In the years of 1940 to about 1950, Government Indian High School consisted of some scattered buildings in about nine or ten acres , on the site at Ngara in Nairobi. The name Ngara was a little confusing as in fact there were two Ngaras!
The road from Government Road (now Jomo Kenyatta I believe) veered right to leave behind a small park that was further down. The road ahead led to Arboretum and Coryndon Museum. The museum housed a ferocious lion taxidermised but still looked frightening and alive. There was a collection of butterflies, and alive lizards and snakes of all varieties.
The road was curvy, with a bridge at the bottom of the road that was on the Nairobi River. A cinema (Shan Cinema) is now built on the side of the road now. The river was nothing but a dirty stream that was used by people to dump all kinds of garbage in it. It stank to high heavens. Further down as one followed the stream, there was a shortcut for students that went to the school, but unfortunately they had to cross this dirty stream. It was to be noted that these Indian students were exquisitely well dressed- clean clothes, well ironed and creased shirts and pants they changed every day. It was tricky, but one managed as the trick was to walk only on stones that were strategically placed on the water.
The road then went up the hill, and on the top, it forked, the one on the left went on towards Parklands while the one to the right went on to Eastleigh (Fort Hall Road) (Fort Hall is now Nyahruru). At the division of the road was the school. The main building was a large square, two storied, with classrooms all around leaving it empty in the middle. In the centre on one side was a large tower, where the school bell was located on the second floor. It was a two storey building. The large dusty and mostly empty square about a hundred yard square. It was where in the morning all the students gathered. The principal at the gathering welcomed all the students, gave out the morning’s world news as well as giving out important information related to the school. It was preceded by the Lord’s Prayer, which in later years was scrapped.
School principals were such astute men as Mr Lobo, Amar, Dixit, Desai. To meet these great men was a pleasure and they always left an indelible impression on the young fresh mind that came across them. Many years later, I met Mr. Lobo in the street in Mombasa. He had become an asthmatic, and had settled for the more lugubrious air of Mombasa.
Moving around from one end of this building, which by the way, was white, the classroom started with Mr. Karam Singh, who taught Hygiene and General Health. Lots of diagrams and posters of the human body were plastered on the walls. Further on was Mr. Sharma, a smart man in a brown suit, the trouser pants resembling pipe stems. Next was the room where Mr. Fernandes taught. A learned man in whose class I had the privilege to be. He was also in a brown suit but the the pants went the other way, flared at the bottom. Although clean, he never seemed to change them, apparently the proud possessor of the only one suit. I was in his class one year, and It was at the end of the year that I stood first to the surprise and consternation of both of us. Further on and upstairs was Mr Sood who taught Geography and the Arts. One large drawing on the board was a boy crying and saying to his mother ‘mane darroj bhat bhavta nathi’, in other words, I did not wish to eat rice everyday.
Mr Sood was a rather large and tall man, somewhat shabbily dressed. He was built like a Gorilla, with a thick neck, a bald scalp- a man lost in thought. At times he was seen on a small motorbike tearing through the streets of Nairobi. One can almost imagine a cartoon character on a motorbike!
One of the teachers was a Mr. Verma. The last gentleman taught mathematics. He had trouble pronouncing three, and called it ‘thirriee’, hence he was called Mr. Thiriee by the students. A lovely man who did not mind the name and was always smiling. In fact he came to my cottage at one time in Canada. He was beaming with pride as one of his students was doing well. He was proud of his students. He came to our place with his son who is a Doctor in Calgary.
The upstairs corner was taken by a Mr. Noronha- very learned gentleman, who excelled in English literature. He Read such Shakespearean books as Richard the Second, Merchant of Venice etc, as well as Great Expectation and other books. It was nothing but enthralling to hear this august man read the books filled with wisdom. Unfortunately, he lead the class of Form 2, but an A class, which was for the brightest students, leaving no room for dullards like me and many others. I happened to be in his class for a short time when I was also good, but only for a short time.
The students leaving when classes ended was a sight to see. In fact a cameraman was stationed near the school along with jouralists from newspapers put their cameras on tripods, just to see and photograph this thundering stampede from the Indian students. Wide eyed, brilliant, well dressed in all kinds of clothing, loaded with multiple books in their hands, and a cloud of dust forming in the thundering stampede. It was a sight to see, and, once seen, permanently etched in the mind.
Students prepared for Cambridge School Certificate and London Matriculation, with about 7 subjects to prepare for. It included Gujarati. It is a sad loss that this beautiful language is taught no more, with mundane Kiswahili taking over.
Of course it is impossible to remember the names of so many thousand students. It is impossible. However, that does not deter from remembering a few of the names, the ones that are highly memorable.
I mentioned Pravin Barot, the one that had the nickname of 'Shakespeare'. A thin man with a goatee.
Pravin stands out in many ways, and I will start on this memorable character.
I came across him when I was a resident of Shradhanand Br. Ashram, which was in the Parklands.
The family occupied a hut below our main hall where we slept.
In the morning the family stirs. The servant starts a fire outside, on which he lays a large container of water to heat. The water is then used for taking a bath.
The family gather around the fire to get rid of morning chill. Everyone sqauts. Each one has a green stick in his hand- the one they call Dattan. One end of it is chewed and chewed to a pulp. It is then used to clean the teeth. Resultant mucus is spit on the dirt around. Hygiene? What is that.
Pravin loved to play the flute, and I became his student. One song was that of a woman who wished for a child, and went
'Khodno khundnar deenee randade, wnajia madi dohyala. Eee, rotala ghadi nee bessi rahi--- etc'
and common and popular one was
'mare te gamdee eek war avjo- come to my village once. Aavo tyare mane sandesho lavjo etc
I played the flute incessantly, so much so that even the thought of it even now gives me a nausea!!
Did I mention that he also rang the school bell (Govt. Indian High School).
At one time, in the evening, a group of us Indian students were gathered on Govt. Road. A car passed by. The occupants were noisy, so Pravin shouted, 'Shut up, Kid'. Well, the car disgorged 4 burly white students. They came to Pravin and beat him to a pulp. We all just stood and stared there.
Years later, I was visiting Nairobi, and decided to go and see my good friend. Everyone appeared glum. I learnt that a few days before, all his family was destroyed when they were involved in an accident, as they were driving in Uganda, and had ignored a road works sign. It was indeed tragic.
Later in life, he remarried amd lived happily in rb.
If I remember some other names, they were Noorali Velani. Lalji Gohil, whose pearl like handwriting was an envy of all. He slept in his uncle's kitchen, right behind the shop I used to sleep in. Meticulous, keen. He started a running group- at 6 a.m. He was always first, and yours truly was always last!
Arvind- always had A in every subject. He was brightest amongst the bright. I remember hi starting an essay-' Paul of Tarsus on his voyage'- at that age he knew some of the stories of the bible! Amazing! Later I learned that he was a clerk in some department store= what a waste of talent.
There was another Sardarji, I forget his name- he always said,'Bekar Mubash kooch to kia kar. Kutch nahi to kapde fad fad kar sia kar!'. To this day I have followed the dictum, and has always been useful.