SSG Ticklionary: A short list of ticklish definitions

For a more elaborate, but incomplete list of Sainik School Goalpara terms visit the story SSG terms.

EPD: Exempted from PT and drill. Ever had the fortune to watch others do the job of running around? Well, there are certain basic criteria to obtain an EPD. You need to be actually unwell enough to not be able to run around or be a good actor. And secondly, after obtaining an EPD make sure that you watch the activities around you with a ‘sick’ face, or else you never know, anyone might drag you to run, from seniors to whimsical Army Ofiicers.

SDA: I still do not know the formal meaning of SDA. However, what I know is that it’s a group started in the year 2000 that took pride in stealing fruits from the backyard gardens of teachers and exploding the black boots by placing explosives inside them, apart from many others. Group members can be identified by their black scarves and determined eyes. They were our Robin Hoods, who would feed the hungry students for free. The full form of SDA happens to be School Destruction Activists.

Extra Drill: If you ever see Khaki Uniform clad students standing or more possibly running in the afternoon sun, immediately after lunch, make no mistake. They are not practicing to join the army or rehearsing for the upcoming inter house drill. They were probably caught while running to Goalpara or the nearby, but out-of-bound areas like the Western or the PWD canteens. Stories often came up, about sympathetic army subedars, and how they said… “start jumping when the principal or the headmaster arrives”. Though a serious form of punishment, it was lesser in degree when compared to punishments by genuinely angry seniors! And we know of many such friends, who spent more afternoons jumping around than anything else.

Dingi: A subject of awe, that took to legendary proportions. ‘Dingi’ in Assamese translates into ‘neck’. Mr. R.M.Verma was known to thrash students on the back of their neck. The pain is inexplicable in words, even by those who had the misfortune of undergoing it. Do read Kingshuk’s story to know more.

Regimental Dinner: A fancy imitation of an actual formal lavish dinner, to mark an important occasion in the school calendar. It often succeeded in imitating the atmosphere, while failing miserably in the food aspect. A pair of Bagpipers walks around the mess, followed by a grace, and then the food. Hint: If the mess has been serving extraordinarily bad food for a while, its an indication that its doing ‘cost cutting’ to be able to offer a regimental dinner. If you are particularly addicted to bread crumbs with watery chicken soup, check the school calendar!

Time Bomb: It doesn’t tick away to an explosion. It’s a crude time bomb, that seems to go off everywhere around Diwali time. An agarbatti (incense stick) is lighted and is attached to the coil of the bomb. Hidden under the bushes, the louder ones even place under the chairs of Hit List teachers in the mess. BANG!

Old Nine: He walks like a don and acts as if he is one. What sets him apart is that he is packed off to senior houses in VIIIth standard unlike others who reach senior houses in their IXth standard. So by the time their fellow classmates reach senior houses, they are old and hence the term, ‘Old Nine’. Understandably he often considers himself pseudo senior to his own classmates!

The Story of a Painter

If the shine of the shoulder badge dazzles you, and the spick and span of the boots and belts charm you, visit the SSG campus on the day of the inter house drill competition!

A week before the event, the smell of the burning candle and the ‘shoe polish’ pervades every House, and every room and spills over into the corridors. And a day before the event the smell of Brasso adds to the spice as we start polishing the metal parts of our uniform – the belt locks, the shoulder badges, the cap badge and the innumerable badges, some earned and mostly for the glitter.

And a month before the event, we hear the familiar noise of the commander, ‘Left right…Left right…Heel Dig, Shoulder tight, Left Right..Left Right…’ The digging of the hard heel of our boots would soften the dry earth beneath and bring out the water to the surface. Every house cherished for the ‘Drill Trophy’ and it was pretty natural to hear the familiar commands erupting from each house, and at times, even at odd hours of the night.

The point system in the Drill competition ensured that everything was looked into, starting from the turnout to the marching and from our haircut to the crispness of our uniforms. Udaygiri House had won it for several years in succession, until it was snatched away the previous year. Legend has it that ‘ghosts’ or ‘spirits’ used to come and guide the Udaygiri house team during the practice sessions. It seems funny to realize that we actually were ready to buy such ideas.

The previous year, Lachit House shocked us all by coming up with this unique surprise. On the day of the event, as we faced each other, their shining boots made our boots look pale, in spite of going through all the strict traditional process of smearing them with candle, and then with shoe polish, and then the adequate strokes from the hard brush and the soft brush. After the drill was over, news came that, Lachitians had painted their shoes with wood paints. I envied their boots, as the shine remained even days after the event. And then a time came, when the paint started to crack, and no shoe polish could fill those cracks and they started to look ridiculously old. The black paint nonetheless did its job, as Lachitians at least gave a stiff competition (I don’t remember if they won the trophy that year).

It so happens that we always practice for the drill in a different pair of shoe and keep a fresh one for the D-Day. Alongside the drill practice, I was also occupied with some paper works as I was the office bearer during that particular year. So, I finally took out my fresh pair on the night before the D-Day and tried them on and a sense of horror struck me! It was too small for my feet.

I summoned a junior and asked him to find a ‘fresh pair’ of boots for me. After a tense hour or so, he came back with an unused pair. Now anyone who knows leather understands how difficult it is polish an unused and never polished piece of leather and more so, if one had to wear it in the drill. I raced my mind and was struck with an idea. I managed to find a half filled container of black paint and splashed it generously on the boots and left it to dry over night. I kept checking its dryness, sometimes merely looking at it, or at times pressing my finger on it. So by the dawn of the morning, there were several finger prints on the shoes to my horror! And it was yet to dry. As I left for classes, the bright sun suddenly turned gloomy and ominous dark clouds came up from nowhere. After a tensed day of classes, I had a quick lunch and came running to check my boots only to put yet another impression of my finger on it. The mess bell went off marking the time to leave for the Drill competition. I slipped my feet carefully without bothering the half dried paint and joined my team outside the house, as some of us chanted house Slogans, and get countered by slogans from other houses. We started to move towards the ground.

Half way through towards the ground, I felt a sense of sponginess on my feet and I looked down and Oh my God, the half dried paint had befriended some dried twigs, loose grasses and pounds of dust clung around it.
I felt like screaming, ‘Lachitians you dint warn me about this!!!’

Selection for Camp: The Last 20

The clutter in the 1000 sitting capacity mess, died down as the school captain hammered the table for the closing grace of the lunch. He announced, “Camp selection test for class IX will be held in the afternoon, and all students of class IX will have to ‘fall in’ in the main ground at 1400 and 30 hours. Dress would be regular games dress. Thank God for what we have received”.

1400 hours: Many of us are availing the precious half an hour break between lunch time and the prep class (which have been replaced by the selection process for my batch), snoring, or simply lying down, or reading some magazine dog eared and tattered by excessive use. Finally the ominous mess bell went off announcing the dressing up time for the selection and prep class for the rest.

Most of us reached for the selection on time. And our instructor/punisher wasn’t surprised that none of us were late, as we were all eager to buy that precious opportunity to go out of the school, in the form of the NCC camp, held at various parts of the country (in this case, 20 would be selected out of 150, for two different camps. One was to be held in Arunachal Pradesh and the other was yet to be disclosed). The top ten will get to go to Arunachal Pradesh, while the next 10 would have to wait.

All events started with a head count, and we counted 144, 2 sick in quarter (SIQ in our lingo) and 2 were admitted in MI ROOM. The instructor inspected us through his dark sun glasses and declared the first test. We had to run to a nearby landmark, Kodal Dhuwa Pukhuri (the literal translation would be ‘the spade washer’s pond) and come back to where we stood, and make it in the first hundred. The approximate distance would be 4 kilometers in total.

The blow of the whistle marked the beginning of the test, as we ran like there was no tomorrow. By the time, I made it back; we were drowned in our own perspirations. I made it within the first hundred and the last 44 were allowed to go and attend the prep classes. A wooden structure stood where we were standing. Coloured in stripes of black and white, it resembled a dwarfed football goalpost. The next test involved 20 chin ups, where one jumps and hangs from the bar, and lifts the body, till the chin cross the bar. Some more fizzled out, after failing to perform the task. A tired bunch of around 90 students now looked up at the instructor, eager to perform the next task.

Two ropes stood dangling from a tall post. And we climbed like monkeys on the rope, some using their legs and some solely with their hands. No one fizzled out on this task, though many of us came down with bruised palms from the speed with which we descended, rubbing our palm with the coarse rope. We were taken on the gravel road, for push ups. For the next few minutes all I can remember now was the constant ‘up….down….up….down’. From my inverted view, I saw more students fizzling out, or simply collapsing on the ground. After what seemed like hours, around 50 of us stood the ground, looking extremely tired and the scorching sun seemed to have dimmed, probably due to the tiredness, rather than the actual onset of the evening which was still an hour away.

After a humanitarian break of 5 minutes we laid on the ground on our back and folded our knees, all set to start the next task – sit ups. The constant sound started all over again… ‘up…down…up…down’, constantly multiplied by the groans of many of us. Some more fizzled out. As they got up and collapsed on the green grass of the ground nearby. The sight of those sitting on the grass was tempting, but the hope of getting to go out of the school kept most of us performing the task. The sound of the bell in the school building across the road was followed by students rushing out juggling various balls, football, handballs, volley balls, basket balls, running to their respective grounds/courts. The whistle from the instructor meant that the test was over and as I struggled to get up, I saw my fellow mates for the first time in the entire afternoon; some were incredibly red and sweaty, while some stood there with pain written large on their face. Yet, we were the last twenty standing. The day light fast disappeared, as we limped towards our respective houses for a glass of water and a much deserved shower.

8pm. All houses assembled in the mess for dinner and we all had the same story to narrate. Our elbows won’t bend enough to lift a glass to our mouth or to take off the vest. We helped each other, as some roamed around asking for pain killers. What happens next? How did the camp go?

Dramatics: Stage Fright

Readers, who might have read my previous story titled Dramatics…losing in style, must have an idea by now, how things can go wrong by destiny, fate, luck, or whatever one might call it. And there were those rare days when everything seemed to go as per the plan, only to be screwed up by human follies and in dramatics, something called the ‘stage fright’. This is one such story.

I was in my IXth standard, and owing to my prior experience in acting, I got to act with senior students on behalf of Lohit House (one of the four senior hostels). Being a junior in Sainik School, bought me the role of the waiter in the play, as seniors took more glamorous roles, like that of the dukes and kings. The highlight of our plays (dramas) used to be the stage, the realistic props like furniture (lifted off from some teacher’s living rooms), fireplace, cupboards, actual trees, cannons and doors.

Doors play a crucial role in the humor of the story. So I will talk about it in slight detail. Each door in our hostels (we call them Houses, apparently to feel like a family. Ha!) used to have four flaps, two with nets and two made from solid wood . Like many other things (e.g. the TV rooms without TVs), the netted doors were defunct as well. So we plucked them off from their frames, covered the hollow from the missing net with coloured papers and transformed them into props per excellence.

THE PLAY: The setting is a European restaurant (Don’t ask me which country. I am not sure if the director himself had any idea.). As expected, the scapegoat, the junior, that was me stood there, as the curtain moved to the sides. I stood there cleaning crockery, placed on a wooden table. The lighting on the stage was always such that it blinded the performers from seeing the audience. Yet in my imagination I could see our teacher, Mr. X sitting with an arrogant look, “that’s my table huh!” as a lesser arrogant teacher, Madam Y sat there with “those are my crockery” look.

The play was going fine, and it was my turn to take the bill and enter the stage, and my script read somewhat like this, “Master Bull has sent the bill”. Now there was this senior student, Mr. R who sat there, looking anemic with acute stage fright. And before I could deliver my speech, he looked at me and said, “Why have you got the bill?” I wanted to run away from the stage and a minute presence of mind saw the words coming out of my mouth, “Coz master Bull has sent it”. It might have gone unnoticed to most amongst the audience. But I felt something worse was about to come, seeing the skin colour of Mr.R changing from red to greenish blue.

I prepared a tray of fake wine, and I had to carry it to the stage. The wooden doors stood there, separating the back stage and the front stage, as coloured papers hid the hollow from the missing nets of the door. I went towards the front stage, as suddenly, Mr. R shut the doors out of the blue. In spite of timely braking, my hands along with the tray pierced through the hollow colour papers, and there the poor waiter stood in the backstage, with half of his limbs in the front stage. Unlike my previous story, no one laughed, as another actor showed some amount of responsibility, as he helped me extract my hands, now wet with fake wine. The history of dramatics in our school is replete with such incidents, some told and mostly untold.

Story of a missing net

Meaninglessly bounded on one side, by steel nets, as the other remained open; the tennis court was an exclusive domain of the ‘Staff’. During games hour in the evening, as we ran after skinless footballs and at times played football with volley balls, some class VIth students would be seen, standing behind that meaningless net. Through which the tennis ball would inevitably pass and the boy would run to fetch it.

Come 2000, and we have reached XIth standard, a time for some revenges and some mischief. I personally did not have any attachments with tennis, and fortunately I never had to stand behind those nets during my VIth standard. The only remote attachment was probably the fact that Martina Hingis was a rave those days. I liked her, but there were already settlements underway between ‘tennis fans’ about who deserved her more. So from the point where I stood, she stood ‘booked’ for me. One such Hingis’ lover was Bhaskar Pegu, now a doctor. I hope he comes up with some effective treatment to undo Hingis’ rate of balding.

Morning classes were always one of excitement, as the crimes of the previous night got revealed, at times by the victims (mostly the teachers) and mostly through the horse’s mouth (us).
Today’s story is about one such mediocre tennis fan like me, who liked Martina Hingis and that’s where the world of tennis began and ended for him. But when mischief was concerned, SSGians hardly ever hunted for justifications, coz it was too easy to find one. In his case, he probably found one, in the VIth students standing behind the nets, deprived of playing with his friends – the only source of entertainment during those days. (Apart from occasional screening of movies, about which, we can talk at another time).

Another night in SSG, and there were no events pipelined for the next day, apart from regular activities. So, Mr. G hand picked a few trustworthy mates and briefed them about his plans, partially. So they donned their camouflage fatigues and carefully removed the iron railing from the wooden frame of the window, and stepped out into the dark one after another – four in total. They moved silently, in a slightly bent posture, towards the tennis court.

The calm breeze fluttered the tennis net that cut the court into two exact halves. The net looked quite different from such proximity; its holes were too large and G wondered how it managed to stop the green ball without fail. Two of them started to remove the net from the poles as two stood on two ends, guarding for unwanted visitors. They bundled up the net, and one asked G, ‘where do we drop it?’.

Background: Houses (hostels) matter a lot in Sainik School. And one is always fiercely loyal to one’s House, and interestingly all of us were good friends, across houses on individual basis, barring a few exceptions. G and all his mates were from Lohit house and they had rivalries with Chilarai House.

So when one of them asked G, ‘where do we drop it?’. G scratched his head and raised his gaze which landed on the house nearest to it – it was Chilarai House! A glint appeared on his eyes, as he was hit by the idea, ‘Ek goli, do shikar’. They dumped the net behind Chilarai House and reached Lohit House and tapped the window, and a sleepy junior hurriedly took out the rod from the frame.

Next Day: Unlike most other ‘nocturnal crimes’, this wasn’t immediately revealed during the class the next day. The gang curiously realized that no one seemed to be noticing the absence of the net, as they walked past it, neither the teachers and nor the students. As the sun ascended and slowly started descending to the western horizon, students hurried towards their respective play grounds, the group maintained an observant eye on the tennis court. Teachers started arriving and they stood there, where the net used to stand. Unwilling to miss out on the fun, two of the gang members moved closer to eavesdrop on the conversation.

One of the teachers spoke… ‘it was right here, when we left yesterday. Who can it be’

Another teacher: ‘Some villager must have stolen it, probably to use it as fishing net’.

The rest of the teachers nodded in unison agreeing with the theory being put forward.

The gang celebrated their achievement under the small hutment canteen over some flour smelling gulab jamuns and cigarettes. G wondered, how the teachers could not know that the holes were too large for the net to be used as fishing net. How could they not suspect the hand of the students and launch a search for the net within the campus and then find it behind Chilarai House. What happened next, I don’t know. Perhaps its still lying there, half buried in earth and covered by the wild grass. Chilaraians must be knowing.

Kabaddi

A little less glamorous in its nature, Kabaddi was one of those few games where anyone could participate, in the absence of an established way of testing one’s skills. (The other such game must be kho kho).

Location: The Kabaddi ground beside Aniruddha house.
VIIIth standard students were busy passing buckets of water for the event across the barbed fencing. Participants warmed up, in their ‘unestablished’ ways. While one flexed his wrist, a hairy legged friend (and now an opponent) stretched his knees. Today’s match was Lohit versus Lachit and I was in the Lohit team.

An interesting aspect about Kabaddi and Kho Kho was that, these were the games, where there were no established ‘dominant Houses’ and these were the events where labeled underdogs (as far as games were concerned) could hope to win. Lachit house was one such, during my tenure.

The shrill hooting of the whistle was followed by ‘Kabaddi – Kabaddi’ or by the more expert ones ‘hututtu hututu’. I was enjoying jumping on anything that resembled like a group of men. Went out several times and came in again. The cycle followed for a while and the whitening black board, indistinctly displayed the scores. It could at best be described as neck-to-neck.

A sudden realization hit me as I stood on my side of the court…ALONE. The rest were standing outside the court, in a queue eager to re-enter. Had I been placed in that situation today, I would have definitely run away. But those days, House spirits mattered and more importantly the responsibility to honour one’s existence as an SSGian.

My House mates shouted, and so did our opponents’. I felt feverish, as the Lachitian team, standing inside the court, jeered at me. They chose Palash Baruah (33??) to come and stampede me. As I have mentioned, how nothing mattered in Kabaddi. Whether I was fast and nimble, or that I could jump higher and longer. Probably there was just one thing that mattered – the size of the individual. And he was larger than me by a huge margin.

Perhaps goats felt the same way, tied by a rope for the tiger to come and feed on it, so that the hunter could kill the tiger. I could see Palash cross the middle line, growling like a tiger ‘Kabaddi Kabaddi Kabaddi’ as I started to run around the small rectangular space. I could also see a hidden sneer, as his lips moved slightly uttering ‘kabaddi kabaddi kabaddi’. I so wished that he would suddenly sneeze and the ‘kabaddi kabaddi’ would stop and he would be thrown out. But miracles seldom happen, the way you wish it to be. But they do happen nonetheless, in some other ways.

The jeering of supporters became louder as he neared me, and then finally touched me, deep inside my territory. Without second thought, I jumped on him and grabbed his feet. I could feel myself dragged for a moment and then some violent jerks knocked me on my face, as a cloud of dust blinded my sight. Suddenly the movements settled down and I could hear the whistle blowing. Palash had been stopped, and a team mate of mine came inside in return. We eventually lost the match and for many, it was an uneventful match. But for me, it was a personal memory that reinforced the right to believe in oneself.

Whats In a Name

‘Whats in a name; even a rose with any other name, will smell as sweet’ – Shakespeare

It meant different things to different people in SSG to have the same first names and be in the same class. :)

I know a story, borne out of similar fate, which at best can be described as Tragicomic. The two were very different, be it in any aspect, physical appearance or others. The only two things that they seemed to share were their first names ‘Deben’ and their batch.

‘Rule breaking’ in Sainik School was inevitable. What was possible however was to break them without being detected (of course with your astrological stars in the right place). While day to day breaches happened like, going to out-of-bound canteens (PWD and WESTERN canteens) and everyone did it without a second thought, the hardcore ones could seldom be found in the campus during the weekend.

Both the ‘Debens’ were in their IXth standard – the most worrisome stage of one’s SSG existence (my personal opinion). It’s the stage when one enters the ‘Senior houses’ and get treated like ‘milk toothed’ juniors after having spent THREE LONG years! in the campus. Many run away during the first month of their stay in Senior Houses and others adapt to that life in their own respective ways. Having three batches, to look down upon (VI – VIII), its irresistible to not exercise one’s seniority, esp. when the ones above them (X – XII) used them so often.

Its been almost half a year now, both the Debens were counting their days that would mark the end of that year and the end of ‘duties’ towards the seniors, like all their classmates. While one Deben was in Lohit, the other was in Udaygiri.

It was a leisurely moment after lunch, which lasts for almost 20 mins before the gong goes off marking the start of the unexplainably sleepy prep classes. It was leisurely as the quadrangle wore a deserted look, without any seniors eager to entertain their visual senses by punishing the IXth batch for some frivolous reasons. Some seniors were chit chatting with their respective junior ‘Bhaitis’.

A friend of Deben came to his room, passed greetings and said, ‘Deben, Pritom from Chilarai is calling you’.

Deben asked dismissively, 'Who Pritom?'

The friend said, ‘Pritom from Class XII. Did you do anything illegal today?’

Deben smiled in response, knowing not for which one, was he being called for.

Chilarai House: Pritom hit Deben across his face and asked him, ‘What did you do in the morning?’
Deben cried, ‘I haven’t done anything’.
The cycle of ‘hit and interrogate’ continued, occasionally joined by more of Pritom’s batch mates. The gong marked the beginning of the prep class, and for Deben, the end of another ‘meeting’. He went back to Udaygiri house, changed his uniforms and washed his face and went for the prep class. The Headmaster, donning his dark shades lay in wait for the late comers. Deben was one of them. He frog jumped for a good 50 metres, before getting hit by a cane and then eventually entered his class, sweaty and tired.

Deben occupied an empty last bench and started to think about his day’s activities, trying to figure out, which of his mistakes was it, that actually got detected by Pritom. A fellow classmate from Chilarai, came over to him and said,

‘I had gone to Pritom’s room and overheard him speaking to someone. He was coming to the school building in the morning and saw a VIth student trying to reach the pigeon hole of the letter box, in order to drop a letter. Pritom dropped it for him and asked who the letter was for. The VIth student replied, he dint know as it wasn’t his letter. Deben from class IX had asked him to drop it.’

After a momentary pause, he asked Deben, ‘So did you ask someone to drop your letter?’.

It dint take Deben more than a second to realize what was going on. The junior must have said Deben, without adding a last name to it, or for that matter the House where he belonged. He went up to the other Deben and said, ‘You owe me one’.

Note: names have been changed to protect identities in the story.

OBA, Ex SSGians Reunion

The Ex students of Sainik School Goalpara had their reunion in Delhi, in Dwarka on 14th February, 2009. With commendable efforts from our super senior (Indranil Roy, 1934 and some more), the dream of hoisting such a get together eventually materialized.

Willing to contribute in whatever little ways, I decided to pick as many of my batchmates on my way to the venue, while forcing others to reach there. By the time we reached there, the hall was partially full with old students, their wives and children running around. The sight of our chemistry teacher, Mr. R.A. Khan was indeed a great surprise. Sitting beside him was Mr. R.P. Yadav, about whom I cannot write much, as he retired the same year when I joined school (1994). His farewell dinner was the first regimental dinner that I witnessed in school and the last being the farewell that my batch got in 2001.
Mr. Indranil Roy

Highlights of the evening included the signing of the school song, ‘Oxom Oxom’ graced by Mr. Indranil Roy, followed by introduction rounds and some cultural extravaganza. Mr Jyotin Sarkar, a senior bureaucrat also delivered a memorable speech highlighting the challenges of developing Assam.

The event offered a great atmosphere, bonded by common experiences from school. With liquor being served, the formal chit chats gave way to memories from older days, as a classmate of mine performed push ups and drills, in a fit of SSG spirit. The conclusion of the evening was marked by a sumptuous buffet and a small speech by Mr. Indranil Roy, where he urged us (the still student looking ex SSGians) to take initiatives and conduct the next get together sometime in October this year.

As we departed, a group of my ex classmates, thanked me for bringing them to the event. Perhaps those thanks need to re directed to Mr. Indranil Roy and others, who made it come true. Or just to wind it up in an SSGian's way,

“I would like to offer my vote of thanks, to Mr R.P. Yadav, Mr. R.A. Khan and all the seniors for having found time in spite of their busy schedule, and making the event a grand success”.

Aniruddha: rolling & crawling

1996. I have reached class VIII by now and shifted to Aniruddha House. My roll number is perhaps the only possession that has remained with me since I joined in 1994 in VIth standard. My uniforms are replaced by new ones to accommodate my growing limbs and my taste of shoes changed from Bata’s naughty boy to some more fancy stuff.
N.N. Kannangoo terrorized most of the hours that we happened to stay in the house, with his famous saying, ‘I will take you for a high jump’. P.K. Jena, our able house master added spice to our lives by elongating after dinner house assemblies running into hours.
That was the year, I learnt to sleep, like a horse standing and ruminating what was being spoken by my house master – his sentences mostly starting with ,‘I have a plan’.

A rare feature of Aniruddha House unlike others was that the building did not pair up with another house to form an enclosed space, termed Quadrangle. Of the seven different Houses, it was Aniruddha house that remained open on one side, countered by barbed wire fencing…Needless to say that it was meaningless for us.

It was just another night in the summer of 1996. Our phase tests were being held and the next day, we had our second language test. Some had Assamese and some had Hindi. I was in room number 2 – a mixed and noisy group of students having either Hindi or Assamese as their second language. The outer most room was room number 1, beyond which the meaningless fencing started. On the other side of my room was room number 3.
A classmate (Rishikesh, 3342) happened to be from room number 3 and he was the only one in his room having Hindi. He came across to my room to discuss studies with other classmates studying Hindi. He happened to sit on a make shift chair made out of a black tin trunk and lean on the iron grills of the window on the ‘jungle side’ (facing the jungle).
I was never good at Assamese and it made no sense to study on that warm and humid night. I went up to Swahi Swamam Jonse, 3257, who happened to be the door keeper and shared my plan to create some fun.

As a precaution, we told everyone about it, excepting the guest (Hrishikesh, 3342), who we wanted to scare. There was another exception named Jyotirmoy Sharma (3299), who was sleeping. So we went ahead to execute the plan. I crossed the barbed fencing, aided by Swahi Swamam Jonse and tip toed towards the backside of the window where Hrishikesh was leaning and let go my hand around his head, through the grill. After a momentary shock, he figured out the prank, and suddenly there was a SHRIEk…..AAAAAAAA, from someone. The first thing that came to my mind was Mr. P.K. Jena and his N.C.C. cane. I turned around and saw my mate climbing the barbed fencing. By the time I crossed it, I could hear P.K. Jena screaming. I couldn’t make it to my room and sat beside Amar (3288) in room no 1, with semi audible heart beats.

Jonse having reached his desk, and with very little time to think, couldn’t come up with a valid excuse when Jena asked him (as he was the door keeper) about the noise. He fumbled as he said ‘Sir chutkule suna raha tha’ (was narrating a joke, sir). The entire room number 2, went over to the quadrangle like sacrificial goats, as I watched them rolling and crawling, sitting in another room.

A later investigation, brought to my knowledge, that the scream came from Jyotirmoy (3299) who was the other exception, and who was asleep when we carried out the prank. How he explained his situation, I reproduce in verbatim:
I opened my eyes and saw a pair of hairy hands coming in through the window from the dark. The scream went off, unknowingly.
Many of those who got punished that night, knows where the prank went wrong. Of those who still do not know, this story might help.

Sainik School Terms (A to M)

Back roll: A relatively easy form of punishment, mostly asked to perform on grass beds and on particularly bad days, on concrete floors, where a person has to roll on his back. An easy way is to lie on your back and then gradually lift your legs, until the only portion touching the ground will be the head, before rolling.

Bhaiti: Its literal meaning is ‘younger brother’ in Assamese. The word defines an idea where a senior forms a ‘bhaiti’ from amongst the juniors and apart from chit chats and conversations, often endows the ‘bhaiti’ with generosities like, rights to visit ‘out of bound’ canteens and shielding from punishments.

Bhokla: The khaki shorts that we are issued as part of our uniforms. Perhaps the term comes from the enourmous size of those shorts.

Big Tarzan: The highlight of the obstacles course. Two planks of wood separated by a long rope, each standing on abnormal heights and the aim is to reach the other plank swinging on the rope. After overcoming the fear of heights, the second challenge is when you almost touch the ground while swinging, only to fly upwards towards the other plank. Many drop to the ground, and several of those who reach the other plank, still end up hurting themselves in the groin. Many of us use the term ‘Omlette’ for such injuries.

Crawling: One of the few forms of punishment, which actually helped us in survival. Crawling often entailed that we lie on the ground on our belly and move forward using the elbow. A great way of moving without being detected, most of us have used this technique while on our way from PWD and WESTERN canteens.

Cream roll: When front rolls and back rolls, go out of vogue, some tormentors came up with the idea of a cream roll. While its unthinkably difficult to reach from one point to another performing either front or back roll, cream roll makes it worse. Here one has to do two front rolls, followed by a single back roll and the cycle continues.

Chair position: a form of punishment, where a person is asked to sit on the air, as if he was sitting on a chair. This form can have accessories like, having to draw your hands parallel to the ground and some weights being placed on the hands. It hurts the thighs. Also see ‘Maharaja Position’ below.

Frog jump: A relatively easy form of punishment, where a person jumps like a frog. The real pain comes after a few happy jumps when the thigh starts hurting. People often have difficulty walking temporarily for the next 2-3 hours or even less.

Gandhi position: Perhaps the most ‘un interesting’ and least innovative amongst all forms of punishment in Sainik School. It mostly happens during the initial introductory sessions, when juniors are shifted to their respective senior houses once they are promoted to IXth (in some cases VIIIth) standards. Here one has to climb and stand atop the green steel cupboards and stand like ‘Mahatma Gandhi’ leaning on his walking stick. The only pain from this exercise is the extreme sense of boredom.

Hair cut: A good way of avoiding the ‘dreadfully sleepy’ prep classes in the afternoon. The khaki clad, cycling barber would often be bribed to spare them of his rusting scissors.

Hanuman Chal: A personal favourite of Mr. P.K. Jena. It’s a from of exercise, where a person runs like a mad man throwing both his hands upwards alternately towards the head without bending the elbow, complimented with similar movement of the feet, with minimal bending on the knees. I am not too certain if the mythological Hanuman actually ran like this.

Jungle side: Each House enclosed a quadrangle at the centre. So each rooms would have a line of windows facing the quadrangle. The other set of windows would facing the outside, is called the termed as the jungle side. Its so, as most of these windows would open up to uninhabited land, full of trees and shrubs.

Mess duty: It’s a once in a life time kind of opportunity in Sainik School, where a student (or two) do not have to attend classes, and gets to spend the entire day in the mess. Though the primary aim was to check the quality of food being cooked, it was mostly a day to eat for the resourceful students, esp. if non-vegetarian food was on the menu! Don’t know if it still exists.

Maharaja position: A stylish form of punishment (look chair position above), where a person sits on the air, with one of his legs folded (lifted) on another. A practically unattainable form of punishment, when one hears the posture. But as the motto goes. ‘Everything is Possible’.