memories - Mother`s Blossoms

memories
of the 1989 Batch
memories of the 1989 Batch
2
Year 2014 is truly special for many! It
marks the 25 years celebration of
batch 1989. On this momentous occasion, the alumni from across the globe
have shared recollections from their
time in their Alma Mater - The Mother’s International School.
Memories…
“Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind
Memories, 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 premises and magically, time started moving again. Then
it dawned upon me, what it was that I was apprehensive about. It was the memories that I had left behind. 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 broken 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 buildings 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. Looking 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. Stopping 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 gathered. I began to see familiar faces, and smiles of recognition started appearing. Voices started calling out and
names being recalled.
Old stories started being retold, “do you remember” being a common refrain. Stories of crushes
and pranks. Oddly, mostly happy memories. Or only
the happy portions of the memories. There was a certain comfort in seeing faces I had known, faces which
were part of a time of innocence. The initial awkwardness 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 environment 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.
memories of the 1989 Batch
3
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 simple 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 adolescence, 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 examples 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 waiting for the school bus. My mother, in the meantime, had
done some homework herself. She asked two young fellows, who I later found, were siblings of my classmate,
Jaijit Bhattacharya, to take "care" of me. She was petrified 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 appeared to be some kind of gateway to a demon’s lair. In
we went, large and small, young and not so young,
memories of the 1989 Batch
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 people reading quite often.
Straight onwards we went inside, never looking 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 lizard, nor a frog before, and to my young mind, both of
them appeared bizarre. I would often see older students 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 myself.
Straight ahead from the dragon’s bedroom
was our class. In I went, and sat on a bench underneath an asbestos roof. My bench mate was a kid with
porcupine like hair on his head and his name was Kalyan 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 reason 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 dragon’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 outside, and I see the earthworms emerge from their burrows, and the squirrels scurrying for cover, I remember the day the English dictation class was abandoned, and we were given a free period. This meant an
almost eternity of doing nothing.
Where is the dragon today , I wonder. Or perhaps, there was no dragon at all.
Joyce Ray
** ** **
“Abundance is the rule. Scarcity
is what we create.”
- The Mother
4
A Single Rose Can be My Garden, A Single 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 numerics, 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 daughter's union, and I as her youngest, dreaded this monumental change ahead, without her sister.
Joining a session in the midst of a term, is never 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 intelligence, 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 Institute, High School for Girls…that Charles Dickens inaugurated 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 approached me with no reluctance but with an air of acceptance 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 somewhere 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 individual 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 appreciation for the true meaning of life and our existence. 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
** ** **
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 provide 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 coupled 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 decided 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 trouble, an equal and opposing force to Mrs Ramachandran. 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 competition. 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 overlooked.
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 auditioning 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 pastries 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.
memories of the 1989 Batch
5
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 tribulations. 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 incompetence in her subject, Maths. Who exclaimed over every 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 mistake 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 criticism, 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)
The outer reflects the inner. All life
outside is under man’s control.
- The Mother
memories of the 1989 Batch
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 development over other relatively more common streams?”
My response was “…my desire to contribute to the society…and obtaining degrees in Social Work helped
make that choice…” Till that time, this is what I believed 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 programs?”
Upon reflecting back to the times when I had
just completed my schooling in 1987 and was exploring the world of higher education, I’d learnt about Social Work program, which back then was almost unheard of, and I was immediately attracted to it. It had
a certain appeal. So was that the beginning of my interest in social development, I wondered? The willingness 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 dislikes -- 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 pohilosophy; due emphasis on values and discipline; equal
weightage to co-curricular activities; exposure to culture and art; introduction to social issues; an environment 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 imbibe 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 nothing less than fortunate to have gone through that process 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
** ** **
6
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 Mother’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 carefree 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 Pillai and sometimes by other guests sharing words of
wisdom! The Assembly ending with National Anthem/Vande Matram and a marching song And
walking down to the Ashram for the Ashram/
Meditation Days… the teachings from Sri Aurobindo and The Mother were very much part of our everyday learning, which I feel strongly helped us in
becoming better human beings.
The school that had the best teachers – legends 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 paper, 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 everything 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 ideology 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 happened 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 remained 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 Gurus and had managed to put up a brave show at couple of those matches. However, what made that particular 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 towards 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
memories of the 1989 Batch
7
My School, My Gurukul!
Reliving Mornings at MIS
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 competition.
Whenever I recollect my time at MIS, I am surrounded with such a warm embrace. My school, all the
teacher's loved me, helped me, nourished me so I flourished. 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 experience 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 thinking conscious beings; we dream, mediate, trust and love.
Every moment gives us the opportunity for conscious 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, environment and society.
Every individual’s thoughts and experiences
make a difference. So let us live consciously.
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 sometimes....
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 waking 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!
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
memories of the 1989 Batch
Arpita Kundal
** ** **
Woh Lamhein
I feel i am truly blessed to have got the opportunity to study in one of the most prestigious educational institutions of India .
Even though I spent 10 years in this esteemed 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 institution has this kind of assembly. Since I was very
fond of music right from class - 1, I was actively involved in the singing of Bhajans along with Madhurima 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 something or the other in Life but I am proud to say that
even after having the best of careers or positions , the students of Mothers International School are simple, humble and Down to Earth .
Shaarull Dewan
* ** **
8
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 intelligence 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 ancestors. 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 Antarashatriya 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 individual 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 rejoiced. 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 summoned in urgent notes. There was quite a bit of activity for the dreary month of September. Ultimately
…
I do not know what was right or wrong. Justice 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 melody 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 enhanced 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 particular piece was always used as the background music for
the annual day drill, between the years 1981-85. I remember 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 answer. 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 Goodwin. 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
memories of the 1989 Batch
9
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 intimately 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 mates 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 airconditioned 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 decisions , decide for yourself , what has carried you
until now, the right decisions or the seemingly best
decisions ? This great institution is a privilege accorded 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 Mother's International School. I am truly in debt.
** ** **
Nitin Jain
Reflections…
Twenty five years have just flown by. However, 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 interesting 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
memories of the 1989 Batch
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 feelings. 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 consciousness of truth.”
10
then...
friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest…
memories of the 1989 Batch
11
...now
it's about who came, and never left your side...
memories of the 1989 Batch
12
ts
omen
m
m
o
Rand
of
XII-A
Class
Trip to
nali
Kullu Ma
PONDICHERR
Y
TRIP
School Trip NAINITAL
School Annual
Day Function
memories of the 1989 Batch