Thinking about the most important period of my life, from the age of five to eighteen, brings on a tsunami wave of nostalgia that simply overwhelms me. Sure, this was the period that those who lived with parents at home may have gained values that guided their lives until now. But we did not live with our parents in the boarding, we lived with hundreds of other boarders and the Jesuit priests. During the vacations when I went home to my widowed mother, she filled me in with details about my father and other family members. My exposure to family was minimal and very brief, as was my exposure to family acquaintances. So in a way I grew up a stranger to family and those who knew us.

But some of the values that did rub off on me while in residence as a boarder have become part of my guiding light all these years. One is that I trust my conscience totally and its guidance in the matters of honesty. Hey! I'm not making any claims, except that my conscience will never let me be in peace if I'm dishonest. And thank GOD for that. The other is the value of prayer, but in recent years I learnt that greater value lies in just shutting up and being still if I want to hear what GOD is telling me.

Who we remember from our childhood and who we forget is probably not a matter of choice. Those we yet remember may have struck us at that time as unusual people from a child's point of view. Well here are some I yet remember.

One was Prem who was in charge of keeping the toilets clean. Believe me ( I know you do) the general toilets needed constant cleaning, and I remember Prem going about his daily work with a smile on his face. I just could not figure out how anyone with this kind of task could smile.

Another was Bahadur (as all Gurkhas are called), who was short and very stocky and walked with a swagger. Every night he would patrol the school and boarding premises on the look out for thieves. He told us that in the event he felt too sleepy, he would make a cut on his finger and put chilli in it to keep him awake. His tools were his baton (which he would tap loudly on the walls to let everyone know that we were protected) and a real big dagger. These were the people who lived on the premises as we did so there was enough opportunity to get to know them.

At the gate was Ozzie who did not work for the school but was down and out. He was a more or less permanent fixture at the gate and was tolerated by those in charge. We formed an informal club to feed Ozzie daily after supper. He made it a point to look presentable and his outstanding feature was his enormous Elvis puff.

When I was little (six or seven maybe), the architecture and enormous structure of St. Peter's Church held me in permanent awe. That awe included a kind of fear it generated, as if you were in the presence of a giant. Its interiors were even more awe inspiring, with its grand tall stained glass windows and mezzanine floor.  With its very high ceiling, tall doors, and sombre silence, this church made you humble.

Believe me Tyrone your grandfather was a great man. You know why I say that. Because he was humble, very humble. If as an orphaned boarder I was given the option, I would have chosen him as my father. Everyone will have a different view on the same event or personality. All I can say that I was privileged to assist him in his annual task of making  the crib.

As a matter of fact it was this kind of inspiration that spurred me on in the belief that creativity matters. That attitude gave me my career eventually. And I have Master Gregory to thank for that.

My memory of Master Gregory is one of a very tall man. His trade mark was his white T shirt and khaki short pants. My Uncle Henry Scott who was in this same boarding well before my time, told me that Master Gregory was the Physical Education teacher.

Well more later! 

Mea Culpa (maxima)! Yes, I confess. Hey what could I (we) do, we always seemed to be hungry. With little or no pocket money, buying extras from Bro Pinerio (a great artist) was out of the question. So was buying during school from Master Gregory's canteen. He and his son Nobert were on the look out for flickers.(But yet we managed to add a hand to a boy in the front, while Master Gregory looked on in amazement at this boy with three hands. One hand steadied himself. One hand held out his coins. And the third hand helped itself to a handful of peanuts. But Master Gregory got it back in kind when we helped him with the annual crib.

Many a time during my long residence at the St. Stanislaus High School Boarding, I just wished I could get away for good. From a small 5 year old among 250 boys (many were rowdy), to a rebellious teenager is one long road, especially with the hard knocks. But on that very last day when it was just a matter of taking my trunk and bedroll, and going on my way, I held back. Yes I thought I was going to miss this place which occupied a decade and more of my life. This was the place where I was molded. This was the place where I became an independent individual, one that could survive most hardships, solve his problems alone. I was going to miss the dormitory, the refectory, the play grounds, the banyan tree, the swimming pool, the infirmary, the church, the class rooms, some teachers, some priests, and our gang.

Father Bulchand was a rare individual. The first impression I had of him was that he appeared to be bundle of energy. That energy seemed to come out from his stare which seemed to go right through you. He was our high school maths teacher, and though he was brilliant in the subject, he presumed you were equally good at the subject. This is where we developed a mutual dislike. He eventually informed me that since I had no brains, it would be better for me to take up an apprenticeship in a garage. I didn't believe him, or for that matter I didn't believe any teacher's negative comments. Good for me! He was also our Prefect for some time and the reason I remember him is the example he set in repentance and humility. Thus my respect for him was renewed. It so happened that there was an incident and that the alleged culprit was identified. That night after night prayers, Father Bulchand called the alleged culprit to the center of the dormitory. Then he undid his own belt and gave that boy a whipping he would never forget. We were all stunned and there was a deathly silence. The next day once again before going to bed, after the night prayers, Father Bulchand put off the lights and took off his cassock. He said loudly that he had made a grievious mistake and whipped the wong boy. Therefore he apologised publicly and proceeded to whip himself even more than he did the previous night. After this we saw this great and humble man in a new light. I don't know where he is now but I may God bless him.

More names keep popping in my head. There was Thomas Marshal, who I know became a really good commercial artist. Then there was Reggie, who I thought looked always very sleepy. There were the brothers Sabu and Franklin. Both were hansome, one was short and stocky and the other was thin and taller. Now come to think of it, Franklin resembled the singer Prince. There was John Carvallo who was very studious and a damn good hockey player. Frank (Butler) was another good hockey player.

Among Fathers and Brothers, there was Fr. Donelly, Fr. Soler, Fr. Barjao, Fr. Cassale, Fr. Fabregad, Fr. Lobo, Fr.

I am trying to remember people, places, things and events that are almost half a century ago. So if I falter, bear with me, correct me, remind me. People, well there is Brian Edwards, Kevin Wade, Manek Despande, Joseph D'souza,
Bedford, Derek Andrade, Bernard Rodricks, Frank, and a whole lot of a hundred and fifty others who for the life of me, I can't recall. Brian had been my buddy from day one until we parted when leaving school. Kevin was wild when he joined, and I mean really wild. Then he sobered down and I got to know him better. I remember he was creative. He had a buddy who was kind of tiny, and who in turn had a pet squirrel, which died, and for which we enacted a burial near the banyan tree near Bhayawadi.

Ever hear of the Binaca Hit Parade. No! Neither did I, until a kind adopted Uncle living on Bazaar Road just behind the Boarders Dormitories decided that the least he could do was to play that hit parade real loud for us boarders. And so, we learnt about Frank Sinatra, Pat Boone, Jim Reeves, Cliff Richard, Connie Francis, and of course Elvis. From Sinatra we learnt to do it our way; from Pat Boone we learnt about Wishful Thinking; from Jim we learnt about our Precious Lord; from Cliff we learnt that the Young ones are never afraid; from Elvis we learnt that we should keep loved ones always on our mind. Thats where we got our education in music.