Imagine for a moment that you are standing in front
of a skeleton, a tall one. Its limbs
dangle loosely, the skull and the involuntary smirk send a shiver up your spine
and the demeanour is thoughtful, almost pensive. Now, add a layer of fair skin to this
skeleton, a pair of non-descript eyes, a light brown suit and bowler hat and
you would get Luke D’Souza.
You could do the reverse too: add a smile to Luke
and you’d get a skeleton (now that’s creeping you out).
He taught us geography and history (Luke, not the
skeleton) and quite rightfully so, for he was a walking relic himself, his tall
gangly body carrying the typically British suit – entirely out of place on a
summer day in Bangalore – while striding down the grim, unlit corridor leading
to our class.
In our days in school, there were two kinds of
history books: those that were horrible and others that were unreadable. Luke would read out from a brain-numbing tome
in a flat, low, deflated monotone, sometimes adding a sentence while staring at
an imaginary Alauddin Khilji on the wall.
And we would listen. Well,
truthfully, we would pretend to listen while doing the following things:
-
Play book cricket (now an extinct game,
thankfully. It reduced my IQ to around
27)
-
Pass notes onto others who would pass notes onto
others who would pass….(you get the drift)
-
Doodle.
There were two variations – doodling in our books or in the books of others
(where creative forms of expression were at their peak)
-
Carving on the desks. This requires explanation: the desks, having been used by generations of
carvers, were like the roads in Defence Colony and hence required
Mohen ja daro-like excavations to be enriched.
This, in turn, required an annual supply of compasses, most of which
were supplied (unwillingly) by Sarosh Guzder, whose dad was wealthy enough to
buy first-hand geometric boxes.
There were two things we would never do in The
Skeleton’s class:
-
Laugh
-
Throw paper at anyone (which was otherwise our
national sport)
..for these crimes called for capital punishment
and the impact of Luke The Skeleton’s bones on you stayed around for a few
days.
He was in charge of a dreadful activity called figure-running
in our Annual Day, that was supposed to highlighted collaboration, but,
instead, showcased carefully-controlled-chaos.
He would be in a bad temper every year at this time and everyone - even
the pariah kites that stole our lunches - avoided him. And, when this was all over and we were back
in class, Life (and our excavation) went back to normal.
The other day, I saw a skeleton in a lab, that
looked eerily like him and (was I imagining this?) smirked as I slunk
away. Luke-the-Skeleton’s place in
History isn’t assured, but if I am right in my guess, his place in Biology is.
