Grit, guts and glory of life in a boarding school
Studying in a boarding school meant to make soldiers out of tykes was akin to throwing raw recruits into a stormy ocean without life jackets.
Deft scissorhands were the first to welcome us, a motley bunch of 10-year-olds. We had just entered an institution entrusted with clipping our wings and waywardness. Butch cut hair, white T-shirts and a solitary key of the locker hanging around our necks in black thread made us look like a herd of shorn sheep let out of a barn. Naive minors with humble backgrounds, used to running around barefoot, found the comfort and confines of canvas shoes a tad asphyxiating.
An imposing mess was the next to leave us awestruck and dumbfounded. Taxidermied stags, tigers and leopards hanging on the walls gave us a scary look of disdain, while hawk-eyed instructors kept a watch over the youngsters struggling to grapple with the armoury of gentlemanly dining. Knives, forks and spoons rattled the entire mess but couldn’t drown the gnawing sound of hunger pangs. Cutting a bun with a knife, while the fork in the other hand held it still is an art, we learnt after much hullabaloo.
To us, donning night suits and brushing teeth before going to bed seemed idiosyncrasies of the rich and pretentious. We, the rustics, who were in the habit of cleaning our teeth with a twig of acacia (kikar) or neem, took some time to brush up our knowledge about personal hygiene.
Getting up at 5.30am and running for our health, and lives, was the next step to test the grit and guts of soldiers-in-the-making. The mischief of a buddy called for collective punishment at the hands of the hard-to-deceive instructors, who wore the badge of strict disciplinarians with pride and aplomb. We crawled, rolled, ran with backpacks, paraded for extended hours but didn’t crumble or snitch. Rather, we came out hardened, strong and robust.
Smartly dressed in crisp white shirts, maroon blazers, striped neckties and gleaming black shoes in the evening and marching for dinner with an air of a gentleman cadet instilled in us the confidence to face the vagaries of the world with grace and elegance.
Swimming taught us to swim against the tide; boxing taught us to take an occasional punch in the face in our stride; hockey, cricket and football taught us the value of teamwork and camaraderie; basketball inspired us to reach out of our comfort zones and achieve the goal; and shooting taught us to remain focused and unperturbed while pursuing our passion.
So when I marched into my alma mater, Sainik School, Kapurthala, one cold winter morning, Smriti Sthal, raised to commemorate the supreme sacrifice of my school mates in the line of duty, was the first to draw my attention. Paying homage to my soldier friends in silence, I could hear their laughter and chuckles in dormitories, their cheers and jeers in the playground and sounds of their vigorous breath while running a cross-country, loud and clear.
I stood there in a meditative state with the words of American author Minot J Savage echoing in the mind: “The brave die never, though they sleep in dust, their courage nerves a thousand living men.”
TO US, DONNING NIGHT SUITS AND BRUSHING TEETH BEFORE GOING TO BED SEEMED IDIOSYNCRASIES OF THE RICH AND THE PRETENTIOUS