BLOG 4 - Do I take up English for Graduation? - My Brother and his Problems - Exams

Prologue

I find that I have made a few grammatical errors in Blog 3, for which I apologise. My editing fell short of the standards I would like to maintain.

The following chapters are about the last few months before I entered DMET. Some members of my family enter the scenario, which I keep unedited.

I was an indifferent student in PUC and just fell short of a First Class by 5 marks. But I prepared well for the competitive exams of that period.

BLOG 4

Chapter 4

My College

There were over 300 students in the Pre University course, split into MPC (Maths, Physics, Chemistry) and Biology groups, so we would split up for most of the subjects. But English was a common subject, which brought us all together. The largest auditorium would overflow. No Professor even thought of a roll call, as it would consume the entire two hours. The register used to be passed around and everybody used to mark their own attendance. Suffice it to say that though there were many who used to bunk classes, nobody was ever ‘absent’.

Our English Professor was Prof Reddy, with a PhD in English. Somehow, by the time of his third lecture, he had identified me – one amongst a multitudinous mob – as having a genuine interest in the English language. Through the academic year, he spent a lot of time trying to convince me to take up English Literature for my degree course. I do not remember which one, but there was an English Language Society or forum based in Hyderabad which offered scholarships for Graduate and Post Graduate studies. Prof Reddy had already proposed my name and I had been accepted. But the vicissitudes of fate had already charted a different course for me.

One of the favourite haunts of my set of friends was the nearby Paradise Café, an Iranian restaurant attached to the movie theatre - Paradise - where I first came across the ½ (one by two) of tea or coffee, due to pocket money constraints. A small celebration meant SKC – sweet, kaaram, coffee.

Chapter 5

On the Home Front

On the home front, my eldest brother was away in the Army, after having passed out of Indian Military Academy on a Short Service Regular Commission (SSRC) and was posted somewhere in Nagaland. One must remember that this was the period after the Chinese infiltration into Indian territory and the humiliating defeat faced by an ill equipped, ill fed Indian Army.

This wake up call had many ramifications, with significant improvements and shake up of the Indian Army, including the forced resignation of an inept Defence Minister, who was a close friend of the then Prime Minister. The “Panchsheel” agreement with China in 1954 had led to India dropping its guard and the Chinese made full use of it in 1962.

The SSRC was one such measure, with graduates being inculcated into the Army after training in the Indian Military Academy. My brother was one such engineering graduate. His posting to Nagaland evoked some chilling memories in my Mother, as we all remembered my cousin (my father’s sister’s son), Raman (Polur Muthuswamy Raman) who was killed in action against the Nagas and who received the Ashok Chakra posthumously for his valour and heroism. Some details are in the following web sites.

https://www.gallantryawards.gov.in/Awardee/polur-muthuswamy-raman

https://www.honourpoint.in/profile/2lt-pollur-mutthuswamy-raman-ac/

But then, the extremism of the fifties and before had reduced slightly, but needed the presence of armed forces to maintain peace and order. I recollect that my brother came home on leave only once during our stay in Secunderabad. Along with him came hundreds of books that he had bought and read – I will come to them later.

Meanwhile, my elder brother had become totally blind, as his ravaged and atrophied brain affected his optic nerve. Dr Siva Reddy, a famous eye surgeon of that period, operated on him to re-attach his severed optic nerve in both the eyes, each eye operation spaced a week apart. Having just come from Coimbatore after completing schooling – where the school term ends in December – I had nearly 4 to 5 months to wait before entering my PUC. So, I spent nearly a month in the hospital (Sarojini Devi Eye Hospital Hyderabad), looking after my brother, without going home. My Father used to come as often as possible, with my only request to him being to bring me books to read. Here is where my Army brother’s depository of books at home became a treasure trove.

The second bed in the hospital room was occupied by an elderly lady, a retired school principal, for multiple eye procedures. Her two granddaughters in attendance had no patience to sit and read to her. I started from reading out newspaper articles and continued with reading out entire books to her. She would then sleep in peace. Her gratitude is something I will always cherish.

My brother regained his sight to a middling degree for a month or so after the operation, but the atrophied optic nerve was merciless and he lost his eyesight again. It remained so till he passed away at 40.

Those days, neurology was in its infancy but my Father spent a lot of time and energy taking my brother to doctors, faith healers, Swamijis, churches, mosques. The last occasion was a couple of months after my brother’s eye operation. Puttaparthi Sai Baba had come to Hyderabad and my Father and I took my brother to see him. I was always in attendance with my brother, as I knew how to help him. Sai Baba was scheduled to visit a temple there, so we went early to be close to his route. To our chagrin, thousands had already gathered there, leaving a small passage for him to walk through. We were standing, probably in the eleventh or twelfth row from the passage. A surging but peaceful gathering of humanity had brought their suffering family members on wheelchairs, push carts, on shoulders for them to be blessed and the hope that their afflictions are cured – young and old, children and the aged.

When you see permanently afflicted people singly, it does not stir your conscience. When you see them all around you in close proximity, it is then that you are made to realise that what you think are your problems, fade into insignificance in the presence of such overwhelming suffering.

My Father, brother and I stood there waiting for Sai Baba to come. A sudden surge of excitement preceded his arrival. From the time we glimpsed him on the pathway fifty or so metres away, he hardly stopped, only blessing all as he passed by. When he was adjacent to where we were standing, he stopped and asked his retinue to clear a path through the sitting crowd. He came straight towards us, held my brother’s hand and gave him ‘vibhuti’. He also said a few words in Telugu to my Father – ‘It’s alright. It is God’s will’. Of all the thousands milling around, why he chose my brother is a mystery. He turned and went back to the pathway. That benediction was the turning point for my Father finding peace within himself.

To place things in chronological order, the hospital stay to attend to my brother and the meeting with Puttaparthi Sai Baba was before I did my Pre University, in the beginning of 1965.

After joining PU Course, the months flew by happily due to my involvement in various activities. All these activities came to a standstill in the beginning of 1966, as the all important exam fever caught on. My Parsi friend and table tennis team mate – who was doing his IInd year BSc, helped me a lot in my studies and I managed to just fall short of a First Class.

=== To be continued in Blog 5 ===