Life Before Technology

During our years at Sainik School Amaravathinagar, the pinnacle of technology available to a cadet was a wristwatch. Only a select few possessed one – those whose parents could afford it. In my case, such luxury was out of the question. Entertainment came in limited forms: the Saturday movie and listening to film songs on the radio in the senior dorms -a device that hardly ever worked.

The Fortune of Being Seniors

We considered ourselves the luckiest batch, for we were the first to undergo the newly introduced 10+2 system of education. Previous batches had graduated after Grade 11. Consequently, we held senior status for two years – both in Grade 11 and Grade 12. The truly fortunate among us managed to join the National Defence Academy after Grade 11, escaping the final year’s academic rigours.

The Currency of Mischief

During those senior days, money became the most critical resource for my various nefarious activities. Holding cash was, of course, a serious offence. Yet whenever I returned from holidays, my eldest brother – four years my senior – slipped me twenty rupees. He managed this from the funds our father provided for agricultural expenses.

The House Master and His Quest

Late Mr. PT Cherian (Please Click Here to Read more about Him) was our House Master – a man I revere to this day, the one who laid the foundation for whatever leadership qualities I later developed. He knew well that I was perpetually up to some mischief, mostly outside the pages of textbooks, and that such pursuits required currency.

What ensued was a constant Tom & Jerry battle between us. I emerged victorious from most encounters – or at least, I liked to believe so.

His scooter announced his approach long before he arrived, its distinctive putter-putter sound echoing through the dorm. That auditory warning provided precious moments to conceal whatever needed hiding.

The Night of the Twenty-Rupee Note

One evening after dinner, his scooter sounded as usual. But this time, he did not merely pass by. He headed straight for my cabin and commenced a thorough search-and-find operation.

Methodically, he examined every corner, every crevice. Yet he found nothing incriminating.

What he did not know was that I held the evidence – a single twenty-rupee note – clutched tightly in my palms.

Epilogue

That twenty-rupee note, crumpled and damp with nervous sweat, represented more than mere currency. It was independence, opportunity, the means to pursue the small rebellions that define adolescence. And Mr. Cherian, in his relentless pursuit, taught me a lesson far more valuable than any textbook could offer: that the battle between authority and mischief is not about winning or losing, but about the respect that endures long after both have surrendered.