My alma mater, Raisina Bengali School, will be celebrating Centenary on January 2, 2025, my dear friend Ashishh, asked me to write about my days in the school. I asked myself, where do I begin? Actually, it is impossible to write about the days spent in the school in few pages…memories exceed beyond terabytes… so, I decided to write few incidences that have remained imprinted in the mind.

But before that, a bit about my iconic school, Raisina Bengali School… it was Raisina Bengali Higher Secondary School when I joined in Class-IV, later when the 8+3 curriculum was replaced with 10+2, it became Raisina Bengali Senior Secondary School, but more popularly just as Raisina Bengali School… from a single school it now has 3 branches, Senior School at Mandir Marg and C R Park and a Junior School, also at C R Park.

From a humble beginning on January 2, 1925 from a shared space near the Willingdon Hospital (Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia Hospital) to the Baird Lane to the present Mandir Marg is long journey that the school covered. Shri Makhan Lal Mukherjee started the journey with just 57 eager students who were primarily the children of the government officials that moved to Delhi from Calcutta (Kolkata) when the British Govt moved its Capital to New Delhi in 1911. Today, it is one of the prominent English medium senior secondary schools with the CBSE curriculum, contributing wholesomely to the city’s educational space as also ensuring the Bangla is taught as a compulsory language till middle school.

My school is not just an education hub but deeply rooted to the Bengali culture, language and literature. Throughout its journey, the students of the school have not only excelled academically but have spread their wings successfully in the field of sports, entertainment as well as management/ governance. The iconic building of the school at Mandir Marg has been declared as a Heritage Building by the Delhi Govt. I feel extremely proud to be part of such a rich heritage.  

I joined the school in class-IV from an English-only kindergarten (nursery) school and it took me some time to adjust. For example, calling my female teachers “AUNTY” instead of “DIDIMONI” drew plenty of teasing from classmates. Soon enough, though, I settled in and became part of a close-knit group that remained fiercely loyal and together until we graduated in 1980.

THE EXTENDED FOOTBALL MATCH

We were in class 8, getting a free period because the subject teacher being on leave and non-availability of an alternative teacher, was rare phenomenon but happened once-in-while. On that fateful day, we got a free third-period and decided to play football. Normally, we would have played at the lower ground of the school premises but that day, someone suggested we go to the ground on the rocks which was quite a distance from the school premises.

Football runs in the vein of Bongs, we can play it anytime, anywhere, in any conditions for many hours together. It was no exception that day either, we played for hours, oblivious to the ‘bell’ announcing the end/beginning of a class. We even forgot about the recess and continued playing till we were exhausted. One of us, and if I am not mistaken, Amit Mukherjee went back to have water (there wasn’t any concept of water bottles then) and was ‘caught’ by our revered Shyamal Sir (Shri S. Roy Chowdhury). A twist of his ear and palm mark of Shyamal Sir on his cheek was enough for him to spill the beans. A “good boy” was sent to fetch us. We came back like a herd of sheep and received the same treatment from Shyamal Sir. The collective punishment often bonds the students in brotherhood and it was no different, for us it was a battle scar that we proudly remember and often reminiscence.

THE GHOSTLY BIOLOGY LAB

Before the new Science block came in existence, the biology lab used to be next to the watercoolers and somehow gave us jitters whenever we passed by it, maybe, because of the skeleton (real) and a number of jars of formalin solution containing different species. Barring the brilliant guys with scientific bent of mind, we generally avoided going there but when we were in class IX, it became mandatory to attend the practical classes in the lab. In one such class, Ashishh, Atish and I were a team dissecting a frog and failing miserably. On top of it, our table was next to the skeleton, we were focussing more on it than the assignment on hand.

Suddenly, Ashishh whispered, “Did you see that”?

“What?” Atish and I asked simultaneously.   

“The skeleton… it moved.” Ashishh replied, his voice wavered in unknown fear.

We would have run from there but Atish and I had an inquisitive mind and principal member of the “detective club” called We Investigate Anything (WIA), so we looked closer and indeed the hand of the skeleton was in motion, though slow, it was winter days with no source of wind inside the classroom. We were scared to death and slowly started moving out from our station. The group next to us looked at us questioningly and when we revealed, they also started to walkout, soon it became a pandemonium, none of us were willing to continue in the lab. The lab assistant, Dulari Sir had a harrowing time controlling the herd of students.

“There’s a ghost…the skeleton has come alive and moving.” Ashishh blurted out.

Dulari Sir laughed aloud and said, “Come with me and show me what you saw.”

With much reluctance we went with him to our table and pointed to the hand of the skeleton. Lo and behold, it moved again. We screamed together, “Gho…os…ttt”

Dulari Sir ignoring our screams, went ahead and shook the hand of the skeleton. PHATT, came the sound of a pebble hitting the floor… we could see an overturned beetle lying on the floor. Dulari Sir laughed hysterically at our stupidity. Narayan Sir (Shri N. C. Mukherjee), our biology teacher mockingly hailed us “the brave trio”. It became a running joke for the rest of our school days.   

ENCOUNTER OF DIFFERENT KIND  

Sanyal Sir (Shri B. Sanyal), our English teacher was a terror for the students across classes. As junior students, we used to avoid going anywhere near him, not knowing which action of ours would bring his wrath upon us. As luck would have it, he became our class-teacher when were in class-X, we dreaded our first meeting with him.

After the roll call, he asked us to introduce ourselves. Our timid voice did not reach him. He roared, “Haven’t you guys eaten anything? Speak up loudly, I can’t hear you.”

Once the introduction was over, he said, “My teaching style is different, I won’t make you rote learn the course but make you love the language. Let me see, what level of English you guys know. Tell me the meaning of the “Gunny Bag”. There was pin-drop silence in the class, no one dared to venture an answer. He looked at Biswanath and asked, “You tell me.” Bishu mumbled incoherently which enraged him immensely, he got up from his chair walking up to Bishu, ready to thrash him when a voice from another corner said, “Bosta” (Bengali for sack). He turned around to see the voice but all lips were sealed by then. A few unfortunate classmates received his wrath that morning but thereafter he mellowed down and became really fond of us. He would go on to shield us from the higher ups for all our sins. He became particularly fond of Atish and me… often referring us as the twins lost in Kumbh mela. I vividly remember his guidance after the “gunny bag” incidence wherein he told us, “Stop thinking in Bangla and then answering in English. Start thinking in English if you want to master both the spoken and written language.” It became a mantra for me.

Another teacher who inspired and shaped my personae was our Principal Shri A. N. Banerjee. He very early on, realized that the students were intelligent and bright, but they lack the confidence of public speaking. He ruled that each and every student must speak on any subject in their preferred language for 5 minutes during the assembly. The initiative helped many of my peers in later days of their career.

I must also mention here of Tiwari Sir (Shri P. G. Tiwari) who has been a father figure during my school days. I have never seen him getting angry even when we made silly mistakes or have been raucous in the class. His premature passing away left a big void for the school as well as for the students.

The other teachers that left a lasting impression on me are Prasanta Sir (Shri P. Roy Chowdhury) for his patience and humbleness. He made me love the subject through his unique way of teaching.

As I progressed to higher classes, I became scared of maths and my grades dropped consistently. Shyamal Sir (Shri S. Roy Chowdhury), came to my rescue spending hours with me to help me get over my fears of mathematics. His untiring tutoring propelled me take the subject in college as well as clear the exams with good marks.

THE HOLI INCIDENT

We were in class-XI and exams round the corner as well as the festival of colours, HOLI. Our Principal, Amarnath Sir, during the assembly barred us from playing with colours in the school premises. If he hadn’t said so, we would not have given any thoughts about it but now the rebel inside us woke up and we decided to defy the order. A day before the Holi, Bishu (Bishwanath) brought packets of ABIR (Gulal or coloured powder); during the recess time, the entire class including the girls were plastered in myriad hues of ABIR. Our best efforts to wash them before returning to the class did not work, we all looked like an army of monkeys.   

Someone must have complained to the Principal Sir; cane in hand, he stormed into our class and marched us to his chamber.

“Didn’t I tell you not to play with colors in the school premises?”

“Yes” we said.

“Then why did you do it?”

Silence.

“Who brought the colours?” he asked losing his patience.

Silence again.

“I am asking you again, who brought the colours?”

“The colours were with me.” This time Bishwanath spoke up.

Amarnath Sir ignoring his answer, repeated his question and Bishwanath kept replying that the colours were with him. This continued for a while.

We all received canings, but not one of us broke the code of silence. That day, we truly understood the meaning of OMERTA—the brotherhood of silence—and the importance of phrasing questions correctly to get the right answers.

THE DIWALI EXPLOSION

We hadn’t forgotten the HOLI punishment at the hands of our principal, Shri A. N. Banerjee Sir and in our last academic year (class XII Commerce) decided to leave a lasting impression of our mischief. In the morning assembly before the Diwali holidays, he prohibited use of crackers including bombs during school hours. During the recess, few of us went to the nearby market and bought the crackers.

In Classes XI and XII, students could opt for either Mathematics or Bengali. This meant that one group often had a free period while the other was in class. On that chosen day, the Bengali group was in class, and we—the Mathematics group—had a free period after recess. Perfect conditions for our plan.

We discussed our strategy and promised ourselves that none of us would get caught this time. All the bombs (crackers) were perfectly timed by removing some of the gunpowder from the fuselage ensuring that we were not in the vicinity when it exploded.

As we were placing the first one on the windowsill of the toilet adjacent to the Principal Sir’s chamber, Tiwari Sir caught us. Instead of reprimanding us, he was more concerned that the bomb would explode on our face!!

The last one was placed on top of the nameplate outside the Principal Sir’s chamber… when it exploded, we were in deep discussion with Sanyal Sir near the Science Block. He smiled and said, “I know, who did this but your secrets are safe with me.”

In all, more than a dozen bomb exploded at different locations within the school.  We chose the spots carefully to avoid anyone getting hurt. The Principal Sir was convinced of our involvement in the cracker explosions but could not prove it. The concept of OMERTA prevailed.

DISCLAIMER

The mischievous incidents described here should not be taken too seriously. They were merely youthful pranks. We respected our teachers deeply then, and we still do now. Without their guidance, patience, and love, we might never have realized our potential. Instead of becoming wayward vagabonds, we grew into capable adults—thanks in no small part to the teachers and the environment at Raisina Bengali School.