Do you recall a time when a siren used to blow on 30th January and we were all expected to stand and observe a minute’s silence, no matter where we were? I remember this distinctly to have been a practice in the early 1970s. The siren would blow at around 11.00 am and at school we would all scramble to our feet and remain quiet. If that was at all possible – for in Vidya Mandir being quiet was not part of school curriculum. We were encouraged to shout, yell, laugh, play the fool and generally be boisterous. Which is why many of us became what we became, whether you, and our spouses, liked it or not.
30th January at Vidya Mandir
But 30th January was different. We would be trained on it weeks in advance. After annual day and sports day this was the other big thing on the calendar. Thereafter you had inconsequential aspects such as examinations which, as Principal Tara Satyanarayana told us often, did not matter at all. Later we realised that she was correct and our parents wrong. But 30th January was sacred. We were all brought up on Gandhi lore and ‘misses’ such as Jayalakshmi (Ayah) and Rangamani would actually weep when speaking of him. It was a powerful influence on me.
Even today, though I am aware that there were some aspects of Gandhi which were not good, I consider him a Mahatma. As my father would often say, Gandhi was imperfect like all of us, but he never hid those imperfections. He was transparent and honest and that is more than enough to make him a saint. And no matter what current narrative is, he undoubtedly got us Independence.
30th January 1973
I must have been in 3rd standard I think when yet another January 30th came around. We were told that at 11.00 am a siren would blow (we knew this from the earlier years) and would have to stand in silence. Why 11.00 am I don’t know, for after all the Mahatma was killed in the evening. Anyway, it was 11.00 am when we had to stand. The clock duly struck the hour and the siren blew. We rose to our feet and stood quiet. There was always an urge to giggle during such enforced silences and the secret to preventing such a disaster was to avoid eye contact with those around you. All of us looked at our feet even as the seemingly interminable minute went on.
A Creaking Door at Vidya Mandir
We had however not bargained with the classroom door. Activated by a gust of wind it began to shut and as it did so the hinges let out a sound that was exactly like a fart. In all these days we had never noticed it given the ambient noise levels at VM but now in the dead silence it sounded just like a noisy pass of gas. The whole class burst out laughing. The siren ceased to blow and we continued laughing for a while.
There was however no corresponding smile on the face of Kiran Miss in whose class this had happened. And once we had all sat down we were subject to a lecture on good behaviour. This was strange for Kiran Khanna was one of the most boisterous of teachers we had, always ready for a laugh and game to participate in any role play or sport. But she was not happy that we had trivialised Gandhi this way.
Hasya and Himsa
The matter was reported to Tara Miss who came along and dealt with it in characteristic fashion. We were all asked to stand and as she walked between us, she administered a slap on each of our shoulders. It was more a light pat but at VM this was enough to make news. Tara Miss’ chosen weapon was usually twisting the ear and that she had used her palm was a sensation. We were thankful it was not Kanaka Miss who was prone to hysterics and could become violent. The news of what happened travelled around school and our door became a place of pilgrimage of sorts with many lecture demonstrations on what had happened. Next day, the door was oiled and fell silent.
And so ended our tribute to the Mahatma. Some hasya rasa had culminated in some (mild) himsa to us. After so many years and knowing of Gandhi’s obsession with digestion and bowel movements I often wonder what he would have made of our incident. Just grinned toothlessly or asked us to write the name of Rama a few times I guess.
A Siren for 30th January
Does the siren blow for Gandhi any longer? It certainly did in the 1980s in Delhi I recollect though we did not stand in silence at College. I for one would not mind standing for a minute in memory of he who gave so much to us. May be the siren can no longer be heard in the din of the bells tolling.
An awesome human being who most likely averted what would have been one the greatest human tragedies. Absent Gandhiji’s wisdom, the mightiest make the dumbest choices in the present day.
Great story. I recall reading My Experiments with Truth and taking a test in 1969. Thank you.
As the story slowly but unavoidably moved towards the boisterous of not quite vulgar climax, i too had to suppress a noisy grin which however slowly escaped through my ears (i think). Great writing!
Chanced upon this piece through a VM alumni group, and am I glad I did. It had me in splits. Very reminiscent of PG Woodehouse. Although I’m a different vintage of VM (’92), and Tara had long gone by the time I joined, I could relate to so much, especially the idiosyncrasies of the teachers.