<p>National High School, where I did all my studies from primary to graduation, was well known for its events like Annual Sports Day, Republic Day, and Independence Day. It also had its own Band in the mid 1950s. Those were days of austerity and all the instruments like bass drum, side drum, bugle and flute were so old and worn out that they played their own tunes despite our best efforts, just like our leaders in the opposition parties. The leather shield of the base drum was mended with patches and crude stitches by a cobbler.</p>.<p>For the annual sports day of 1954, our chief guest Justice Vasudev Murthy accepted the guard of honour as we marched to the beat of the drum that had the applique work. I was on the flute and we marched with our heads held high in our uniforms. Most of us had only one set of faded uniforms--thanks to the beating they got on stone slabs followed by drying in the hot sun, the white shirt was light brown and navy-blue shorts only had a hint of blue–-some had even inherited the attire from their older siblings. The once-white Gandhi <span class="italic">topis</span> held the proof of our hair care routine: a generous pouring of oil before combing. We walked barefoot as shoes were a luxury that few could afford. Even those who could, didn’t flaunt them. (I got my first footwear, the modest Bata slippers, when I passed out of SSLC!) </p>.<p>Our chief guest decided to do something about our band and wrote out a cheque for Rs 100—the cost of brand new musical instruments–and handed it over to our headmaster, Mr Kumble Nanjundiah.</p>.<p>A few of us in the school band also attended scout camp on weekends. On an invitation from the Sacred Heart School in (then) Bangalore we were taken to play the Band for their annual school day. We were thrilled to see the Mayor of Bangalore, whose son was our classmate, as the chief guest. Our scout unit Band instructor was one Mr John, a heavy beedi smoker. He occasionally took our flute and bugle to breathe more life into our band, and when he returned it to us the beedi smell was so strong that we would sneeze. </p>.<p>We were all 13-years old and the boy playing the huge bass drum could barely see where he was walking. And on we marched trampling the newly planted saplings without our knowledge. The school nun in charge was shouting, and pleading us to spare the saplings: “Please don’t stamp on the saplings.” Though we were studying in English medium we could neither speak nor understand English. The only stamp we knew was the postage kind and ‘sapling’ meant nothing to us. We thought she was applauding us and marched on with even more gusto! </p>.<p>From the scout band, five members, my younger brother, and I are all in the US for over six decades now. </p>
<p>National High School, where I did all my studies from primary to graduation, was well known for its events like Annual Sports Day, Republic Day, and Independence Day. It also had its own Band in the mid 1950s. Those were days of austerity and all the instruments like bass drum, side drum, bugle and flute were so old and worn out that they played their own tunes despite our best efforts, just like our leaders in the opposition parties. The leather shield of the base drum was mended with patches and crude stitches by a cobbler.</p>.<p>For the annual sports day of 1954, our chief guest Justice Vasudev Murthy accepted the guard of honour as we marched to the beat of the drum that had the applique work. I was on the flute and we marched with our heads held high in our uniforms. Most of us had only one set of faded uniforms--thanks to the beating they got on stone slabs followed by drying in the hot sun, the white shirt was light brown and navy-blue shorts only had a hint of blue–-some had even inherited the attire from their older siblings. The once-white Gandhi <span class="italic">topis</span> held the proof of our hair care routine: a generous pouring of oil before combing. We walked barefoot as shoes were a luxury that few could afford. Even those who could, didn’t flaunt them. (I got my first footwear, the modest Bata slippers, when I passed out of SSLC!) </p>.<p>Our chief guest decided to do something about our band and wrote out a cheque for Rs 100—the cost of brand new musical instruments–and handed it over to our headmaster, Mr Kumble Nanjundiah.</p>.<p>A few of us in the school band also attended scout camp on weekends. On an invitation from the Sacred Heart School in (then) Bangalore we were taken to play the Band for their annual school day. We were thrilled to see the Mayor of Bangalore, whose son was our classmate, as the chief guest. Our scout unit Band instructor was one Mr John, a heavy beedi smoker. He occasionally took our flute and bugle to breathe more life into our band, and when he returned it to us the beedi smell was so strong that we would sneeze. </p>.<p>We were all 13-years old and the boy playing the huge bass drum could barely see where he was walking. And on we marched trampling the newly planted saplings without our knowledge. The school nun in charge was shouting, and pleading us to spare the saplings: “Please don’t stamp on the saplings.” Though we were studying in English medium we could neither speak nor understand English. The only stamp we knew was the postage kind and ‘sapling’ meant nothing to us. We thought she was applauding us and marched on with even more gusto! </p>.<p>From the scout band, five members, my younger brother, and I are all in the US for over six decades now. </p>