Cover of the Bietti edition of Leave it to Psmith (1936) courtesy of Wikipedia.
I’d like to take a short break from my series exploring Wodehouse on Women to share a remarkable piece entitled 111 Male Characters Of British Literature, In Order Of Bangability by Carrie Frye, in which Ms Frye lists 111 fictional characters she finds sexually desirable enough to take to her bed. Almost as astonishing as her stamina, is the fact that she includes not one, but three Wodehouse characters in her list of male sex objects. These are, in order of appearance:
Gussie’s inclusion in the list defies belief, as does Jeeves, who at 65 ranks above the virile and irresistible Flashman. Ms Frye gives her source for these appearances, as Right-Ho Jeeves and the story Extricating Young Gussie
What happens when you come face to face with the family and the archives of someone of the stature of P G Wodehouse?
Well, from the account provided by the singularly fortunate Honoria Glossop, you simply grin or gape. You soak in all the finer details. You come back totally refreshed and charged up to face the harsh slings and arrows of Life.
Home of Sir Edward Cazalet and his wife Camilla, Lady Cazalet
On a beautiful autumn day, I left London’s Victoria Station for the glorious Sussex countryside to visit the home of Sir Edward Cazalet, P.G. Wodehouse’s step-grandson. I had met Edward and his wife Camilla, Lady Cazalet, in London during the summer, and they generously invited me to visit their home to view the family’s archive of Wodehouse materials.
The train journey was a pleasant, uneventful affair, which did not seem, to me, to be in quite the proper Wodehouse spirit. I ought to have been playing ‘Persian Monarchs’ with a genial stranger, or thumbing through a volume of poems by Ralston McTodd. But the closest approximation I could muster was an affinity for Lord Emsworth.
Lord Emsworth, in a train moving in the direction of home, was behaving like a horse heading for his stable. He snorted eagerly, and…
The prattle of tender feet around one keeps one very much alive and contented. Especially so when one happens to be in a phase of life where one can have the luxury of observing their behaviour at close quarters without having to worry about their mundane needs. Other then providing unalloyed joy and sparkling mirth, it also provides one an opportunity to grow spiritually.
When a Bollywood diva casts a spell
Take the case of a one-year old toddler who takes Master Thos to be his role model. If Thos was infatuated with a Hollywood diva, he happens to be besotted with one of the Bollywood divas. Play this particular song on the TV, and he goes into a trance which even the most advanced practitioners of Zen might not have experienced. Meals get forgotten. Toys cease to be of any consequence. Those around him might not even exist.
Sonam Kapoor, the diva in question, may be delighted to know of the brand equity she carries in the mind space of this young one. There is a good chance that he might even earn the distinction of being the youngest ever fan of a Bollywood diva.
One can only hope and pray that, as he grows, he never gets to emulate the goofy schemes of Thos the Terrible. In fact, thanks to the benign influence of the diva, perhaps there is a chance that he would end up performing such noble deeds as walking a few miles to fetch a newspaper for a guest or carrying any other injured young one on his tender shoulders, so as to win over the affections of his heart-throb.
The sincerity with which he expresses his fondness for the song featuring Sonam Kapoor is something which deserves to be emulated. It teaches us the innate goodness in all things musical, artistic and beautiful.
By being under the spell of a silver screen diva, he is merely following a long-held tradition of his ancestors. Soon, though, moving doors, books or other items may take his fancy.
He also demands equality in treatment vis-a-vis other kids in the immediate vicinity. If that does not come by, he knows how to shriek and attract the attention of his seniors, so justice gets meted out. This is invariably the scenario when some ice cream is getting distributed.
There are also times when he reminds one of Algernon Aubrey Little. When the father’s boss came visiting some time back, he was a model of ideal behaviour. No tantrums. No yells. Only some cute smiles. Peace prevailed. A promotion on the job soon followed.
A respect for technical gizmos
The other young boy, all of four years old, reminds one of Edwin the scout. It is not that his daily acts of mercy include dousing fires with paraffin and setting cottages on fire. But he does try to reverse-engineer and repair an egg-boiler, with catastrophic results.
Anything that moves attracts his attention. Curious to the core, he would tend to dismantle the gadget and then look on helplessly when attempting to put it together again. Door locks get fondled with much love. Remote controlled toy cars or toy boats are never safe in his vicinity. A family senior testing blood sugar or injecting insulin is an object to be closely observed and supported.
As he has grown, cell phones and iPads have gained his respect as reliable sources of perennial entertainment. Thus, these are no longer subjected to the kind of rigorous quality tests he used to conduct in his formative years. In his younger days, he has dunked many a cell phone in a mug of piping hot tea, marvelling at their steadfastness when compared to, say, biscuits.
One is yet to notice if, like Edwin, he is an expert on ant behaviour. But dogs, pigs, cows and horses do come in for stark appraisals under his watchful eye.
Locking up people inside dark rooms comes naturally to him. So does sneaking up from behind and suddenly yelling in one’s ear, thereby leaving one all of a twitter. Often, sudden bouts of some karate moves make one run for cover, lest one may need to review one’s medical insurance cover. Tying up one’s shoe laces surreptitiously makes him burst into uncontrollable laughter, much to the chagrin of the party of the other part.
Dealing with him is very instructive. His knowledge of all things mechanical and electronic makes one humble. One simply aspires to be a quick learner like him, so as to be able to quickly absorb the latest that technology has to offer and make progress in life, as defined by contemporary standards.
A goofy mind, a tender heart
Consider also the case of a young girl of 6 odd years whose flair for drawing, painting and singing is often a talking point. But beneath the veneer of sophistication and innocence lies a mind which could churn out goofy schemes at the drop of a hat. The likes of Roberta Wickham and Stiffy Byng could learn quite a few tricks of the trade from her.
Much like Peggy Mainwaring, she is used to staring and giggling at odd times, leaving the party of the other part shaken to the core. A relentless chatter emanating from her often leaves one yearning for some peace and quietitude. A continuous barrage of queries fired at one leaves one exasperated at times. The value of courage and perseverance is thus learnt the hard way.
Compassion comes naturally to her. She loves being surrounded by pets she can shower her motherly affection on. When a bitter feud with a younger sibling results into the latter getting hurt, she gets immediately transformed into a caring and loving nurse. But Homo Sapiens often get bluntly ticked off by her for the slightest of perceived infractions on their part.
When germs of acute goofiness strike, the sky is the limit. A younger sibling’s trousers are found wet in the middle of the night. Wisdom dawns when one notices the empty bottle of drinking water by the side of the bed. Guilt-less pleasure is felt when the younger sibling gets a reprimand for an act of omission committed by her own self.
Post-ablutions, she turns out to be a great bathroom singer, requesting the support of a senior to clean up. ‘Potty is over’ is belted out, in tune with a nursery rhyme like ‘Twinkle twinkle little star….’.
Her receptivity is not to be taken lightly. When it is playing time at a friend’s place, she realizes the rest, solitude and enjoyment the hapless mother would experience while she is away. The hapless mother’s rights to such well-deserved rest and recuperation come in for open and frank criticism.
Competing with the Bermuda Triangle
Yet another case which merits consideration is that of a young lass of 7 years who is built along the lines of Kid Clementina. She is a not-so-quiet saint-like child, when in a good mood. When taken out for a movie and a dinner, she is full of gratitude. She gazes at her benefactor in silent admiration. But while at home, a stubbornness tests the patience of the seniors around.
Great deal of perseverance is required so she may partake of any single meal which may last well over 90 minutes. Each morsel is punctuated by a commercial break, so to say. Unless, of course, the meal comprises a pizza alone, followed by the temptation of either an ice cream or a chocolate.
The threat of changing the WiFi password alone works wonders and makes her obey various commands at home. Fond of playing such brainy games as chess, she is quick to perceive that an attempt is being made to make her falsely win the game of patience and strategy. She resents such acts of chivalry. Her artistic skills are remarkable. So is her passion for karate.
There being no ink pots around these days, one is sure that she is unable to put any sherbet in the same in her classroom. But messing up the password of the iPad of a schoolmate comes readily to her. Rapid progress gets made by her in the realm of mastering all kinds of technical gizmos.
She believes in keeping one on one’s toes. While going out of the house in a hurry, one suddenly finds one’s footwear missing. Or, a ping-pong ball resting inside one of the shoes. A toothbrush can suddenly vanish, leaving one gnashing one’s teeth in disbelief and dismay. A toothpaste tube could get replaced by a cold cream tube. Unless one is alert and agile, the experience leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth, literally as well as figuratively. One’s shaving kit could go into hiding for two weeks, leaving one feeling like a distressed soul pining for one’s beloved, beard and all. One’s favourite comb could get hidden, leaving one shuddering at the prospect of making an appearance in public. Overall, the house appears to provide stiff competition to the Bermuda Triangle.
A Core of Innocence
Put any two of the kids together and the results could be disastrous. Put all four of them together and the foundations of civilization start quivering.
The combined goofiness of a group of kids is directly proportional to the square of the number of kids together.
Unlike what the Theory of Relativitypostulates about there being an upper limit for the speed of light, one does not believe there could be an upper limit for kids’ goofiness. With three kids of his own, Einstein himself might have been in agreement with this proposition.
Their interpersonal interactions are more like sinusoidal curves, putting the Dow Jones Index and the Sensex to shame. Loving embraces are quickly followed by bitter arguments, accompanied by loud background music and tantrums of all kind.
Their minds are highly creative. Their imagination is vivid and fertile. More often than not, they are a reflection of what one is and how one behaves in their presence. In a way, they hold a clear mirror to us, especially when it comes to ethics, values and social leanings.
It is true that kids are simply adorable. Perhaps because their external sheath of goofiness is built around a core of touching innocence – a virtue which one loses as one advances in age. They radiate the purity of their chaste souls, yet to be corrupted by social prejudices and materialistic considerations. A sheltered upbringing obviously helps.
Towards spiritual progress
The Mother of Sri Aurobindo Ashram has spoken of twelve attributes which help a spiritual aspirant to make progress. Sincerity. Humility. Gratitude. Perseverance. Aspiration. Receptivity. Progress. Courage. Goodness. Generosity. Equality. Peace.
Being with kids surely paves the way for rapid spiritual progress, besides keeping one amused and entertained at all times.
The challenge of minimizing Screen Time
While families have shrunk, technology has entered the family space. For hapless parents, there are two challenges. One, that of minimizing Screen Time, weaning away kids from gadgets and involving them in outdoor activities. Two, that of imparting them the values which would last them a life time. Perhaps it is time to consciously revert back to the joint family system. More about this in another blog post.
Welcome to this wonderful world that you are born in,
Replete with natural beauty, heavens with stars twinkling;
Even though hatred, terror and dark forces too abound,
The innate goodness of human nature keeps us smiling.
You have chosen to be born on a very special day,
On which Plum, of whom your grandfather is an ardent fan, was born;
Many admirers of his continue to rejoice all over the world,
Many of his works do their bookshelves adorn.
You have brought great joy into the lives of your parents,
As you grow, you shall surely return their nurturing ways;
They plan to bring you up with lots of love and care,
Your innocent smiles and hugs shall brighten their days.
May Thos and Edwin never set the standards of your conduct,
May dousing fires with paraffin wax never come to your mind;
May you be humble, caring, never casting a supercilious gaze,
May thoughts of making butter slides you always leave behind.
May your intellect be always one up on that of Jeeves,
Your investigative skills as sharp as those of Baxter the efficient;
In culinary skills, may you surpass Anatole, in smartness, Psmith,
A heart that bleeds for its pals may also be sufficient.
May you never have an Aunt who forces her plans on you,
When settling down to a matrimonial bliss with a loving wife;
Candidature of a Florence or a Madeline you ought to avoid,
May you be the Little Bingo to the Rosie M Banks of your life.
May you acquire literary tastes early on in your life,
Start dishing out Plummy narratives without further delay;
Perhaps replacing telegrams with WhatsApp messages,
Since you may find it challenging to keep technology at bay.
On your slender shoulders you carry a mighty responsibility,
That of spreading cheer amongst the less fortunate ones;
Upholding the Code of the Woosters could be rather exciting,
The roses of your literary works may even silence the guns.
One wishes you a long and healthy life, full of laughter and love,
A sunny disposition to face the harsh slings and arrows of life;
A chin-up attitude, a song in the heart, a prayer on your lips,
Guardian Angels who fuss over you and protect you from many a strife.
(Note: Yours truly was recently given to understand that on the 15th of October, 2016, a grandson was born in the family of an ardent Australian fan of P G Wodehouse. The child has been named Clarence. This impromptu composition is addressed to him.)
Some residents of Plumsville might be interested in this news release from the Nordic branch of PBC, the Plum Broadcasting Corporation.
Quote
It is a well documented fact that the epidemic of Wodehousitis peaks at two times in a year. One, around the 15th of October, the day on which P G Wodehouse was born. Two, around the 14th of February, the day he decided to start regaling his Guardian Angels instead.
This is not to say that the epidemic is dormant during the rest of the year. It merely subsides a wee bit, popping up here and there, irrespective of caste, creed, religion, sex or ethnicity.
The medical fraternity continues to be clueless as to how to contain the dreaded epidemic. Researchers of all hues continue to be baffled at the unique kind of drug resistance displayed by those who suffer from Wodehousitis – they exhibit no desire to be rid of the affliction.
It is learnt from reliable sources that residents of Plumsville, a euphimistic term deployed to identify those suffering from acute Wodehousitis, could go to any lengths to celebrate their shared suffering from the dreaded affliction. To them, cultural, linguistic and continental barriers do not count. Man-made boundaries do not matter.
Take the case of one Morten Anersen from Norway and one Ashok Bhatia from India. On the 15th of October, 2016, the two decided to put their nose bags together and meet up at the Little England Tea Rooms (LETR) at Vollen in Norway.
It is understood that wide-ranging talks were held between the two on the occasion. The atmosphere was said to have been highly cordial and congenial. The couple running the show at LETR, Henning Edin Lyche and Liv Kjersti Lyche, when forewarned about the specific occasion being celebrated, revived the best of Drones Club traditions. British high tea was served with much enthusiasm and attention to detail.
The talks are said to have covered the following topics:
BREXIT: Whether Wodehouse, had he been around these days, would have approved of Brexit. The conjecture of the duo was in the negative.
The Technological Twist: Would he have continued churning out juicy narratives, with his trademark old world charm, replete with eccentric lords, super-intelligent butlers, domineering aunts, goofy females, woolly-headed bachelors, romantic cops and kids who could motivate even vicars to aspire to higher levels of spiritual upliftment? Especially, in this age of technology and the Internet of Things? The guess was in the affirmative. Probably, at best, telegrams might have got replaced by WhatsApp messages and phone calls by Skype or Viber calls.
Of dyspepsia, class distinctions and scarabs: Some ever fresh lessons from ‘Something Fresh‘ came up for discussion. Larsen Exercises, brisk walks and cold baths and the need to have a digestive system which keeps firing at all twelve cylinders, were mentioned with much enthusiasm. The socio-economic divide between Aline Peters and Joan Valentine, inter alia, came under the duo’s lens. The correlation between being a millionaire and being a collector of scarabs was discussed.
Real People and Real Books: Many facets of Wodehouse’s personality were discussed. The fact that he modelled his characters based on real life people was mentioned. So was the fact that books like ‘Types of Ethical Theory‘, once used by Florence Craye to attempt to uplift the intellectual leanings of Bertie Wooster, really did exist.
The Nietzsche Taboo: Surprise was expressed at the fact that Friedrich Nietzsche, held to be basically unsound by a person no less than Jeeves, was also born on the 15th of October, though the year of his birth was 1844. There were mutual confessions that Jeeves’ word was taken rather seriously. Hence, no attempts were likely to be made to read up any of Nietzsche’s works.
No darts, please: Out of respect for the excellent interior design of LETR, as well as for several other customers present, plans to throw some darts were deferred.
Potential members: It was noted with much regret that such eminent members as Geir Hasnes, Jo Ingebrigt Spalder, Jens Magne Andreassen,Oystein Moe and others could not join in the festivities.
Of 2017: It was hoped that a meeting planned some time in either April or May 2017 would attract better attention of Plum fans based in various parts of Norway. A strong need was felt for a local Jeeves who would be able to spare some time and coordinate the affair.
It is reliably learnt that Liv Kjersti Lyche, the delicately nurtured better-half of the owner of the place, a charming lady in the mould of Mrs Spottsworth, had spent some time during her teens in India, learning the art of dishing out piping hot samosas and chicken tikka sandwiches.
She also turned out to be a Plum fan, thereby adding some more sparkle and warmth to the proceedings. Another round of animated discussion is said to have followed, wherein ‘Laughing Gas‘ was merely one of the several works of Wodehouse which had popped up.
The meeting is said to have generated much laughter and camaraderie and reconfirmed the presence of Wodehousitis in the Nordic country which already boasts of more than 40 works of Plum translated into Norwegian. It also set a precedent of sorts in terms of achieving Gender Diversity for the Drones Club.
Unquote
Vikings are believed to have had a stiff-upper-lip approach to life in the distant past. Gallows Humour is said to be a typical Scandinavian offering.
Folklore has it that the sense of humour of Indians also leaves much to be desired. If it has been there, perhaps it has been more of the loud and overt kind.
But goofy gatherings of the kind reported herein above indicate that those inhabiting Nordic and Asian regions of the world these days perhaps relish not only a chuckle or two but also a loud guffaw once in a while. Subtle humour of the Wodehousean kind appears to have gained currency in these regions.
One wonders if the Humour Quotient of Homo Sapiens tends to improve in tandem with their gradual evolution over a period of time. If so, sunnier days are ahead. Further research by anthropologists and historians is strongly recommended to validate this hypothesis.
The global per capita density of the epidemic of Wodehousitis also needs to be studied further.
P G Wodehouse was born on the 15th of October, 1881. Every year, his fans celebrate his birth anniversary with traditional fervour and gaiety. This year was no exception.
Some went out and rummaged through book stores, virtual or otherwise, to buy yet another book of his. The idea was to try to fill in the gaping holes in their priceless collections. In keeping with the current trends, shelfies got clicked and shared over social media. Others simply curled up in bed and re-read for the n-th time a work of his, a tissue restorative on their side.
Some burrowed deep into his works and came up with some lesser known compositions of his. Some paid rich tributes by sharing other details about the author and his life. Yet others came up with juicy posts on the occasion.
Here are some of the posts the residents of Plumsville may relish, arranged in an alphabetic manner, as per their names.
Ancestors,forefathers, the whole clan
Woven into an exquisite web with élan,
Romantic exploits or schemes absurd
Beautifully penned, enriched by each word,
Mundane chatter or complicated plots
Skillfully tied in bouquets of forget me nots,
Whether it’s Gussie or Lord Emsworth
Their anecdotes bring warmth like a crackling hearth,
Aunt Dahlia’s exuberance or Uncle Tom’s generosity
Can be matched by Gally’s wit or Jeeves’s spontaneity,
The maudlin soppy Madeline often a pain
Her tear drops beautifully knitted in God’s Daisy chain,
Bertie’s simplicity and sheer goofiness
Always landing him in an inextricable mess,
But the master wields his pen with panache and ease
Sailing along like a will O wisp in the breeze,
A belated Happy Birthday to the inimitable P.G.W !
Shiva Kumar I HAD A PLUM TO-DAY
I got a book, it came as a gift,
It picked me up, gave me a lift.
I’ll immerse myself in every page,
Go back in time, to a happier age.
I find myself a cosy nook,
Sit back, open my book.
Page one produces a broad smile,
I move on to two, and ponder awhile;
Page three draws from me a snort,
Someone’s already plotting a plot!
They are scheming like the dickens;
As I turn the pages, the plot thickens.
This devious planning is making me laugh,
I shake in my chair and almost fall off.
There’s a chap and there’s his butler,
There’s a planner and a plan scuttler.
Aunts pop in, here and there
Embellishing the story, as it were.
Telegrams fly, to and fro, thick and fast
I am thinking this is too good, will it last?
Page fifty, and I’m wiping the tears,
I haven’t laughed so much in years.
Is it me, rumbling with mirth,
Or just a tremor in the earth?
The book’s a riot, too funny to handle,
It’s become dark, I will need a candle
Night has fallen; I too fell, many times
Picked myself up, ignored the chimes
I’ll finish the book, come what may
I’ll try not to fall off again, I’ll stay.
I’m chuckling away into the night
When I finish the book it’s first light
Ah! I can happily get back to the old grind
After all I had a Plum to elevate the mind!
As a part of the global celebrations, two Wodehousean fans, hailing from two different continents, decided to meet up for a cosy chat over high tea in a British style quaint little restaurant in Norway. But more about that later.
How fortunate we happen to be! If Plum had abandoned dishing out humorous escapades of all sizes and shapes, and instead turned to crime fiction, the universe we live in would have become so very listless and mirthless.
Here is yet another delectable post from Honoria Glossop.
Coincidentally, 1881 was also the year in which Dr. John Watson first met Sherlock Holmes. Their meeting was recounted by Arthur Conan Doyle in the first Sherlock Holmes story, A Study in Scarlet (1887).
The gang of twenty-five wannabe managers, when it entered the not-so-hallowed precincts of the University Business School of Panjab University, Chandigarh in the year 1974, was clueless as to the effective use to which the power of music could be put to practice the art of managing people.
Much later in their careers, some members of the gang might have woken up to the immense potential of healthy musical practices when it came to surviving in the corporate jungle. Some would have soared higher whistling the tune that their bosses wanted to hear from them. Others would have become great leaders based on the results their teams produced, much like an orchestra gets led by a conductor to produce mellifluous symphonies.
Some might have perfected the art of phasing out dissent from their team members by the sheer power of their vocal chords, not alike the way even soulful lyrics get drowned by loud music in some of our best movies these days. Others might have formed a Mutual Appreciation Team by bonding with like-minded colleagues, much like a group of star artistes who transcend man-made borders to come up with their own brand of fusion music.
When faced with a challenging task, an informal chat, especially when conducted in the presence of appropriate tissue restoratives, duly backed by some soothing music playing in the background, often helps.
Discovering the Music Society
Two members of the gang, however, stood out. Having spent much of their previous years in understanding and memorizing basic principles of Physics and Chemical Engineering, a course in business administration gave their grey cells some well-deserved breathing time. Soon, they discovered the presence of a Music Society on the campus. Prompted by another musical soul from the 1973-75 batch, they joined the music classes on offer.
One aspired to learn playing the sarangi, while another, yours truly, weakly attempted to master the art of playing a guitar. Friends and critics obviously had their doubts on the efficacy of our musical endeavours. Luckily, they were too busy with their own lives to continue to watch our progress with any interest whatsoever.
On a personal note
Allow me to digress a wee bit and divulge that since childhood, my parents had repeatedly failed in their attempts to get me trained in classical vocal music. Subsequently, a banjo was gifted, in the fond hope that I might make something out of it. Alas, that too was not to be. Since there was no Wodehousean kid character like Edwin around, using paraffin sprays to douse fires, the instrument never went up in flames. It merely got lost in the rapids of time.
Eventually, my parents gave up and resigned to my limited capability of belting out some movie songs at birthday parties and some social events.
The original singers of most of these compositions were such stalwarts as Hemant Kumar, Talat Mehmood, Rafi sahib and Kishore Kumar. Luckily enough, none of my attempts to copy them ever reached their ears. Had a calamity of that nature come about, they would still be found shuddering in their graves.
My crude attempts at singing were carefully planned at such locations where donkeys could not have ready access. This way, I avoided the risk of a bunch of them joining me in unison, overjoyed at having finally found a brother-in-notes amongst the Homo Sapiens.
Treks to Kasauli and nocturnal visits to Morni hills nearby provided several other opportunities for me to display my singular lack of vocal skills. I still admire the tenacity and politeness of some of my hapless batch mates who not only tolerated but also applauded such renderings.
The sound of music
The association with Music Society added some colour and spice to the otherwise staid life on the campus. The members were drawn from different departments of the University. During 1975-76, the group even decided to confer on yours truly the title of Chairman, though I still wonder what I had done to deserve the honour.
Two events readily spring to my memory. One was a grand cultural show, where Mrs. Bimla Paul, wife of the then Vice Chancellor of the University, accepted our invitation to be the Chief Guest. The show was named ‘Swar Gunjan’. It was held at the University Auditorium.
Some members performed a Tibetan Yak dance. My batch mate and I, more busy coordinating the back-stage gaffes and on-stage slip-ups, were part of a group which presented an instrumental version of an old song ‘Aayega aane wala…..’ from the movie ‘Mahal’.
Yet another highlight was a bloomer in the shape of a post-card handwritten invitation sent to the inimitable Amjad Ali Khan sahib, requesting him to play at the University. After some time, surely despite our invitation, he did come over to the city and performed at the auditorium of PGI, right opposite the University Campus. Needless to say, that was a veritable treat.
A tool for enriching our lives
Looking back, the key lesson was the importance of indulging in extra-curricular escapades in that unique phase of life. It broke the monotonous tyranny of a class room instruction. It came across as an instructive experience which broadened one’s mental horizons and provided one with a diverse group of people to interact with. One learnt the art of event management, a term which was not in vogue in those internet-less and smart-phone-less times.
One might not have learnt what exactly what one set out to learn, but the spin-offs have surely been a reward in themselves. Above all, a connection with music, howsoever tenuous, got reinforced.
Music is not only a food for the soul. It also nourishes our mind, cleansing it of all the negative toxins which dampen our performance. It enriches our lives in more ways than one. It helps us to have better interpersonal relations. It even helps budding managers and entrepreneurs to achieve their goals more efficiently!
The gang of twenty-five wannabe managers which had entered the not-so-hallowed portals of UBS* in the year 1974 had only one regret. Fate had not been kind to it. Gender diversity had taken a toss. None of the members were from the tribe of the delicately nurtured. The batch senior to them did boast of a few, but none who would put a Venus to shame. A sense of melancholy pervaded. The roving eye, having roved, could at best console itself with brief encounters with some of the lotus-eyed females of the species on the campus either while visiting the Student Centre or when loitering around the campus.
The gang was blissfully unaware of the fact that an alumnus of Panjab University could become a sagacious, albeit reluctant, Prime Minister of India some thirty years down the road. Some of its members had vaguely heard of a keen and bright elocutionist from the Law Faculty, little realizing that she could be heading the Ministry of External Affairs some forty years into the future. Almost all had heard and seen the exploits of a rising theatre artiste, though none could guess that she could become a celebrity Bollywood artist in the years to come, and even a Member of Parliament from the City Beautiful. And, not to forget her future husband, who was then honing his acting skills, eventually getting recognized as one of the finest actors in Bollywood.
A sense of gloom and despondency
Few months into the session, an underlying sense of gloom and despondency could be discerned. The hostel food would turn to ashes in the mouth. Evening saunters down the Sector 15 market brought some solace, by way of pleasing either the palette or the eye. Nocturnal visits to the road side vendors dishing out greasy omelets opposite the PGI gate brought the only rays of sunshine into their lives. Most of the architectural and natural attractions of the city had been explored ad nauseam.
The not-so-United Colours of Academicians
By then, the tribe of UBS educationists had been thoroughly observed, studied and classified. The dominating ones invariably knew their stuff, but also knew that they knew the stuff. A stiff-upper-lip approach to all affairs, academic or otherwise, came to them naturally. The outpourings of their knowledge had to be listened to in rapt attention. Their razor-sharp eyes would invariably cast a supercilious gaze upon the hapless students seated meekly in front of them. Nerves of chilled steel were required to deal with them. Not surprisingly, they earned a deep respect, duly laced with acidic scorn. These were the types who represented stark authority and were thus deeply resented.
Then there were those at the other extreme. They would walk into a lecture hall hiding behind a huge stack of text books, as if to prove their thoroughness in the subject concerned. These were the defensive kinds who would deliver their sermons of knowledge in a sheepish manner. The studious coves of the gang, like yours truly, were invariably driven to study the subject on their own. Visits to the Department or the Central Library were thus prompted by intentions of a pious nature. Most others would be on back-slapping terms with them, trying to use their sense of humour to gain assignment marks.
Bang in the middle of this normal distribution curve of professorial skills fell those who not only knew their stuff but were also good communicators. They were revered, liked and admired by a vast majority of the members of the gang.
Shaking off the gloom and despondency
Come Diwali and some brainy, dashing and enterprising coves of the gang decided to take the matter in their hands and shake off this feeling of gloom and despondency. The rebel spirit held sway and a ‘time bomb’ was concocted, using an ‘agarbatti’ (incense stick) and a large size cracker. Several trial runs later, an impromptu device was perfected, so as to burst some twenty minutes into the class. Understandably, the target was one of the stiff-upper-lip category professors.
On the appointed day, the scheme was put in motion. The device, kept just outside one of the class room windows, went off a wee bit earlier than planned, perhaps surprising even the planners and the executors. Its loud bang broke not only a few glass panes but also the envelope of gloom which had come to surround the gang. A beetroot-red-faced professor walked out of the class room in a huff, not before casting an acid-spewing eye on the assembly of students, most of whom were twiddling their thumbs, trying to make sense of what had transpired.
Masters Thos, Seabury and Edwin, of Wodehousean fame, would have heartily approved. So would have Stiffy Byng and Bobby Wickham, if they had happened to be around.
Summons from the Chairman were not late in coming. The entire class trooped into the corridor outside the seat of power. Few privileged ones were called in and given a sharp dressing down.
The nuclear fall-out
That is how it came about that the whole class of 1976 was suspended for a week. Much rejoicing took place. Revenue of some movie halls registered a quantum jump during the week. Restaurants in the vicinity and elsewhere registered brisker business.
1975 and 1976 batches, UBS, Panjab University, Chandigarh
Some members of the gang whose parents lived not too far away went off to gorge on their mother’s exotic dishes. Those who had stern and disapproving fathers decided to spend their time quietly on the campus itself. Some openly complained as to why the perpetrators of the ‘crime’ did not plan something more elaborate, something that would have merited a longer period of suspension!
In the course of your own academic career, you might have had quite a few juicy experiences which broke the spell of monotony which a regular classroom routine often entails. If so, how about sharing it here?!
*Note: The term UBS stands for University Business School of Panjab University, Chandigrah.
Cover of the Bietti edition of Leave it to Psmith (1936) courtesy of Wikipedia. 
Home of Sir Edward Cazalet and his wife Camilla, Lady Cazalet 
ashokbhatia 