their professions. They are happy, because when it came to making a choice they always made sure that their choice was right and not just the best. It’s difficult for some people to believe how can the school fund the school picnics at such low costs, how they manage a 10 day trip to Pondicherry or Orissa for a paltry sum of Rs 5000. The reason is simple. It is because the choice is never for the best, but for creating the right environment. If a non air-conditioned bus is right, they why do we need to spend on an air-conditioned bus? If a quick home packed meal is better for the kids, then what is the point of spending on a meal purchased outside?

Both my children are studying here as well. My daughter Gayatri is in Class X and son Rishabh is in Class IX. Probably getting admission into this school was the best thing to happen to them. The strong foundation my kids have, will carry them for their entire lives and they will be able to face the worst storms that life can bring. Guys, go back to the memory lanes of the past 25 years, think of your life, think about your de-cisions , decide for yourself , what has carried you until now, the right decisions or the seemingly best decisions ? This great institution is a privilege ac-corded to only 100 people every year and you were once a part of that. What more can I say? I am what I am today because of what I learned from The Moth-er's International School. I am truly in debt.

Nitin Jain

** ** **

Reflections…

Twenty five years have just flown by. Howev-er, memories of Mothers International School remain fresh as if it was yesterday. Six years at the school have left a lasting impression indeed.

I was lucky to have had such wonderful teachers from the moment I joined school in Class VII. Each of them contributed in their own special way. Ms. Vibha Raizada was always so patient and encouraging. Mr. Bhalla made History quite interest-ing while Flavia Fernandes regaled us with hilarious anecdotes. Ms. Mukherjee, my Class Teacher always had the answers to all my questions and was a true friend and mentor. One will always remember the iconic Mr. Shekhar and Ms. Indu Pillai will remain etched in our minds and hearts.

Morning assemblies were such an integral part of our school days. They laid the foundation of our spiritual side and tried their best to sow the seeds

of patriotism. The school had such a serene air about it; maybe, it was the open space and the lush green fields or the basic underlying philosophy.

All of us grew up together and were shaped by this common philosophy. No wonder, we bond so well with each other even after these many years. On this 25th Alumni Day, we will get together to renew our friendship and pledge towards taking this world closer to the ideals that we imbibed.

Saba Hoda

** ** **

Woh Yaadein woh lamhe….

Ye daulat bhi le lo ye shohrat bhi le lo Bhale chheen lo mujhse meri jawani

Magar mujhko lota do bachpan ka sawan Woh kagaz ki kashti woh baarish ka paani

Toh Arz kiya hai doston… (Please bear in mind that this

composition below is not made to hurt anyone’s feel-ings. If I do so inadvertently, please accept my sincere

apologies in advance)….

Woh assembly mein doston se isharon mein kehna Aaj ke exam mein thoda please help kardena

Woh English class mein Flavia madam ka padhana A thing of beauty is a joy for ever- samjhana

Woh Physics class mein Madhok sir kaa yoon hi daantna Gusse se hamare kaanon ko bhi laal karna, Woh hindi pariksha mushkil se paas karni, Woh kagaz ki kashti woh baarish ka paani…

Woh lunch break mein doosron ka lunch box chupanaa

Doston ke sath khelke paseena bahaana Woh Shekhar sir se chupte chupate huye chalna Woh Indu maadam ke rone ki naklein utaarna

Woh homework na karne ke bahane banana SUPW classes ko baar baar bunk karna

woh trip pe hindi gaanon ki antaaksari jamaani Woh kagaz ki kashti woh baarish ka paani…

Woh Naini ke trip mein sote huye ko jagaana

Na jaage toh uske muh pe toothpaste ko malna woh pahaadon mein mountain climbing ko seekhna woh maasoom se pehle crush ka banna aur bigadna

Umar ka ye kaarwan yoohi guzarta hi chalega Un yaadon, in lamhon ko, tum banana nishaani

Woh kagaz ki kashti woh baarish ka paani… Woh MIS 89 ke batch ke haseen yaadon ki kahaani….

Rama Devi

“Progress may be slow, falls may be frequent, but if a courageous will is maintained one is sure to triumph

some day and see all difficulties melt and vanish before the radiant con-

sciousness of truth.”

10

memories of the 1989 Batch

then...

friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest…

11

memories of the 1989 Batch

...now

it's about who came, and never left your side...

12

memories of the 1989 Batch

Random moments

of

Class XII-A

Trip to

Kullu Manali

School Annual

Day Function

School Trip -

NAINITAL

PONDICHERRY TRIP