The Headmaster

The last piece of this week is a one-off light hearted anecdote and quite humorous. It's a peek into a 1930s school room (even a retro revival would not cause a girl to be named Mangaiyarkarasi these days!) and yet  captures the timeless nature of the school experience.  Next week I will post a new story.

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When I was in the last year of my high school, the headmaster of my school was one Mr. Pakoda Iyengar. His real name was Sreenivasa Iyengar. The latter name went out of circulation and the new name crept in. What happened was that one day he was eating pakodas in his room. Absentmindedly he put a piece of pakoda in his coat pocket. When he came to the classroom and put his hand in the coat pocket to fetch a chalk piece, out came the pakoda. He was renamed on that very day and the name stuck. The townspeople would blink if anybody asked for Sreenivasa Iyengar but Pakoda was universally recognised.

Pakoda was a very dark man with a big head topped by an oversized turban. He habitually sported a naamam on his forehead with a yellow streak in the centre. He wore a black closed coat, which I think was never sent to the washers ever since it was stitched. He was supposed to be a strict headmaster but I found his strictness was restricted to meek students like me, who were in a majority. The troublemakers he left alone.

He had a novel way of exemplary punishment. He had put a long bench in the central hall and erring students were made to stand on the bench for at least an hour so that all the students and teachers could see them. His style however was to send any boy who he considered as erring to stand on the bench without an enquiry. The result was that a majority of the students had stood on the bench at one time or another. In due course it became more of a joke than a punishment. I myself had stood on this bench. One day two students created a ruckus in the class when the teacher was away. Krishnamoorthy Rao and I, who were conscientious students, went to the headmaster to report this. On seeing us, Pakoda immediately sent both of us to stand on the bench. Poor Krishna cried like a baby. Another incident I recall is of a student who was asked by the teacher to fetch something from the teacher's room. He met Pakoda on the staircase and the next minute the boy was standing on the bench.

At the fag end of the year, an amusing incident happened. There was only one girl in my class and she had a long name, Mangaiyarkarasi. She was given a separate desk near the entrance. She used to come in a bullock cart with screens on both sides, obviously to keep her away from other's view but really it was other way around. In my class there was a boy Janakiram, a handsome Naidu boy, jovial, lively and very popular. Janaki “pataoed” Mangai and they met secretly. Somehow the matter reached the ears of Pakoda. We students were agog to see the sight of both of them standing on the bench. Pakoda was clever enough to know that Janaki was capable of turning the occasion festive. So for the first time he decided to call both of them to his room for an enquiry. The rest of us students were all worried that they would be expelled. What transpired was as follows. Pakoda asked Mangai whether she knew Janaki. She hung her head and said in a feeble voice, “Yes”. Then Janaki was asked whether he knew Mangai. He said no. Pakoda asked Janaki, “how come she knows you and you don't know her?” Janaki coolly replied, “Sir, it is very simple. I am a popular boy and every student knows me. Therefore there is nothing strange in Mangai knowing my name. But that does not mean I know each student who knows me. I swear I don’t know this girl.” Pakoda, defeated, had to send them back with a mild warning.

Thankfully at the end of the term Pakoda retired from service!