With age one acquires the ability to skip effortlessly over any number of years and recall incidents with such vividness that the exclamation leaps to one’s lips: ‘It seems only yesterday!’ It seems only yesterday that I stood in shorts and half-sleeved shirt and Bata ‘Naughty Boy’ shoes, waiting for the admission formalities to be completed. Again, it seems only yesterday that I walked out of the school compound in trousers and shirt and sandals after our last day of classes before the SSC exams. Eight years separate the two events. Of these I spent two at Faujdarhat Cadet College (Classes 7 and , so my life at Greg’s (as we Gregorians affectionately refer to our Alma Mater) falls into two discrete phases: one spent in shorts, the other in trousers. Mr. P. D’Costa dominates my early classroom memories. He was Class Teacher in my section of Class 3. A squat, taciturn man of indeterminate age, he had a style all his own. He would hold his red-and-blue pencil like a dagger, stab our class-work copies and in one flowing movement inscribe his initials over the entire page. Slackers and mischief-makers would be punished in a unique manner. ‘Chootar up!’ he would command, and taking the hapless scamp by the neck, thrust his head under the desk before applying the wooden side of the blackboard duster with resounding force on his bottom. I was one of the lucky ones who were promoted to Class 4 without having experienced this piquant form of punishment. Mr. Nicholas Rosario, the Scoutmaster, enlivened my time in Class 4 by teaching us the school anthem, which begins ‘St. Gregory’s boys are Brothers’ ones’. I wonder if it is still sung. I joined the Wolf Cubs, and in due course the Boy Scouts, and though I didn’t rise above Tenderfoot, the lowest rank, I have retained pleasant memories of camping in Nagori. The 17th century Portuguese church in the village drew my fascinated gaze. Meanwhile, there were rumblings of discontent in the political arena. In 1962 college and university students agitated against the education policy imposed by General Ayub Khan. Students from Quaid-e-Azam College, just down the road, took out a procession to march to the Dhaka University Campus, where a protest rally was scheduled. They paused at our school gates, shouting slogans and urging us to join. Brother Thomas, our headmaster, wisely dismissed school for the day. Students cheered and happily went home -- all except my friend Kazi Ashfaq (Kochi) and me. We joined the procession and in orderly files trundled all the way to ‘Amtala’ to listen to rousing speeches interlarded with satiric barbs. In my two years in trousers (Classes 9 and 10) the political situation became even more volatile, with the launching of the six-point movement on the one hand, and the growing extremism of some leftist factions. Socialism was a hot topic among some of us. Once, my friend Nisar Ahmed brought cyclostyled copies of an excerpt from Gorky’s Mother that begins with the rousing declaration, ‘We are socialists,’ and passed them round. Then Irteza Hasnain suggested we put up one copy on the school notice board. We stood at a distance in the tiffin break and watched as students went up to consult the board and read our broadside with growing astonishment. The word spread. The headmaster appeared, and without a word took down the curious document. I think it was wise of the school authorities not to make a fuss over the matter. Brother Hobart, who taught us English literature, commented obliquely that youthful idealism was usually short-lived. Nisar, however, has remained steadfast in his commitment to socialism. Brother Hobart had the profoundest influence on me. Thanks to his teaching, which I have described in greater detail elsewhere, I began to appreciate poetry and soon started writing it. (Kaiser Sir's short but interesting write-up.)

I passed SSC from St. Gregory's High School in November, 1972. The exam was held a few months later because of our war of independence. I am a proud Gregorian. I loved to study. Hence I was a successful student. I was shy and modest in nature. Teachers showered affection on me. But I didn't achieve much in life. I am a humble writer. Gregorians usually achieve a lot. No regrets! I got very good education. The school library enriched me. I read voraciously. Tales from Shakespeare and Homer, Charles Dickens, RL Stevenson, Jules Verne, Mark Twain and Nathaniel Hawthorne. Rabindranath, Bankimchandra, Michael Madhusudan, Kazi Nazrul Islam and Saratchandra. Four books a week, month after month, year after year. My card and my friend basketballer Shamsul's card. I admired Brother Herbert, the elegant librarian. He was fond of me too. You might have guessed that I loved to read literature. I was fond of Mathematics and Physics too. Brother Hobart, our legendary English teacher, liked me. He was a little eccentric but was very talented. Nalini Kanti Sarkar was our famed Bangla teacher. He was very fond of me too. So was SB Saha Sir, Idris Sir and Ajay Sarkar Sir - all Bangla teachers. Our brilliant Maths teachers were two Haques - Ashraful Haque Sir and Serajul Haque Sir. Shamsul Huq Sir was a bachelor in his forties, very witty and very affectionate to me. Brother Nicholas Tielman was our English teacher and basketball coach. He used to tease me, 'Mr Professor, you love sports, you watch cricket and basketball but you don't play!' In fact I was not a good sportsman. Some of my friends were. My classmates could beat the Rest of Bangladesh in basketball! Our school has produced great personalities. Tajuddin Ahmad, Prime Minister of Bangladesh during our liberation war, was a great Gregorian. So was Amartya Sen, the Nobel Prize winning economist. Former President Dr AQM Badruddoza Chowdhury and learned politician Dr Kamal Hossain are Gregorians. Kaiser Haq, Bangladesh's premier English language poet, is a Gregorian. Famous actor Bhanu Bandopadhyay and champion cricketer Roquibul Hasan was and is a Gregorian. I used to think, 'I was such a successful student but because I didn't become famous my school doesn't remember me!' I was wrong. My teacher Ajay Sarkar Sir invited me as a Special Guest at last year's Annual Prize Distribution on behalf of the respected Headmaster. Ajay Sir forced me into the stage with two literary stalwarts, Prof Anisuzzaman and Dr Shawkat Hussain, my teacher at Dhaka University and a noted writer. I had a tough time hiding tears. All my life I loved St. Gregory's High School. And I loved old Dhaka because of my school!

In my days of childhood, some of the most vibrant spaces had included our classrooms. The most enjoyable hour for the young learners was, when they rushed out of the gates after the bell. These were life’s vociferous (and virulent) days. Surely, this was a time to demonstrate our sprinting skills. It was a melee which happened during the lunch break too. Inside the classroom, the ephemeral breaks between one class and the next were a time to settle scores; a friendly punch on Danny’s shoulders—or just a slap on the back the tall and rugged, ‘Montaj’. (Class 3 & 4)! Obviously, these ceremonies were conducted under sacred rules. Smaller spats were settled thus; graver issues waited for the lunch break or the closing bell. The rules were unwritten but no one dared to cross the ‘Lakshman-Rekha’ and complain. An insipid lesson prompted us to invent mischief. Scribbled notes and articles made clandestine travel across the benches.... onto the hidden, but waiting hands of (late) Zaki Firdous. Paper projectiles aimed at a friend sitting across from you needed great expertise. Once, it misfired, and went to strike the direct cheek of senior Nurul Majid, the iron-fisted, strongman—who was reputed for settling scores of his friend’s rival school mates. At the height of pack behavior, one day in 1965 we got noisier and noisier. Our teacher was late. This triggered something out of my box. I had carried a toy pistol with cracker ‘bullets’ that got pierced by a pointed rod, at the click of the trigger. There was a bang—an explosion, higher in terms of decibel than we could all imagine. Nervous classmates ran out of room, filled with smoke. Teachers and students from adjacent classes, rushed to our rescue. Then came Mr. Nalini Sarker, followed by Brother Donald and the School Discipline Squad. My trusted friends all pointed their fingers at me. I was read my rights. Then, escorted to the Headmaster’s room. What followed here is too embarrassing for me to describe or explain. When unusual events took place in a classroom, this had triggered a deep frenzy, and the whole class would into an expressionless mode; with faces turned serious and serene, like that of a statue of meditating Budha. The whole class then stood in punishment but no one ever gave out away a name, doing so was sacrilege. There were teachers in whose class even the most mischievous sat attentively. Such teachers made learning enjoyable and pure fun. One always looked forward to such lessons when learning would become an indulgence. Fast forward to the present times, all has changed to an extent that no devil of devastation could have planned this in the wildest of intrigues. Today, the old Gregorian halls of learning are deserted. With online teaching, the once prohibited mobile phone has turned a saviour. I once read about a school teacher in the United States who was sent on paid administrative leave after she had compared her students to monkeys. “The monkeys of my zoo came back today,” she had written on a now withdrawn Facebook post. We couldn't afford to be that touchy when our teachers addressed us as donkeys and monkeys. Or, when someone who became dear to us, after school had never failed to remind the noisy boys that they were not in an ice cream parlor! Instead, we came to loved this remark! Also, we coined a moniker for every teacher. From the ‘specky’ to the embarrassingly funny ‘SRC’ (stadium round Choudh...)and so on. Presently with no students to establish an ambrosial bond, teachers must be bored to death. The ‘donkeys’ and ‘monkeys’ among our batch of 68’ Gregorians, must be yearning to be back to school and the teachers must be wishing for new monikers as their code names.