From my notebook on Narendrapur

August 21, 1985: Usha Ranjan Sen entered Class X, Section A, at the start of a period after lunch break. Incidentally, it was the last English lesson before the revision monthly test, which would  be followed by the Pre-Test and then the Test, leading to the school-leaving Madhyamik Examination. Sadhan-da, as he was also known, had planned to revise some of the difficult pieces like "Where The Mind is Without Fear" and "Narayan Hemchandra". 

Entering the classroom he quipped: "No more stories today." Sitting next to the door, it was my responsibility to close it at the start of a lesson, and while doing so I responded: "But Harchand Singh Longowal has been assassinated." After some persuasion, Sadhan-da reluctantly agreed and delved into what was a mesmerising lecture not on English Literature but on Indian Politics.

More than 25 years after leaving my school  in Narendrapur when I look back, this seamless interaction with the teachers is one of the many things that I cherish most. The institute may be one of the premier schools in West Bengal, if not in India, but we were encouraged to think beyond our textbooks and the teachers wouldn't confine themselves only within the academic syllabi. 

I still remember Sadhan-da talking about his experience of living in  Jagannath Hall as a student of Dhaka University, his interactions with renowned physicist Satyendra Nath Bose - who as far as I can recall was the Prefect there. He also spoke about and how Prof B B Roy of the English Department of then the Ripon College nominated him as the sole candidate for the inter-university debate in Lahore, then part of undivided India. The topic of the debate, Sadhan-da told us, was on the Two-Nation theory as floated by the All India Muslim League and he had argued that "the two nations would always hiss but never kiss" to win the prize as the best debater, but his university was disqualified as there was only one contestant from there instead of two - one speaking in favour of the motion and the other against.

October 31, 1984: The students of the Class IX Section B were eagerly waiting to watch the  cricket one-dayer between India and Pakistan at Peshawar as their Bengali teacher Benu Sanyal  made his way into the classroom in the first period with his Japanese-made portable television set. Finally, the match didn't take place and later in the day it was known that then Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had been assassinated by his bodyguards. Benu-da was more of a story-teller than a teacher and his topics ranged from spoonerism to contemporary Indian politics, from travelogue to the artwork of Rabindranath. Many of his students enjoyed the kite-flying attitude towards knowledge rather than being confined only within a list of prose and poetry.  

The style of Kalipada Mandal was, however, much different. A great taskmaster and a disciplinarian, Kalipada-da, with his meticulous style and mechanical precision made sure that we not only learnt the subject well but also managed to assimilate every bit of it. Rabindranath Palodhi on the other hand would add a gloss of glamour and flamboyance to the context of everything he taught.  

Utmost dedication
I was probably one of the unlucky few in Narendrapur who was never part of the classes of two stalwarts - Ajit Sengupta and Ajit Chatterjee. They along with many others symbolised what dedicated and value-based teaching was. Fellow students who were lucky to be part of Ajit Sengupta's Life Science classes would say that he spoke and conducted himself with such confidence that listening to him, standing in his usual style on one-leg with the other resting on the table, did tantamount to nothing short of believing and understanding. But his towering personality, which exuded authority to the brim, crumbled and he broke down in tears for not being able to be by the side of his students during the Madhyamik Examination in the spring of 1985.

Ajit-da (Sengupta) had injured himself very badly while negotiating  with his moped in the morning of the very day when the boys of the 1985-batch were due to appear for their Life Science test. Ajit-da was supposed to accompany the boys to the examination centre at St Lawrence School, as was the practice in Narendrapur of subject teachers providing last minute support and confidence to the students appearing for the exam. Unable to be with his students before the examination, he was seen sobbing and weeping as we went to see him in the afternoon.

In the following months he taught the next batch of students in a hall near his dingy room behind Saradananda Bhavan, despite having a severe injury in his thigh. Two dining hall staff would literally lift and place him on a platform, but once Ajit-da started with his lecture he would be in his usual elements. 

Ajit Chatterjee on the other hand would flesh out the complexities of history and render them with story-telling simplicity. Sporting a dhoti and a shirt and holding an executive diary, Ajit Chatterjee was very soft-spoken and down to earth given his vast experience in teaching and breadth of knowledge in History. Many years after leaving Narendrapur, I came across Ajit-da (Chatterjee) at Nandan and later heard that he passed away under very tragic circumstances.  

Home away from home
Narendrapur was not only a residential school for many of us, but a true home away from home, where we were looked after with no less dedication and affection than our parents. Amal-da (Swami Shivatmananda) would often pull us up for not wearing enough woollies during the winter months. He also took on the guardians for not giving proper attention to the boys. That cleanliness and timeliness were nothing short of godliness is something many like me picked up from Narendrapur. The dedication of many non-teaching staff, in the libraries, dinning halls, kitchens, hostels and playgrounds were no less than our teachers. 

There was an aura of inspiration in Narendrapur, which probably had its impact on not only the good but also on the many mediocre students like me. I still remember how a veteran boxer Gauri Shankar Maity, also known as GSM, totally transformed my ability in Mathematics and that too in Class X. After I failed in the second monthly test - scoring 13, which was also my roll number. For GSM the coincidence was a record of sorts - he literally made me do the sums on the blackboard for the rest of the year, stating that his heart was not strong enough to climb the podium. GSM was annoyed that I missed out eight marks in the Mathematics paper in Madhyamik. However, me and my parents were on cloud-nine. In hindsight, the exercise carried out by GSM by making me do the sums on the blackboard in front of 14 fellow-students made me stage-free. This had an impact on my two-decades as a professional journalist both in India, and for the BBC World Service between 1999 and 2012 in London.  

Another legendary teacher Nilachal-da (Nilachal Samanta) - the brother of former Bollywood director Shakti Samanta - would explain every problem in such minute detail that Mathematics became a child's play. In Class VIII, Nilachal-da showed us the half-gold and half-silver medal that he was awarded by the University of Calcutta, and looking back I can now realise the significance of his common parlance that he would have broken all academic records had he got a teacher like him. 

Teachers like Satya-da (Satya Ranjan Sarkar) and Gour-da (Gour Hari Bhuiyan), both from the Chemistry Department, would make sure we understood the subject well and also had the best study material in hand. I still remember how Gour-da taught us to use simultaneous equations to balance chemical equations, rather than memorising them.  

The emphasis on character building was no less important in Narendrapur. It was mandatory to go for the physical training sessions in the morning and sports in the afternoon. Arun-da (Arun Das) would use every possible opportunity to explain the importance of physical fitness with scientific precision. 

Dilip-da (Dilip Kumar Bose), on the other hand, was obsessed with students sitting straight in classrooms. His belief was that sitting straight was not only an act of discipline but was also essential for proper understanding. Dilip-da once thrashed me in Class VII for bending on the floor while he was teaching us Geography. Now when I see my daughter lean on the bed during her lessons and complain about not understanding whatever she reads, I realise the importance of what Dilip-da used to tell us. 

Even more than quarter of a century after I left Narendrapur, it still remains one of my cherished places. I am deeply indebted to my teachers and others who guided and supported me to achieve whatever little I have in my life.

Tirthankar Bandyopadhyay is a journalist and media consultant.
He can be contacted at tirthankarb@hotmail.com

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