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Letter To the
Editor
Memories
I have read Kamal Bhagat’s (ex-47 K ‘52) review of the Play in English
(vs English Play) and could not curb my desire to write this note.
Not many others would have done this job with so much finesse. It is
an outstanding example of delicately, yet factually portraying a
performance from a viewer’s point of view– as opposed to a critic’s.
Not that Kamal has overlooked shortcomings, but then, he does so with
such grace, that even the one spoken about does not feel slighted or
hurt. Actually, Kamal Bhagat and my older brother Arun Mukherjee
(ex-213 T) studied in the same class. In case he does not remember me,
he will, I think, recall Arun. I remember in 1960, when I was looking
for a job in Calcutta, my brother asked me to go to meet him.
I cannot forget the advice Kamal gave me. He suggested the names of a
few companies I could approach, but insisted that I handwrite my
applications instead of typing them out, as was then the practice.
When I did get a job, as Managing Director of Gillanders Arbuthnot &
Co Ltd, Stephen Gladstone, complimented me for the exercise.
Kamal Bhagat also came back to teach for a while when I was in the Sc
year and took an active part in staging many plays in the Rose Bowl.
Plays in English !!
My father used to say, “Modest men are usually admired – provided, of
course, you can see them”. Well, that is you, Kamal.
(Ashim Kumar Mukherjee, ex-44 T ‘60)
Weekly's Believe it or Not
Blonde beards grow faster than darker beards.
Despite a population of over a billion, China has only about 200
family names.
Your jaw muscle is the most powerful muscle in your body.
Human blood travels 60,00 miles per day on its journey through the
arteries, arteriole and capillaries and back through the venules and
veins.
The only nation whose name begins with an ‘A’, but doesn’t end in an
‘A’ is Afghanistan.
To escape the grip of a crocodile’s jaws, push your thumbs into its
eyeballs. It will let you go instantly.
Penguins can jump as high as 6 feet in the air. |
Hasta la Noches
Kunal Anand
“Extreme ways are back again
Extreme places I didn’t know
I broke everything new again
Everything that I’d owned...
–Moby (Extreme Ways)
It is the music eventually. The sound which tells you, like the alarm
clock of providence divine, which tells you it’s good to be alive.
When you feel good, when you wish they were all here by your side, but
sorry, man, they’re all dead. Enjoy the pulling desire of matter, of
wanting the same old way, of sitting back on your sofa, soft bronze
lighting everywhere, words in your ears, tears in your eyes and
pictures in your mind, teasing open synapses, coaxing you to swim
back.
Like a tree,a pillar which grew out of its own germinative lust,
slowly creeping upwards, insecure, dizzy, slowly seeing the big
picture because of vantage and not of purpose. Of the ones who are
part of your plan today, your desires tomorrow, of collision courses
with salty destinies and dreamy islands.
No one cried then; why, I don’t know. Singing softly, honey-coloured
strands and green eyes and noodle-straps, waking up again, again to
this. Not remembering the many who came before her, of drives cruising
the other lanes. Of walks with quiet dogs and the pool-parties of
beautiful strangers. Of seeing flabby drama queens preen themselves in
front of the mirror for their last performances(just like their last
smoke rings), just so Junior gets through second year of community
college. Of the new-car smell the night before, and the swinging
altercations the night after that. Of trying to remember why you did
what you did in the first place (like you always do?).
Pretty porcelain, shattered images, slammed doors, hungry stillborns,
and happy fathers, getting smashed into nothingness during the Happy
Hour. Bills exchanging hands, men exchanging worth.
Extreme places I had gone
But never seen any light
Dirty basements, dirty noise
Dirty places coming through...
Extreme songs that told me
They helped me down every night...”
Hasta la noches... goodnight. Goodnight.
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Obituary
We regret to inform the school community
of the passing away of Mr. Syed Rashid Ahmed, a master at The Doon
School from 1937-39, in Karachi on November 26.
Old Boy Amarjeet Singh (Aju) ex-286 J ‘53 also passed away on
November 26, leaving behind a wife and two sons.
Our heartfelt condolences go out to both the bereaved families. |
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