"Those were gruelling days, filled with hardship; but, oh! How sweet are the memories they leave behind..."
The person who spoke these words has voiced a sentiment most of us feel to be true. In my own case, at no other time has it been more true than when I look back and reflect upon my school days at the North Eastern Railway High School in Gorakhpur. At this point of time I wouldn't mind sharing a secret with my readers. The writer had a strong aversion to school in his boyhood days. School was like a thorn in the flesh to this cuddly lad, who despite a reasonably good performance in lessons, found school to be the most unattractive of all institutions, something to be got over with as quickly as you could. And yet, forty years later, those very days seem to be the most pleasant and idyllic part of my life. They bring forth memories that linger on in the mind, arousing a thousand twinkling recollections as pleasant as the warm glow of sunshine on a winter's morning.
The year was 1970. After a trip to our home state of Maharashtra, my father, eager to smoothen the path for his son, began to hunt up an English medium school where I would be spared the terrors of studying science and math in Hindi. Someone suggested that the railway primary school would be ideal as it gave instruction in English. It came as a great wave of relief. Father took me along to the railway school, where, along with a pretty looking girl called Geeta, I was made to sit for a test. We both passed the test with ease and found admission to Class VI.
The school was called the North Eastern Railway Mixed Primary School, a lovely brick structure clearly dating back to British times, set within the plush railway colony of Gorakhpur. The school had a central hall for staging plays and various functions with corridors running on either side leading to classrooms. To the south of the school was an area covered with trees with a spacious shed where children could have tiffin, while at the back was a playground with swings, which ended in an imposing looking brick wall. This wall which looked more like the wall of a prison, was in fact the enclosure surrounding the railway workshop. Occasionally, during tiffin break, a steady whirring sound would be heard and boys would look up to find the massive arm of a crane raised beyond the wall. The hook was lowered, something picked up maybe, and then the crane would move on, finally disappearing from view. Beyond this, the activities and goings-on beyond the workshop wall were dark, mysterious secrets which none of us knew anything about.
I have alluded to my strong dislike for the "school atmosphere". The railway primary school was different; it was a blessing which helped in making attendance somewhat of a pleasurable experience for me. Set amidst a colony with roads lined with trees, and within walking distance of the railway yard, this school was more like a picnic spot where one would like to spend a day with his family in frolicking and fun.
There were three structures in a row : the North Eastern Railway Senior Institute, the Mixed Primary School, and lastly the Principal's bungalow. Amongst the teachers was Joseph madam who like us, attended St Andrew's Church in the railway colony ; there was Miss Clifford and Mrs Cecil, and a good many other teachers besides. Everyone seemed to be on the whole pleasant and friendly.
None of us however felt at ease in the presence of the Headmistress, a no-nonsense Anglo Indian lady by the name of Mrs Newbolt : slim, fair in complexion and exuding strength, agility and vitality. Words came easily to Mrs Newbolt : when she chose to speak, words flowed in an unceasing torrent. On occasion she would stride into the classroom to give us a talk in a voice laden with sarcasm, warning us of the dangers that lay in store for those who weren't prepared to apply themselves to their lessons. One of the boys named Mithilesh once remarked: "Newbolt teacher ka lecture mujhe bahut achcha lagta hai," voicing a sentiment that many of us shared with him. Boys and girls listened in pin-drop silence, finally heaving a sigh of relief when the hurricane had left.
During my one year at the Railway Mixed Primary School, I didn't succeed in making many friends. I had done well in the half-yearly exam and two of my mates, Sanjeev and Tarun, both strong and outgoing boys, held me in high esteem despite the fact that I was a near failure in sports. One person, who although not a friend but deserves mention here, was a boy called Leslie Tobit. Leslie's father was a driver who worked the A T Mail from Lucknow to Gorakhpur. Mrs Tobit suffered from cancer and one day we were told that she was in hospital in a critical state. At the hospital we were met by Mr Tobit, who looked in every way the quintessential Mr Jones of Bhowani Junction. He was distraught and heartbroken. "Doctor so-and-so," he kept repeating to my father, "Doctor so-and-so is an M.D., but he says the case is hopeless..." A few days later news came of the sad demise of Mrs Tobit. I never saw Leslie again. It is likely his father arranged for him to stay with his sister in Lucknow.
The other person I must include here is a girl named Azra Khan. Azra was a sweet natured girl who sat by my side on a separate desk. She spoke to me kindly, but in return I often forcibly snatched her copybook and browsed through the contents. When lunch break came on, I sat at my desk and Azra would tell me of her plans. She had so many ideas on making decorations, craft-items and such like using card, glue and coloured paper. On one occasion our class teacher punished the whole class by asking us to raise our hands. Barely a few minutes had passed when this strenuous exercise proved too much for the girl who broke into tears. Poor Azra! I wonder where she might be today.
The year passed quickly and on being promoted to Standard VII, I was admitted to the N E Railway English Medium High School. It appears that the High School had been only newly begun and as the school building was yet under construction, classes were held for a year or more in the Railway Senior Institute next to the primary school.
My entry into high school marked the beginning of an exciting new phase in my life, for I had newly learnt to ride a bicycle. From henceforth I would cycle to school from my home in Mohaddipur, a distance of about three kilometers.
The Railway Institute was a magnificent structure resembling a cathedral in some respects. Railway Institutes were recreational clubs for officials, and were built during British times. In Bhowani Junction we have a picture of what these railway institutes were like. To quote John Masters : "There were two Railway Institutes then, of course, one for Europeans and Anglo-Indians, and one for Indians. The Indians had not made theirs into anything, while ours was a fine big building with a dance floor and card rooms, and a bar, just like the Club in cantonments. The Indians seldom used their Institute. They never spent any money on beer, rum and whisky there, so there was no profit to improve it with."
The Senior Institute where school was held was clearly the one meant for Europeans. It had a large central hall with a stage, which must have been the 'dance floor' John Masters speaks about in his novel. Tournaments were regularly held, including Housie, and one of the teachers, one Mr C P Singh was a regular participant in Institute activities. Besides table tennis and billiards tables, the Institute also had cinema projection facilities and once the English film 'Oliver Twist' was screened. The show turned out to be a great success and was well attended.
As the English Medium School was newly begun, teaching staff was low in strength, so it was not uncommon to find a person with specialized knowledge in one field taking classes on an altogether different subject. Thus P L Verma, a pleasant and soft spoken man of short stature who taught English was obliged to take arithmetic classes as well. Janak Singh who specialized in Hindi I suppose, had extended the frontiers of his knowledge so as to be able to cope with a subject like Geography, while Janardan Singh, a senior teacher, took both science and maths classes.
The most interesting of these personages who were at the helm was undoubtedly one Shri I D Singh, who taught General Science and Biology. One of the boys, a fellow named Suresh, a first rate sportsman and one who would use every contrivance to succeed in examinations for which he never seemed to come adequately prepared, once crossed the limit in classroom. I don't recollect what the nature of the offence was, but I D Singh (whom we had lovingly nicknamed as 'Idea') was exasperated beyond measure, and picking up a duster he hurled it at the boy, missing the target only by a foot or so!
For many years the school uniform of both the Primary and High School sections had been the customary and tiresome navy blue trousers worn with a white shirt. To set us apart as scholars of a distinguished class, the N E Railway High School adopted a radically different style. Our uniform consisted of bluish-grey trousers and white shirt. To further add a touch of class, a tie was included, this being navy blue in colour with bright yellow stripes running across diagonally.
For one whole year classes were held in the Senior Institute. The central hall was flanked by two passages of ample width where chairs were arranged for pupils in rows while the teacher taught lessons using a portable blackboard supported on a tripod. Meanwhile, construction of classrooms was in progress on the upper storey of the nearby Mixed Primary School, and at the end of the year we were duly notified that from the next term the school would be shifting premises.
During the next two years, on my way to school each day, I would glance at the Railway Institute. It was a place forever engraved in my mind as the symbol of the Railway High School. It wore a desolate look now, and had once again taken the appearance of an abandoned church staring from the midst of a wide and open space, its doors forever closed to us.
Standard VIII.
Following the shift in premises, classes began in earnest on the upper storey of the primary school and once again we renewed our acquaintance with Newbolt madam, and other faces so familiar to us. Studies though tiresome and dreary were by no means devoid of an element of fun. Some new students, mostly wards of railway officials who had arrived on transfer, had joined the class. Mr C P Singh, the ever enthusiastic teacher taught us English and History. Besides Railway Institute activities he also held charge of the Boy Scouts. One day as the lesson progressed the talk turned towards the subject of friendship, and C P Singh summoned the attention of one of the girls in the front row. "Now tell me, who is your friend?" he posed the question. The girl was a new arrival ; she rose from her seat with hesitation, looking confused, and Singh repeated his question. The girl blushed: "Er-that way everyone is my friend, Sir!" It was now C P Singh's turn to look confused. "You mean to say that everyone here is your friend including me?" he asked. The class roared with laughter.
So far I have not spoken about one facet of my character, and that is my keen interest and enthusiasm for trains and anything to do with the railways. Such was my fascination for trains that each day on my way home from school, I dismounted my bicycle and watched with great interest engines shunting in the yard. If I was lucky enough, I would even catch sight of the A T Mail pulling out of the yard on its way to Gauhati.
The A T Mail was the Deccan Queen of the North Eastern Railway back in those days. The carriages had a pleasing blue livery, and at the head were two YP class steam engines working furiously to get those 22 cars out of the yard as quickly as they could.
Unlike many other trains, the A T Mail had a splendid dining car and I had the pleasure of having breakfast on board with my father several times. The service was very good : rows of tables laid out with crisp white linen, sparkling spoons and forks, spotlessly clean crockery, and an excellent omelette and toast followed by a potful of coffee as the train chugged along.
The day came when we finally said goodbye to Gorakhpur. The changeover came in mid 1974, four years after I first joined the railway school. I bid goodbye to my friends. Preparations were made, trunks were packed and sealed, luggage booked, train reservations made in advance. I together with my parents and sister would be moving to a new home in a land hundreds of miles distant.
We boarded the evening A T Mail that would take us to far away Gauhati, a journey lasting about 40 hours. Following a brief halt at Gorakhpur the Mail whistled and jerked forward. Our journey had begun. I sat next to a window watching the platform slip by. The train had begun to snake its way out of the yard, going clunk clunk-clunk. Ah, here it was : the spot where I would halt on my bike to watch trains shunting. A moment later, another familiar sight -- the Railway Senior Institute! It was my school, my very own school. How could I ever forget my school, my friends, my teachers? A succession of faces passed across my eye. Rajeev Sharma, Azra, Vijay Arora, art teacher Rihazul Haque, C P Singh... The vision lasted only for a brief while ; the next moment the train was speeding on towards the Char-phatak level crossing.
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Ravindra Bhalerao
Pic credit: A watercolor rendering of the Railway Institute in Gorakhpur made by Chat GPT using a camera image originally provided by Bharat Vohra.