—George Santayana (The Life of Reason, 1905)
The above is a celebrated quote but by George, my ability to remember the past in great detail almost always saves me from being condemned to repeat it. Of course, it comes with a price-tag: most schoolmates and class-fellows have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they have no appetite for reading these 'lengthy' chronicles that often disclose details they would rather ‘forget and move on in life’.
Serious education
To an educated person, the formative years of school always remain the most important ones in life. Without ever spending two years in any class, I sailed from I to X (i.e. 1 to 10, section-B), within a decade to enter college.
This story starts at St. Anthony’s High School of Lahore in 1970. The class-teacher of VII-B was a stocky Anglo-Indian named Mr. Joseph and whose heavy punishing hand scared the trousers off the students.
His favourite instrument of torture was a 1/4-inch thick wooden foot-ruler that landed as flat on our palms as a bad joke did. Mercifully, he never used the ruler’s metal edge to punish us when things got out of hand. The photo here is that of the same ruler (without its metal edge) which I preserved for posterity.
Toppers, paupers and others
In the school’s very serious jungle, my survival depended upon hunting with lion-like students and running with the hare-brained.
Being amongst the top ten ‘bright students’ was akin to residing amongst the gods on Mount Olympus. To me, those who topped seemed like one-trick ponies that could devour textbooks without burping and never suffering from literary diarrhoea. How these bookworms scored virtually full marks in most examinations was beyond comprehension but I suppose each one worked hard to reach the top instead of being toppled.
An average student loved doing things in this order: strange extracurricular activities, stranger mischief, sports, and lastly studies in spare time. Perhaps that is why instead of securing first position, the highest I could attain was a respectable third.
Those who topped from the bottom in class, received Divine Help in two forms: the passing marks were only thirty-five out of a hundred and the teachers routinely bestowed the wings of ‘grace marks’ on fallen angels. While the 'lazy fellows' celebrated success, and the principal lauded the teachers thinking they had miraculously kept the failure rate low, these crutches did not help some who still failed most miserably in multiple subjects and ended up repeating the same class.
A memory worth cherishing is participating in an English essay-writing competition and receiving a certificate for third place. From then on, I took to writing like a fish to water. This website and my contributions elsewhere are living proofs of that old pudding.
The ones who could not express themselves well in school grew up to initially annoy their beloveds and finally the unlovable wives. All they could muster was write forgettable and dreary annual confidential reports of employees working under them in the companies or the government departments.
“Those who spare the rod hate their children, but those who love them are diligent to discipline them” —The Bible, Proverbs 13:24
The above proverb was religiously practised by the missionary Fathers and the teachers.
Serious sports
‘P.T’ (physical training), football and gymnastics were morning activities while cricket, hockey, table-tennis, swimming, and rifle-shooting took place in the evenings. Everybody participated in one or more sport of his liking. The more capable ones became captains and members of school teams. Those left out became able spectators.
Mischief was plentiful but at times an excess of it got our fathers summoned to face a serious complaint at the office of the Father Principal.
Once inside that room without oxygen, we always found Lady Justice away on maternity leave, an unbending judge on the bench, a defence attorney father who acted like the prosecution, the symbolic balance tipped in the accuser's favour and the sword unsheathed to do what it was designed to do.
Most boys took what came at them like men did: on the chin and without hiding under mommy’s skirt. That character strength helped much later in life.
As for the celibate Irish-Scottish Fathers who ran the school, they stayed aloof from womankind—something that was hotly debated by the boys. The fact remained: those men in white robes with green sashes were spiritually married to the church and therefore sadly childless. However, being far away from their home countries, they developed a penchant for venting out frustration and anger on defenceless boys.
Science-project ‘granny’
That lengthy preface was necessary. Let us dive into the real story.
The tragedy of our English-medium missionary education had some comic relief in the form of a class-fellow named Mehmood Sial, a cheerful studious character who came from a well-off family and possessed cheeks as soft as a baby’s buttocks. Our science-teacher, Mr Fardy, perhaps seeing in Mehmood a glimpse of his own dead grandmother, bestowed upon him a nickname that stuck: granny.
Click on the links below to read about Mr. Fardy, my science teacher in class VIII-B:
Instead of offering five daily prayers, some boys pinched giggly girly granny’s soft cheeks five times: prior to the morning assembly, after the assembly prayer, during class, in the half-break and finally at full-break. By the day’s end, granny’s cheeks took on such a rosy appearance it could fool his mother into thinking the boy was in perfect health.
During class, the pinching only happened when certain conditions were fulfilled by the teacher: he faced the blackboard; scribbled frantically; raised small clouds of white chalk-dust; had his hair and the suit covered with white powder, and, as a distant cousin of Snow White, was yell-bent on teaching the unteachable certain lessons within the forty-five minutes assigned to his ‘period’.
During such gaps, when granny was pinched and fidgeted, the teacher turned around to spot an inattentive boy and hurled a piece of chalk like a champion dart thrower. The reaction of his target always brought smiles on our faces which necessitated either bowing heads or covering mouths with hands, to avoid turning comedy into a greater tragedy. To be caught smiling in the middle of disciplinary proceedings was an open invitation to punishment which produced silent and expressionless laughter but with faces turned red.
All that was live transmission, much before children had video cassette recorders and multiple TV channels of entertainment. Essentially, the missionary school was a centre for higher spanking with some education thrown in. The teachers' tests and our high testosterone were two horses that galloped neck to neck.
In the school’s very serious jungle, my survival depended upon hunting with lion-like students and running with the hare-brained.
Being amongst the top ten ‘bright students’ was akin to residing amongst the gods on Mount Olympus. To me, those who topped seemed like one-trick ponies that could devour textbooks without burping and never suffering from literary diarrhoea. How these bookworms scored virtually full marks in most examinations was beyond comprehension but I suppose each one worked hard to reach the top instead of being toppled.
An average student loved doing things in this order: strange extracurricular activities, stranger mischief, sports, and lastly studies in spare time. Perhaps that is why instead of securing first position, the highest I could attain was a respectable third.
Those who topped from the bottom in class, received Divine Help in two forms: the passing marks were only thirty-five out of a hundred and the teachers routinely bestowed the wings of ‘grace marks’ on fallen angels. While the 'lazy fellows' celebrated success, and the principal lauded the teachers thinking they had miraculously kept the failure rate low, these crutches did not help some who still failed most miserably in multiple subjects and ended up repeating the same class.
A memory worth cherishing is participating in an English essay-writing competition and receiving a certificate for third place. From then on, I took to writing like a fish to water. This website and my contributions elsewhere are living proofs of that old pudding.
The ‘marginal cases’ were a very different class within the class. They wore on their faces a special kind of misery. The astute teachers kept a mental record of their failures in tests, chattering abilities and mischief-making. A slap here and a cane there from the teachers, that was the lot of the incurable bones.
“Those who spare the rod hate their children, but those who love them are diligent to discipline them” —The Bible, Proverbs 13:24
The above proverb was religiously practised by the missionary Fathers and the teachers.
Serious sports
‘P.T’ (physical training), football and gymnastics were morning activities while cricket, hockey, table-tennis, swimming, and rifle-shooting took place in the evenings. Everybody participated in one or more sport of his liking. The more capable ones became captains and members of school teams. Those left out became able spectators.
Once inside that room without oxygen, we always found Lady Justice away on maternity leave, an unbending judge on the bench, a defence attorney father who acted like the prosecution, the symbolic balance tipped in the accuser's favour and the sword unsheathed to do what it was designed to do.
Most boys took what came at them like men did: on the chin and without hiding under mommy’s skirt. That character strength helped much later in life.
As for the celibate Irish-Scottish Fathers who ran the school, they stayed aloof from womankind—something that was hotly debated by the boys. The fact remained: those men in white robes with green sashes were spiritually married to the church and therefore sadly childless. However, being far away from their home countries, they developed a penchant for venting out frustration and anger on defenceless boys.Science-project ‘granny’
That lengthy preface was necessary. Let us dive into the real story.
The tragedy of our English-medium missionary education had some comic relief in the form of a class-fellow named Mehmood Sial, a cheerful studious character who came from a well-off family and possessed cheeks as soft as a baby’s buttocks. Our science-teacher, Mr Fardy, perhaps seeing in Mehmood a glimpse of his own dead grandmother, bestowed upon him a nickname that stuck: granny.
Click on the links below to read about Mr. Fardy, my science teacher in class VIII-B:
We were all dangerous and thirteen. Our biological fathers insisted we offer five daily prayers to plant the fear of God in our hearts but being in an all-boys school, our brains received encrypted signals from a star named LESS SIRIUS-B that prompted many to perpetually entertain taboo thoughts about the opposite gender. None had an off switch. The level of testosterone remained off the charts.
During class, the pinching only happened when certain conditions were fulfilled by the teacher: he faced the blackboard; scribbled frantically; raised small clouds of white chalk-dust; had his hair and the suit covered with white powder, and, as a distant cousin of Snow White, was yell-bent on teaching the unteachable certain lessons within the forty-five minutes assigned to his ‘period’.
During such gaps, when granny was pinched and fidgeted, the teacher turned around to spot an inattentive boy and hurled a piece of chalk like a champion dart thrower. The reaction of his target always brought smiles on our faces which necessitated either bowing heads or covering mouths with hands, to avoid turning comedy into a greater tragedy. To be caught smiling in the middle of disciplinary proceedings was an open invitation to punishment which produced silent and expressionless laughter but with faces turned red.
Granny, why do you have such deep pockets?
Daily granny came ‘loaded’ with a ten Rupee note in his pocket which created silent greed and an inferiority complex in the brotherhood. Most only brought coins or crumpled one Rupee notes, while the poorest came to school empty-handed and went home empty-bellied.
Click on the links below to read about Miss Shama Utarid, English teacher in class V-B:
After class V-B our strange prayers to assorted deities remained unanswered and deprivation became our collective destiny. Until X-MB (Matric), we never had in front of the blackboards any fair Aphrodite, Freyja, Lakshmi, or Diana. Throughout the wonder years, all we got were mostly bearded male teachers beyond the age of man-o-pause and whose personalities made several boys harsh and bearded later in life.
Romantic crushes develop during adolescence without any regard for age, which is a universal truth. A name worth-mentioning here is that of Madame F. The fixation of many on her was living proof of a substantial fan-base. She was the class-teacher of VIII-A, in her mid-forties—three and a half times our average age—and an absolute top of the pops. Only God knew what fountain of youth she drank from; the passage of years had no effect on her.
Summer of 42, that movie about the end of innocence was released in April 1971 but an imaginary film was already projecting on the screens of the brains of senior students. In it, Madame F., as an attractive heroine, was paired with born-to-be-riled Brother Golden. That villainous hero would, a year later, become the school’s principal and our chief tormentor.
©Tahir Gul Hasan, 2026
Click on the links below to read about Mr. Nasiri, my Urdu teacher from the same class:
Boys tend to always think and speak unlike how girls do. These biological and psychological differences shall always result in each gender being poles apart. You are therefore requested to just enjoy the memoirs instead of raising objections over supposed political incorrectness or social unacceptability.
Daily granny came ‘loaded’ with a ten Rupee note in his pocket which created silent greed and an inferiority complex in the brotherhood. Most only brought coins or crumpled one Rupee notes, while the poorest came to school empty-handed and went home empty-bellied.
Granny’s ten Rupees wielded the power to feed ten chilled Coca Cola bottles of small size and twenty samosas at the school canteen to nine wretches. That never happened but whenever I put my arm around Granny's shoulder to declare, “You’re my best friend!” he got me a fair ration of one Coke and two samosas at the school canteen.
Granny never objected if I called him granny but felt offended when others did. On good days our friendship saved me one Rupee of daily allowance with which I bought spinning tops from Taj Deen, the nearby top-maker who got rich because of the patronage of the Anthonians.
Of beauties and beasts
Two years earlier in class V (five), section-B, we invoked—each according to his faith—Rama, Rahim, Jesus, and Ahura Mazda to answer our prayer for a young and pretty teacher. One of these deities then beamed down Miss Shama Utarid. To know her was to adore her.
Of beauties and beasts
Two years earlier in class V (five), section-B, we invoked—each according to his faith—Rama, Rahim, Jesus, and Ahura Mazda to answer our prayer for a young and pretty teacher. One of these deities then beamed down Miss Shama Utarid. To know her was to adore her.
Click on the links below to read about Miss Shama Utarid, English teacher in class V-B:
After class V-B our strange prayers to assorted deities remained unanswered and deprivation became our collective destiny. Until X-MB (Matric), we never had in front of the blackboards any fair Aphrodite, Freyja, Lakshmi, or Diana. Throughout the wonder years, all we got were mostly bearded male teachers beyond the age of man-o-pause and whose personalities made several boys harsh and bearded later in life.
Romantic crushes develop during adolescence without any regard for age, which is a universal truth. A name worth-mentioning here is that of Madame F. The fixation of many on her was living proof of a substantial fan-base. She was the class-teacher of VIII-A, in her mid-forties—three and a half times our average age—and an absolute top of the pops. Only God knew what fountain of youth she drank from; the passage of years had no effect on her.
Summer of 42, that movie about the end of innocence was released in April 1971 but an imaginary film was already projecting on the screens of the brains of senior students. In it, Madame F., as an attractive heroine, was paired with born-to-be-riled Brother Golden. That villainous hero would, a year later, become the school’s principal and our chief tormentor.
The art scene
During that Golden period of Anthonian history, our dark and foul-smelling latrines turned into an art gallery that featured artistic expression mixed with freestyle graffiti. On the walls of the school lavatories one saw unfiltered one-liners, brief summaries and graphic details about all alleged 'friendships' between the staff. The boys dragged in the dirt whomsoever they fancied or detested. It was their way of dispensing poetic justice and paying back the administration.
Throughout history, Art never oozed out of secure, comfortable or fragrant palaces. Our crude Anthonian folk Art remained exhibited on the toilet walls until it was painted over during the summer vacations. Once the boys returned in September to sit in new classes, the walls regained their former spicy glory to educate a new generation of students about the supposed carnal scandals.
END OF PART 1
This article shall be concluded in part 2.
Please come back for more.
💚
Click on the links below to read about Mr. Nasiri, my Urdu teacher from the same class:
Click on the link below to read about Mrs. Davies, my class teacher in class IV-B:
How to comment on this article?
The idea behind narrating true details, naming the teachers, hinting at their names or revealing the pet-names the students had given them is not—God forbid—to poke fun at them or show them unworthy of respect and admiration. Far from it. Most definitely, all of them are either deceased now or alive as respectable parents or grandparents. To pray for their departed souls or wish them good health in life is all I can do as an old Anthonian.
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The idea behind narrating true details, naming the teachers, hinting at their names or revealing the pet-names the students had given them is not—God forbid—to poke fun at them or show them unworthy of respect and admiration. Far from it. Most definitely, all of them are either deceased now or alive as respectable parents or grandparents. To pray for their departed souls or wish them good health in life is all I can do as an old Anthonian.
Boys tend to always think and speak unlike how girls do. These biological and psychological differences shall always result in each gender being poles apart. You are therefore requested to just enjoy the memoirs instead of raising objections over supposed political incorrectness or social unacceptability.
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