Nirvana and fourteen years at S. Thomas’
By Sanjana
Hattotuwa
Coming out of a near
death experience can have revelatory consequences upon even the
dullest soul. One might argue that there are easier ways of
getting inspired than smashing into a concrete wall at 100mp/h -
but there is nothing quite like it to rouse the one's flow of
words (though in the heat of the moment -it's just limited to
two - 'Budhu Ammo!!').
Driven by an erstwhile
Thomian, known for his frequent plunges into the very depths of
Bacchanalia, the accident last night afforded that brief vision
of an Amtrad wall dividing heaven and earth and brought to mind,
in a flash, the fragility of life. And thus, some random
thoughts of the fourteen years of my life at STC would not be
out of order. And in keeping with the solemn and lofty spirit of
the Royal-Thomian cricket encounter, I shall try to be as
reverent and respectful as possible.
Unfortunately,
memories formed during my final years in College are dominated
by garish and crass displays of a certain female teacher of whom
remembrances du temps perdu is always a potent antidote
to those constipated mornings. One cannot however doubt her
usefulness (albeit, hypothetically) during Roy-Tho time. It is
the author's firm conviction that by merely opening her mouth to
speak, she will be able to completely gobsmack the batsmen with
Royalist pretensions into a horror stricken stupor, that shall
go down in the annals of history (of, one hopes, many a Thomian
victory) as the 'watti-amma' method.
Thank God we have such
teachers at S. Thomas'.
Not being involved in
the oceanic production undertaken by STC during the author's
sojourn at STC, the author sorely regrets he does not have any
memories of stolen kisses in the wings (to summarily forget
one's cues and lines) and, as was more often the case,
pathetically funny attempts (sometimes to last during the entire
length of the production) to do the same to the belle of one's
heart.
The author remembers
(painfully) what a nuisance teachers were in his time. They
actually asked parents to come for PTA meetings, instead of the
far more progressive ideology of today, adherents of whom
(numbering all but a few of the Staff) find it better to
actually advise students to tell their parents not to attend
such utterly useless meetings. And while we are on traumatic
memories, the author cannot ever forget how the S. Thomas' of
his early years actually made bold to teach students to
communicate in English (an ability the author still
struggles,with...).
Thankfully, this is no
longer the case. English in the STC of today has died a natural
death. In pace requiescat !
Attending the Founders
Day celebrations a few weeks ago brought back many cherished
memories - a trip down memory lane that was, however, rudely
interrupted with the advent of a certain 'Em-Pee' during the
proceedings. But of course, to be fair, the interruptions to the
grandiose (and the cynical would say unreachable) ideals of
Thomianism were interrupted more often by the bombastic personal
rhetoric of many of the speakers invited to address the august
gathering on that day,
Of course, Sit, was an
opportune moment for,; the sycophants to garland, in saliva
dripping adoration, the Chairperson without whom Fairs of
College would never ever be. We must be grateful that the milk
of human kindness still flows from this lady, and hope that she
will not deter from her commitment to the edification of Thomian
ideals.
After all, without her
'unswerving commitment', her 'un-partisan dedication', and her
'sacrifice to STC' we would not now be celebrating the
Royal-Thomian encounter, for there would not be a S. Thomas' to
speak of. (Even though the author has a memory of bitter
acrimony between this leading light and STC during the years of
his studentship. The author is willing to put this down to a
mere figment of his imagination.)
And woe be to the
idiot from S. Thomas' Preparatory School who actually dared to
speak on what S. Thomas' was, is not now, and what one hopes
shall be. Caged in his indecipherable GLesque speech (one saw
many taking their cue from others on when to laugh and when to
clap...) were ideals that were sorely outdated -those that the
author firmly believes were rather novel to the majority of
those present, both behind him, and those in front.
It was surely a speech
worthy of being displayed in every nook and cranny of S. Thomas'
- not least in the room of the Board of Governors (hereafter
referred, to as the BOG Room) if only to show present incumbents
of S. Thomas' how distanced a man can be from the real politik
of College!
In the author's time,
teachers were often referred to by their nicknames (from the
Western 'Jacko' to the very Sri Lankan 'Eluwa') and the author
rettfembers with great fondness Paan-bage's patience and
kindness, that helped him ascertain the value of various^caneAeprems,
during his 0/L's. ln fact, it is with teachers such as
this, who treat teaching as a calling rather than as a
profession, who should be kicked out of College - for they have
no place amongst the mercenary teachers that populate S. Thomas'
of today.
A very personal, yet
cherished memory remains the author's sojourn in the Cop-Shed'
under the able guidance of Dildo, or Dumbo (or was it Didda?).
To be sure, the times were many when he would just sit and
observe the absolute dregs of society walk into the room
resplendent in an aura of acquired superiority. And yet, there
was one deplorable character in College at the time who actually
wrote a satire against the entire gamut of College Prefects
titled The Prime Minister and the Cabinet' in the College
Magazine. The author proposes that articles like this should be
banned, and the authors castrated and lynched. [ Hear ! Hear
! cry out The Editors!]
To hell with the rich
literary traditions of College. Whoever wants a smart-ass
awakening an institution from its decadent bliss?
On the topic of
College Prefectship, the author remembers, with mixed emotion,
the rites of passage he had to go through to attain the post.
However bitter a pill it was, and however unprepared for it he
was (the author confesses that he broke down in at the end of it
all) it was taken in the spirit of the famed Thomian Grit.
It is however with
unbridled pleasure that the author notes that this tradition has
come to an end, on account of representation by the mother of a
certain gentlemen who, having undergone the treatment, summarily
went home and told his Mama all about it while she was changing
his diapers. Such a loving scene it must have been - and in the
author's mind, approaching an emotional depth akin to the last
scene of 'Casablanca'.
The author, sporting a
bruised right arm, regrets that he has to end his trip down
memory lane so very abruptly and hopes that the message of this
article is not lost. It is the author's fervent hope that S.
Thomas' will once again be the school it once was - the promise
of which is cemented on the perceived calibre of the new
Warden.
That would be Nirvana
indeed.
Esto Perpetua !
