MY ALMA MATER

"Like gold in a furnace"..strongest metaphor to come across, this liner, this identifying thought ….so very own to the very St.Xavier's Durgapur, have ever since I walked through the welcoming gardens of its portals, made me think of just gold burning in a furnace. What more worth can a liner hold, the answer gradually moulded, shaped up and developed in me as the furnace itself became a casting identity for me, which saw me along with every single individual in that grey-white uniform, and every single person and his thought, grow up blossoming and moulding in the beautiful and yellow tinge of pride, all of which started in the furnace itself.

St.Xaviers Durgapur, my school, my identity and my reason to proclaim that every single inch of thought, value and virtue would not have had any meaning or shape without the school living in me, since the time I have been able to associate myself with the illustrious family of Xaverians.

I still remember vividly the first day at school when our Headmaster held my tiny fingers and escorted me to the big wooden doors and strange faces inside. I tried to see my mom, my dad, my sister or even my maid in the only prominent of the lot, but in vain. What was she there for and why does not she wear the same uniform like us? No, that was not the actual school of thought I carried then, as had not I been able to recognise the sight of a teacher in a class, I would have simply run away out of the big green gates. To add on, I was a chosen member of the furnace now, how can I not be able to differentiate a teacher and a student. Yet, the only question bothering me at that time was--"Cannot all of these be done at home, my home?"

That was the start of learning, start of imbibing discipline within, and an associated gradual feel of belonging, besieging the hesitation inside.

As I grew up through the first few years of my life, every single day my school used to make me feel there is a father to take care, a mother to love, way away from home, at another home. Every time I fell down bruising myself, I used to thank the grass in awe, whenever I forgot the homework, the dry concrete guttering lanes paved by the corridors gave me place to park my notebooks and complete my homework during the tiffin break (thanks to men in different uniform) who never let a drop of water drip along the lanes. (Felt like they too did not like me getting punished).

Living through the pale yellow walls of Mirabai were also the bylanes of memory which I would love to personalise as living youthful days of sharing, tussling, learning, sweating and nerve chilling moments (on a winter as well as on an exam day). Every Friday a "Sing Hossanna!" at the assembly hall used to make me ponder on the significance of singing it loud out. It makes me smile away in beautiful nostalgia when I now realize I could never get enough interest to peep out and read out, if not sing, the lyrical beauty of Sing Hossanna and a whole troop of other melodious assembly room numbers, until on a similar day, with me grown up as a senior member at Mirabai, felt a leader within, a proud disciplined singer within who must now teach the tiny toddlers  how to grow tall, by values of self-discipline, learning and belonging.

Likewise, within the classrooms it was a similar chapter of learning every day. Be it Math, Science, Literature, across all subjects, I bow down with proud salute before every single teacher who made me what I am today. Today, I would not be couching back and guessing most of the answers correct for any quiz episode on TV, pertaining to elementary subjects, had my torchbearers not been there around throughout my childhood.

Mirabai took me to ABL from the 5th grade. ABL was huge, I still remember myself not barging inside and across any other corner blindly, just to keep my values of discipline from Mirbai intact. Every other corner, apart from my classroom, the stretch from the library till the staffroom (grade 5 lay midway the lane) used to make me shy away from putting my steps in. I used to feel like a momma's word ringing loud inside my ears, “that is foreign land! Cannot you see the long legs in grey and tall people with deep dark voices?!". I used to reply with a shivering yes every time I moved back to my same old grade 5.

Fun saw me taking it, living it differently. This time, it would be giving more to the annual sports meet, a bit more bold to walk up and ask the football from the staff office on a typical PT period, sharing a gossip during the tiffin break in a small group of 5 or 6, or giving my best shot to finish off my pending electromagnetics assignment, on one of the surplus benches occupying the last few yards inside the gymnasium.

The woods kissing the gymnasium would enchant us the most, no Xaverian can deny that. Loitering around and getting lost in search of an orchid or mushroom would take us miles inside at times, and every time I came out of it with the closure ring-ring of the tiffin break, I found myself mesmerized by the long bark of the Sal and the Eucalyptus which took me to the Scandinavia and Swiss Alps, like a laboratory class of Geography.

Memories of tug-of-war, Mirabai ABL relay race, the annual inter-school football tournament (Xaviers always the winner) farewell events, teachers' day, students' day, competition among the 4 houses of Loyola, Xavier, Gandhi and Tagore, elocution-extempore meets, and our PT Sir aligning us straight for the perfect march past on annual sports parade are still fresh on my mind and I feel like living them with every single dawn.

Moments and words can go on and on, but I do not think the priceless, timeless memories can ever be enough of a pen down of thoughtful nostalgia.

St.Xaviers Durgapur is a home, a family. It runs through my nerves, as I feel like waking

up on a week day, match my brown books against the periods, and pack them all in a faded Duckback with mom slipping inside a small box of bread and jam.

Can there be a better life than living it inside my very own Xaviers?

I leave this question to be answered by my fellow siblings growing up there.

                                                                       

                                                                                    --Tanmoy Dey (Tagore House)

                                                                                       SXS 2K batch

            I LOVE YOU SXS DURGAPUR, MY ALMA-MATER, ALWAYS GRATEFUL TO YOU

NOSTALGIA

THE DAYS OF OUR LIVES.

It all started as a five year old toddler struggling with a new 'Milton' water-bottle, a larger-than-his-frame bag and an identity card dangling from his neck.

Life began since then...full of ups and downs but exciting nonetheless. Right from the "three billy goats" of Chappel Miss to the spelling exercises of  D'souza Miss and the getting caught reading a story-book in Gupta miss' math class, school was fun to the core (though it certainly didn't seem that way back then when we used to land in trouble). You can never forget the kind, gentle scolding of Rev.Fr.Wautier_ who was so loving.The interesting stories of Anjali Miss(we used to wait for her class so eagerly) and the constant words of encouragement from Krishna Miss.

Things became a bit complicated as we moved to higher classes (read studies), but amazingly our teachers made all the difference. There was never a dull moment when Rajaditya Sir took us through the seemingly scary alleys of physics or in maths class when Roy Sir delved into the dark corners of algebra and geometry.
In fact we used to actually wait for Nandi sir's class and I'm still amazed by his flawless aim in throwing the chalk at some 'disturbing element'.

With all the fun and serious studies, I can still feel the excitement and anticipation before a P.T.class. Even though I was never much of a sports person, yet thefun of going out in the field and doing whatever you want to was not just alluring but something worth waiting for.

Apart from the fact that my school days shaped my life to a great deal, I'd say that my school, St.Xavier's has given me some of the most cherished memories and some of the most treasured moments, which include sharing tiffin under the trees to the interesting classes of Suvro Sir,Sandip Sir and the other teachers.

Thinking of my school days always lets go  a flood of memories and had it not been for all my teachers I wouldn't have been where I am today.

Siddhartha Chatterjee

(Batch of 2001).

The Days of Yore

The memory of what was...

When I think of St. Xavier's School, three separate incidents come to my mind.

The first was on the very first day I came to St. Xavier's School. It
was raining very heavily and I was desperately hoping that I would
miss the first day and might never have to go to school again
(childish eh? Well, it seemed convincing then ). But I did go
anyway. I was apprehensive (fine, fine I was downright terrified) in
an alien world- no one to call a friend and full of strange people,
when all of a sudden walked in Brother Ivan Fernandez with his ever
cheerful face and gaiety and said "Welcome to St. Xavier's !". And my
world changed forever.

The second incident was our final day in school. People were sobbing
miserably (yes, even boys of SXS cry) trying to comfort each other.
But then it seemed that all that we ever held precious in our lives,
everything to which we were attached to were going away. It felt like
what must be like dying. We did not want to go but we had to. Then
walked in Sir Uday Bhanu Roy (our beloved Jathababu) and in his calm
compassionate voice said, "this is an adieu, not a goodbye". And we
went out to fight the big bad world.

The third one was only a few days ago. I came back to St. Xavier's
after a very long gap. We were two old batch mates sitting in the old
gymnasium at 3 pm in the afternoon…no one in sight and only memory of
our old bustling gymnasium surrounding us. We sat silent, watching
those cricket ball marks that decorate the walls, trying to find the
ones we must have made sometimes. We were there for a long time and
when it was time to go my friend said, "The gymnasium will never have
more than three tube lights intact at any given time!"

So many years, so many people, so many incidents, so many triumphs and
so many frustrations that made us what we are today. Which one to tell
you, I wonder. The tokens of honour and tokens of conduct, the
punishments and the rebukes, the glory of sports day victories and
agony of messing the march pasts are all there in some special place
in our hearts. Some of our very dear people are no more. Many others
are now miles away without any connection. We miss being called chagol
by kaka, we miss Angana miss's speed and we miss Sandip sir's witty
humour. We wish we were still there…in those golden days.  And most of
all I miss my friends who have disappeared from our lives and only
linger on in our dreams. I wish I could relive those moments all over
again, just one more time…with all those special people there back
again in this very special place; just one more time.

Debotosh Poddar
Ex-Captain, Tagore House
2004-05 Batch

To My Alma Mater, With Love.

Tanumay Raychaudhury

What is Time? A fourth dimension or a flow of consciousness? I am neither an expert in Physics or in Philosophy to answer that; all I know is it keeps moving faster than the mind can grapple. Thankfully, Merciful Almighty allows the Lesser Mind to travel down the old lanes as I sit reminiscing the best gone days of Life.

A wistful, unfamiliarly fair countenance beamed a bouncer, a rather unexpected one at this five year odd “Who is this?” as he pointed at a photo. This kid was perfected with answers such as My name is…My father is.. This is a Kite. I hesitated for a moment, smiled and then said, bolder than ever, “Tanumay, that is Me.” Father Waveril seemed pleased with my effort. The next time I met him was in School, which was by then, mine. The last time I read on the website, he was Elsewhere. Only I knew what he had meant to me and the One who he was with now, because every time I can call myself a Xaverian, it’s because They had chosen me to walk through those hallowed portals of St.Xavier’s School, Durgapur.

I was taught by the likes of Moore Miss, D’Costa Miss, Lily George Miss, Temple Miss, Anita Mukherjee Miss and Pushpa Miss in my primary days. Barely I realized how much I would miss them in the days to come. Those were not merely moments of teaching but moments of Learning, not moments of frolic but of fearless unadulterated Fun, of not mere friendship but of Faith and Fealty. Our innocence with their motherly love had made schooling only more endearing. Love is not Time’s Fool. Never will Be.

Mathematics had a different taste and sense in Xavier’s. Parameshwaran Sir and his Mr.Butcher, Mr.Bambino, desks, chairs and cattle made mathematics so very easy and understandable in commoner terms that I always urged him to write a book to benefit a million others who were not as lucky as us. Nandy Sir, Our beloved Kaka, may have likened me and many more to the various forms of donkeys and goats, but Practice and Neatness are the forerunners of Perfection was taught by self-example. Jhunu Miss was an enigma, The Missing Link. Last but never the last, Sir Roy, aka Jethu, taught that the Keyword of  Maths was Concept. This Pillar was complete, and by far the best I have known till this day. No wonder I remain on the lesser trodden path of Xaverians when I chose to take up medicine and not pure maths or engineering.

There were splendidly intelligent seniors and classmates who made the environment rich with their knowledge, wisdom and above all, their friendship. Whether we went for quizzes or football tournaments, we triumphed. Whether the board exams then or the ones later, our students have had enviable records. Its all due to the ones who taught us the difference of right and wrong. My class, the Millennium ICSE batch of 2000 from the school had joined immediately after the Silver Jubilee year, went on to produce 6 six pointers, the benchmark of per School Success, if Angana Miss, our Economics teacher would have defined. Bhowmick Miss, who could chalk the world map, while still talking to us, touched us all. She even went on to invite us all home for lunch after the exams were over. “Child,” rolling the chalk sticks between her palms, casually thoughtful as ever, Malini Miss would keep a class spellbound as she would reveal secrets in Physics. Rajada was great to follow up in her shoes, very difficult to fill I…. thought in those days. He not only went on to teach relativity and NTSE training after class hours, he even joined us in football in the evenings. Talking of Dedication in off-school hours, Nandini Miss would be there early faithfully every day to revise Chemistry a million times with the entire bunch. We had our share of rebuking too. Madhumala Miss was barely happy with our Biology, neither was Rita Pandey Miss with History. Sandip Sir and Suvro Sir, being from the school themselves, probably realized better and dealt with us in their own style! I hope, looking back, they all feel happy and similar in the way things turned out and with what they worried most about, our performance.

Being an English school where the mother-tongue was Bengali predominantly, we had to be polished in senior school by Chaitali Miss, Lawrence Sir, Moore Sir, Madhumita Miss, Sandip Sir, Suvro Sir, Nita Banerjee Miss and lastly, Nandita Dasgupta Miss. It was a long-drawn beating with the Merchants freaking out with the Jews all the way in Venice, and concentration was, in those days of frolic, little. Nevertheless, we didn’t fail the School Motto. Not because we were like Gold. But because these of these Goldsmiths in the Furnace.

My love for my mother-tongue was flamed by Anita Mukherjee Miss, Sumita Miss, Anita Pal Miss and then, Gita Mitra Miss. I loved reading Bengali literature, the yearning of which comes with comprehension of a language that’s so rich and sweet. I am not sure how many of students today read literature, but my suggestion to them all will be to read, to seek, to find and you will yield to that harvest whose saplings were planted by our own forefathers.

School is not only about studies. It’s about the Making of A Complete Man. Santi Sir, endearingly called P.T Sir, would allow a sixty odd to have a go at a single poor football and then went on to win Inter ICSE Football tournaments like he was taking a stroll to the Gymnasium. The one day, when we got to see our alumni was Sports Day, where they would tug us, fair and square, to their end. The Sands of Time had changed places, and I could not, when I myself became an alumnus, to attend Sports Day, thanks to administrative vigilance. The Sands where we ran, chased and played, remain. Just like our Memories. Upturned now and then once. Thinking of The Light of Other Days.

Our lesser and fairer contemporaries (Read Carmelites) who unknowingly with their lesser volumed brains( Nature’s Design) made sordid comments and were sore at the end. School life, without those mindless quarrels, with them, was not complete. From tamed monkeys whose abode was amidst the sal and teak forests for half a day everyday, We did evolve into The Highest forms.

Looking back through the Looking Glass, I salute all my friends, juniors and seniors and bow with utmost regard before all my teachers with all humility, thanking for such a wondrous life that was gifted, that was blessed and that is never to come again. Knowing that wherever We are, those are unfathomably deep in those same Sands where I played yesterday. Our Roots.

   The author can be contacted at tanumayrc@gmail.com.

He belongs to the ICSE Batch of 2000.He completed his schooling from DAV Model School,Durgapur and joined MBBS at CMC Vellore in 2002.Having graduated in 2007, he completed internship in 2008 in the same institution and is presently a Junior Resident in Dermatology at CMC Vellore.