Stephania - Half a Century Ago - Suresh Narain

The author Suresh Narain joined the College in 1947, graduated in 1950 (History Honours) and left in 1951 halfway through his M.A.

Admission:  There was a special place in St. Stephen's for sons of old Stephanians and for Dilliwalas. There was no secret about it. The college declared it and was proud of it. In return it had the loyalty of all Stephanians- old and those on the rolls. As the son of one old Stephanian, the grandson of another, and a native of Delhi I was never in any doubt that I belonged at St. Stephen's. Come the day of admission, my father brought me to the college, we had a pleasant meeting with Principal Rajaram. The Principal was neither a student nor on the faculty when my father was at College. There were many mutual acquaintances, however, about whom they talked: mainly about Late Principal Mukarji who was greatly admired both by my father and Principal Rajaram. The Principal's secretary was called in; asked to hand me an application form, which I filled. I was to come for the Assembly on the morrow.

That done, my father took me to the staff room. I was to meet the faculty who happened to be there. I met Dr. Azhar Ali, who was a professor when my father was in College and for whom he had the greatest affection; Bose Saheb who had then, as in my father's day, a unique place in the hearts of the student body; Dr. Ram Behari, a family connection and a person who inspired great awe for his standing as scholar and Mr. Eruch Kapadia, who to my great good fortune, I was to know quite well. 

Such was the homecoming- for that is what it was. The faculty with whom I met that day were familiar names- often the subject talk amongst family and friends who preceded me in College. Looking back across half a century, the four years I spent in College, increased immeasurably, the deference and regards I instinctively accorded to the faculty that day. I was conscious also that day that I would forever have the onus of living up to the standards expected by these teachers. This realization was to show me the way at many critical junctures in my life.

The Work Ethos: Without doubt my happiest memories of College are the hours I spent in the libraries at the College and the University. Going to 'Authority' texts for supplementing class notes or preparing papers for tutorials and seminars: the opportunity to learn rather than be taught. This was the fulfillment of the essential purpose of going to College, an essential part of the adventure on the threshold of Life.

Also a part of adventure was a single room in the Residence, and freedom from the collective discipline and routine of school.Those who excelled at scholastics or sport claimed 'leader' status in the student body. There were of course 'heroes'- self proclaimed mostly- who gloried in claims of cutting classes, and other liberties with discipline. But that was more rhetoric and bravado than fact. There were no habitual absentees. In fact cases of disciplinary action for absenteeism were rare- if any. We lived in a culture of earnestness.

College playing fields in Kashmiri Gate, where ISBT is now located, teemed with students in pursuit of their sport. Many with ambitions of representing the College and those already established as team members were of course regulars; but also regular were a legion of those who played for the love of the sport. It was the legion of these sportsmen who received the greatest encouragement from Bose Saheb. 

There were also debates and plays. Along with sports these were on par with scholastics in their importance as worthwhile pursuits. Study for debates and rehearsals for plays were serious business and selection for representing the College was much sought after. All work and no play ? The seminars and the active theatre provided a lot of fun too. Rehearsals for plays also meant working with Miranda House girls, and that was an added incentive. St. Stephen's was a men's college. Many a pleasant friendship was formed to endure long after the plays were done with. To have a girl's hostel on the campus was unthinkable 50 years ago. Happily this has changed. 

At seminars extempore expressions reflecting enthusiasm rather than scholastic pursuit were not unknown: some of them hilarious. At a seminar on whether India should join the Commonwealth- it was a hot subject of discussion everywhere at that time -One such created memorable use of the English language. There was this prominent student- one of the few who had a motorbike in those days- from an area close to Delhi from where St. Stephen's drew a fair share of its student 
body- who got up to make a comment. To quote this dissertation verbatim- "If India joins the Commonwealth and he-sorry she wants help from Russia, she - sorry he-will say, Yaar, how can I help you..."

Surender Verma and I were doing a play. It had a cast of two: Shakespeare and Burbadge. As Shakespeare I was meant to go on-stage and say, 'Do you know who I am? I am William Shakespeare.' As I finished the first part of my opening speech, there were shouts from the hall,'Suresh! Suresh!' A committed thespian would be expected to ad lib his way through this. I did, I am glad to say.

Much as we respected the faculty we were not above poking fun at them. Even the Principal got his share. In a skit on the Merchantof Venice, one of the hazards posed to suitors for Portia's  hand was a ride up the Ridge in the Principal's car-an ancient looking black machine of uncertain vintage and the most awesome reputation for breaking down.

Worth repeating is an exchange from the same skit: 

Bassanio:

You know Antonio, today when I saw Portia near the Coffee House she looked at me and smiled!

Antonio:

Why old boy, that is nothing. When I first saw you, I burst out laughing!



The opening lines of a qawwali identified and tutored by Dr. Abedi and Mr. Amin went something like this- 

Ham aisee kul kitaben kabile zabti samajhte hain Ke jin ko padhke, ladake bap ko khabhee samajhte hain.

We should like to confiscate all such books, after reading which boys find their fathers crazy.

(Akbar Ilahabadi) 


The occasion, I think, was a function at which a number of old Stephanians were to be present.
The Penguin Club: Creativity came in all forms. One manifestation was the Penguin Club. It was a private group not beholden to or in any way recognized by authority. Its stated purpose was to dine in a formal setting, and use only of King's English (there was a King on the throne of England at the time). An unmentionable fate awaited anyone who fell from this standard, while the club was in session. 

Reservations were made in advance; the club convened in the College and proceeded to the dinner venue. We were an impecunious lot despite our ambitions. So meetings could be held only once a month and the mode of conveyance was a bicycle! One's own or borrowed. There we were- perhaps half a dozen of us in dinner jackets or other formals puffing up the Ridge. Once before dinner and once after! 

On one occasion a member spilt his coffee. There was a breathless hush. Normally such a situation would have provoked an outburst of expletives far removed from King's English. But no. The Penguin Club was in session. The former owner of the spilt coffee eventually finished composing his sentence and amidst an audible silence, said carefully, "Gentlemen - the coffee is spilt!" There were to be no forfeits performed after the dinner. There was no fall from the Gold Standard.

Ram Dhun: The evening of January 30th 1948 found Stephanians in their usual pursuits. remember I was at cricket nets at the Darling Sports Club, on the Jamuna bank where the Tibetan bazaar is now located. I heard the unbelievable news as I dropped in at the family home in Civil Lines on my way to the College. 

In the College, the Criterion, called into Special Session after dinner, met in gloom. The President spoke and said Indians faced the prospect off being ostracized like the Jews of Europe. An Apostle of Peace had been killed. Those responsible for the earlier killing had to wander homeless for six centuries. 

Later that night, all of us in the Residence formed a column some 80 strong. Over the Ridge, through Mori Gate, past New Delhi railway station, through CP we marched to what was then Birla House. We chanted Ram Dhun, as any group of pilgrims would have done. We reached after midnight and joined the queue to pay our last respects.

We were prepared to march back. Mercifully, buses were provided by a government until then sympathetic and sensitive. We rode back in pensive silence, each one grieving for a loss that was intense and personal.

All the World's A Stage: They walked tall, the members of the faculty. No account of the College would be complete without a personal tribute to those who touched our lives at that sensitive 
stage. This I must do now: 

Within a few minutes of Mr. Amin starting his first lecture the air was electric. All of us in the History Honours course were awaiting the new professor who was to teach the Muslim Period. We were not however, prepared for the demands he was to make on our scholastic stamina. Due attention during lectures was normal. The History faculty was good. But Mr. Amin was, as they say, something else! He delivered his lectures at such a fast clip that a century could be missed in 
a momentary lapse of attention. He spoke, without drawing breath it seemed, during the entire lecture. He quoted authorities generously and provoked you to look up more. It was during the course of one such pursuit that Mr. Amin's photographic memory came to light. He could quote page after page without dropping a comma! Although scarcely older than his students, he commanded rapt attention and soon his classes grew overcrowded.

The Shanklands, cast very much in the mould of 'Mr. and Mrs. Chipps,' lived in the faculty residence in Allnutt South. Strong in the charm department, both had warmth that can come only with genuine interest in the young people they were helping to guide. Students were asked to tea, and first readings of plays to be staged in the College were very often at their house. The outstanding memory of these gatherings, across the gulf of all these years, is the stimulating conversation and much laughter. The learning process continued after hours in a most enjoyable way.Ian Shankland taught History and his wife, Elspeth helped students with dramatics and debates. Mr. Shankland's notes for class lectures were full of bits of paper patched to the original pages - obviously revised and constantly updated. He would deliver his lectures with great concentration and the only time he was seen to lose his cool was when our friend of the '...He sorry she' episode created a distraction outside his class. The Constitution of India got enacted while we were in College. Mr. Shankland took us through the provisions practically as they were passed by the Constituent Assembly. His lectures on the subject were laced with erudite comparisons with the constitutions of the great democracies of the world. 

As a student of History Honours, I was privileged to be under the tutelage of Eruch Kapadia. He lectured in a relaxed conversational style, with great fluency, walking about the classroom and occasionally going to the podium to look at his notes. His mastery of his subject was striking. He had an equanimity that never faltered and a voice that was always even and full of quiet confidence. He was a small-made man but a colossus in the classroom. He took great trouble to go through tutorial assignments submitted by his students. His comments were incisive and challenging. I ascribe to Eruch Kapadia my enjoyment of scholastic work in College and the joy I have taken for half a century, in the memory of that endeavour. For this I owe him everlasting gratitude.

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