First day at school

What do Dr. Raja Ramanna and I have in common?

The late Dr. Raja Ramanna, the eminent scientist and accomplished musician was a good friend of my father, the late Kuriyan Matthan. Dr. Ramanna was an old boy from Bishop Cotton's Boys' High School, Bangalore, and the Madras Christian College in Tambaram, Madras.

My father was also from both these institutions, although several years senior to Dr. Ramanna. My father was also the Chairman of the School Old Boys' Association for several years. They met regularly to share their exploits of their school days. Further, they shared the passion for the piano and music.

But Dr. Ramanna was not just an old boy from Bishop Cotton's (also like me as I was in Bishop Cotton's before my Cathedral days). Like me, he started his schooling at the Good Shepherd Convent in Mysore. Besides these two common characteristics, there may have been a vast degree of intellectual difference between the two of us!! :-)

This is my class at the Good Shepherd Convent from 1948.


Jacob in his kindergarten class photo
I am that neat looking fellow sitting on the ground, third from the left.

I still remember my first day at school. I was not fortunate to have such an outstanding kindergarten teacher as our own 54er Gracie Hayeem. The young lady you see in this picture was very pleasant and friendly.

However, when my mother took me from my childhood home and its wonders to school, I was petrified. When she left me in the class, I howled and looked around. I did not notice a single face that I knew, which made me even more miserable. I ran out of the class to catch hold of my mother's sari tail. But she was nowhere in sight. The teacher loomed after me.

I ran, looking in all the rooms for my mother, and suddenly I spied my elder brother sitting in a classroom. I dashed in and sat next to him, sobbing at my misfortune. He sort of wanted to disown this little crybaby. However, my teacher walked in just then and said I could stay in this class as long as I wanted!! Much to my brother's distaste.

I stayed till the break. Then a little girl that I knew and a dear friend, Dinky Wilson, who used to play with us at home, came from my class and asked me to join her. Dinky was a real tomboy and one of us. She climbed trees like all of us and played cops and robbers with us. I was glad to have found my playmate. Since then I always looked on Dinky as a dear friend.

Her father, Inspector Doug Wilson, was more than a family friend. One of these days I will tell you the story of he saved our family from being lynched in Bangalore in 1947 in the post Independence riots.

Dinky and I used to walk home from school everyday. Our friendship continued later when both our families moved back to Bangalore. I used to visit their home in Church Street off Brigade Road at every opportunity and we played cricket in their compound.

I have lost touch with Dinky, whom, I believe is somewhere in Germany. I did meet her father, mother, Margret, and elder sister, Beverley, in Bangalore when they stayed with my parents about 12 years ago. I know that Mr. Wilson passed away, but the fate of the rest of that wonderful family (Doug, Marge, Abner, Beverley, Cedric, also better known as Mitty, Dinky and the youngest, Zena) remains unknown to me presently.

Anyone like to fill me in on their present whereabouts?