A moment can last years when seen in reverse. The slap time so rudely gives you, cheating you of the present... it's only when you look back that you realise the amazing prank Time has played on you. And you see yourself, a bewildered fool standing in the middle flanked by the angry past on one side and mocking time on the other. Memory is a powerful tool, the grandfather of all slow motion cameras... it stores time. And everything you ever do, every important moment down to last micro-nano second is recorded along with something equally important.. perception. This article is about my moments.. my evaluation of things, my perceptions. It's my journal of life in HPS.

Class 1 : Mommie, Alphabet, Ex-cur-sion, Merit Charts, Sports Day, Arith-metic, Boarders, joke
The first memory I can associate with HPS is standing up and saying my name out for the first time. I remember looking around at all the nice names of all the nice people around me. Rahul, Ashok... so nice, crisp and 5 lettered. And then there was my name. I remember actually deciding to change it. Till a boy behind me got up and said it.. turns out his name was Prashant too. Nobody laughed. Relief. I stood up and said Prashant Iyengar. Everyone laughed.

In a lot of ways 1st standard in HPS brings back the sweetest memories.. your first friendships... the jokes... the Jokes! Kids in the 1st standard will laugh at anything. I know we did. Some of the all time (in)famous ones include
1) Man wants to play cricket with Sardarjis. Problem.. he's not one and only sardarjis are allowed. Solution : He puts a tomato on his head and ties a turban over it. Plays match.. hits century. At the end of it all some lame brain in the audience says something to the effect of `Bravo' and pats him on his head. Tomato splits. People think he's dead. End of Joke. Laughs all around.

That year I first heard of a concept called Sports Day. Dheeraj Prasad got to present a bouquet to the chief guest. I was jealous.

I also learnt how to stand in front of a mammoth audience and say, ever so sweetly , "Vanakkam". Today, 12 years later the word actually finds meaning.. inasmuch as it's the word for `welcome' in my own mother tongue Tamil! We visited the zoo that year... and the year after that, and after that .. and after.....

1st class was pretty boring for me. I was underaged they said, which when translated into English means that I actually ended up doing 1st standard twice. So while all the other kids were learning A, B, C, D , I'd sit at the back of the class reading my Noddy and Winnie the Poohs

Life's tough for a 5 year old in the first grade. You learn to let go of the spoon that's fed you so long.. and clutch another one that's reaching out . You learn that there is another home away from home and you settle down to it.

Things we learnt : Alphabet, drawing, painting, "craft", two finger space, counting (two in the mind and 3 on the fingers)... Class party!!

Class 2: Multiplication, Ghosts and Mrs P Raja Rao.
Around about that time there was a great furore about a ghost being sighted in the ruins of the old primary block (the ruins near the parking lot). Kids organised groups and went on "expeditions" and came back with "honest to goodness" stories about how they'd just bumped into a ghost and had fought it off with their bare fists. The problem got so out of hand that an announcement had to be made in the assembly prohibiting anyone to go near the place.

Yup.. the air was pretty packed with ghosts and gods and all kinds of supernatural forces. And there was, at the centre of all this hullabaloo, another lesser God whom some of us who're still around remember as Mrs P. Raja Rao, the hearty old headmistress. I remember being rapped on the knuckles by her once for squeezing through the window and getting into the class before the locks were opened. You don't understand why? Go take a look at the window!

Vikas was kidnapped that year. The story as I remember it was that the child was dropped to school at 8:30. At 8:45 another person claiming to be the driver came around and said he'd been sent to bring him back. That was the last anyone ever saw of him. I didn't know him. To me he's just a name. But just picture a 7 year old.. who's only known how to trust. Try imagining what might have happened. And then imagine you're him. This is to Vikas... who never had a chance.

We (my "gang" at school) adopted a puppy that year and fed it bones from the school pantry. " Increases the number of bones in their body" .. I explained!

Class 3: The world, cricket and mud pies, Land, water, sea, ocean and mud.
A lot happened in the year 1991. Saddam Hussain and George Bush, the scud missile and the patriot missile, Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated and brahmins all over committed suicide. Babri Masjid burst her top and the pieces landed on millions of Indians who lost their heads. Bombay saw red.. the red of death. Also in an unrelated incident my appendix came to be operated on and was extracted and carefully stored in formalin. Yessiree, I actually had one of the most useless appendages of my body stored in a bottle that I religiously carried to school for a couple of weeks. Excerpts from a conversation:

Me: Look what I got.. my ap-end-ix!!
Friend: I ate chicken yesterday.
Me: No no stupid.. this is one of my body parts!!
Friend (look of admiration) : Wow! Can I touch it?
Me: Nooo .. cant you see? It's stored in form-a-lin.
Friend: Oh... er.. what's form-a-lin?
Me (Look of condescencion) : You don't know what it is?? It's made out of my blood and flesh.
Friend (look of awe): Coool! How did they remove it?
Me: Well first 10 of them grabbed my hands and legs, then one of them wearing a mask took a big scissors and cut a hole right here (pointing), then they took a for-ceps and pulled at it. It was twitching wildly as it came out. Then he put me under a big sewing machine and sewed it up.
Friend (looking at me with a new found respect) : Wow! (eyes gleaming)

Looking back, it's the innocent belief that hits you. At 7, all you know about doctors is the needle.. all you know about operation theatres is the blue and green light that you see in the movies. Against such a backdrop, believing anything about doctors isn't too difficult.

About a week after that someone actually stole it from me. "Stole" because the next rumour I heard was about some kid who had his brain stored in a bottle. We learnt the tables that year... really well, because every day for 1 hour in the morning 40 voices in every class would go "2 ones are.... .. 2 twos are.. " ..

We played a game called Land Water sea ocean mud. Nobody really cared that the sea's actually a part of the ocean, that both are actually water... nobody cared that mud and land were of same element. All they were bothered about was how to get from one step to the next...

Things we learnt : Mental sums, how to measure lines, geometry box, library and the fantastic world of books.. the packets we all had to carry to borrow the books! The pleasures (!!) of compulsory games after 2:30.

Class 4: Steady as she goes...
Some of my pleasantest memories of childhood come from the time I spent in class 4 and 5. Mrs Deepa Chandra.. who had faith in me despite all odds. After a break of one year, they were again having a concert. There was a Russian Dance and a Bhangra Dance. The Russian dance was beautiful. I remember the music, stirring.. and I remember the faces that danced to it. I'd wanted to be in it. I was turned down (grr). Said I didn't have enough grace. Hrmpf! I was graceful.. I could dance. In hindsight the dance wasn't perhaps all that remarkable. There's something about the dance people do in life.. and the beauty that exudes from it.

Mrs Usha Kapoor, our hindi teacher for four years left for the Maldives that year. She gave us the address. Nobody wrote. Everyone remembers her though. The nice lady who taught us how to read . Some of us (I'm not taking names) learnt that the bathroom walls make for excellent graffiti paper. Some of us learnt how to bunk games setting a trend of abstinence that continues throughout their lives in HPS! I found a red mark in my English paper that said "No full stops". It was the last year we were to use pencils . Everything henceforth would be in ink, indelible, permanent.

Class 5: Geography, History, a myth called India.
The rosiest days of life in HPS are the final years of the primary. Lots happened when we were in the 5th.

Someone once said that you don't go to a public school to study... you go for the company you get. 5th class for me was an important year. 4 of us got together and really hit it out. We were to become the best of friends for a long time to come. Friendship.. the only kind, the fire on ice, metal on metal kind. That's what I'm talking about. Opposites attract they say. Nothing could describe our relationship better. Hari, Deepak, Rahul and me were as opposite as the word gets. Hari, who knew he'd be an accountant the day he saw money, Deepak, who knew he'd be a doctor the day he saw the miracle of life, Rahul, who knew he'd be an engineer or a scientist the day he saw something electronic. Me? I got a raw deal. I saw people.

The concert was held that year. About 20 of us were in the choir that was adjudged the best event. Our photos appeared in the news paper. That was the first (and for some, the only) time some of us found any use for the Deccan Chronicle. And Mrs P. Raja Rao retired.

I went for extra classes in Painting that year. I remember being especially pleased since it was an exclusive group. Entry only if the teacher saw you fit. And all because of a Panchayat I drew.. with 3 people!

But the most exciting part of class 5 was Scouting! Every Thursday we all had to assemble around this queer old man who told stories and made us play games. I remember how every week one class got to play a game. It all looked really exciting... until it was our turn. We got to do a bear dance. Never have I ever seen gloomier faces than the ones I saw that day. While every other class got to play lively games with running and jumping, we .. got to do a bear dance!

Rostom Marker died. I remember his face. If you could see it now it would look angelic, cherubic... with a pair of thick glasses sticking out. I didn't know him. Died in a car accident they say. Death. This was the first encounter a lot of us had with it. None of us knew how to react to it. The finality, the ultimate pause. The full stop. I didn't like full stops. This is for Rostom .. who didn't have enough.

I also learnt that "Cycle-u Tyre-u Puncture-u" is actually a Telugu sentence.

Class 6: Bunsen Burner, Page turners, Slow learners....
Possibly one of the best times for our batch to arrive on the scene was when we did. Best not only because there was no alternative, but because we were able to attend Mrs Usha Khader's assemblies. The defeated concept of education meaning more than just text books found a new vein of life whenever she took the assembly.. and for once .. we listened.

I remember being given an imposition - writing "I will not forget my homework" 200 times. There was no way I could possibly have completed it. An odd thing happened that day. While I was trying as best I could to fill in the pages, knowing well I wouldn't be able to, Gayatri Reddy offered help. Gayatri, the chatty girl who just couldn't keep her mouth shut. Gayatri Reddy, who inspite of her official status as "enemy" (enemy was anything that moved around in a skirt) was impossible not to like. I refused help. Not because I didn't need it. This is for Gayatri Reddy, who had the courage to flout convention and be herself. When you're in the 6th grade, you are what everyone says you are.. or you can be Gayatri Reddy.

We went for a scout camp that year. A village on the outskirts, a "rest house" near a wayside railway station. It was an experience. There was no water and no electricity. It was a hilarious sight when the teachers decided we needed a scrub and 60 of us trooped onto the platform in our sheer underwear. Picture it? Add this to the equation.. a train chugs in right then... Want more? It's filled with women.

Things we learnt : Puff the magic dragon, cross stitch, spirit lamp, BASIC ,

Class 7: To every thing.. there is a season
The year I was in my 7th a lot was happening outside. N T Rama Rao became the chief minister and then didn't. Mr Cherian was killed in an accident. The teachers went on a strike for a month so that our winter holidays were longer than our summer break. Also that year the scouts "movement" in HPS received an unceremonious burial. It's sad, in hindsight to think of it in terms of experience denied. Scouting was never fun, it was compulsory. Nothing compulsory could ever be fun.. there's always some kid who has another idea. Discipline can't be taught, only learnt. A thought probably too radical to find acceptance in a school always minding its roots. And so all the efforts by Mr David Rao, Mr Dennis Powell, to keep scouting alive went in vain. In a lot of ways it had to go. The ideas and methods of scouting were long since outdated in a school fast approaching the 21st century and so it went. Quietly.

Upheavals, strikes, closures... the only person who succeeded that year was Mr Prabhakar. Mr Prabhakar, who taught us , at that age, what it means to be intellectual. Mr David Rao, who made English interesting with his simple honest commitment. Mr Dennis Powell whose passion for singing was contagious enough to have us dancing to his tunes. At 12, you look around and see miracles.

Footnotes: 1) I'd originally intended to complete this article.. but now I think not. No reasons offered.
2) Rostom Marker's entire family was killed in that accident. And there's nobody to mourn his death.. nobody to feel his absence. Makes me wonder...if memory is the pillar of existence.. Rostom never existed.