The Mid-School Anathema

The first 5 years of the new millennia saw me don the Blue and Whites for P.S. Senior Secondary School, a well-known and respected educational institution in the heart of Mylapore - One of Chennai’s oldest localities with a proud history dating back to well over a millennium. I spent the major chunk of my Mid Schooling (Grades 6 to 10 to be precise) in this period, an age of adolescence, prelapsarian simplicities and happy childhood memories. I recently passed by my alma mater and old memories came gushing back. Then I started wondering, as I started reminiscing, what was the single ever thing that was dreaded the most by every student who studied here. Would it be the ‘Pei’ (a supposed ghost that was believed to haunt the school precincts) that resided near the watchman’s hut in the school backyard? Or was it our Mathematics teacher’s process of public shaming by correcting exam answer papers in class and rending those of the underperformers to pieces in front of all the students? Or was it the Physics Madam whose society no sane pupil would contemplate treading upon? Or would it be our P.T.Master who was infamous for administering innovative methods of corporal punishment in the name of disciplinarian action for erring students?

Hmm, no doubt these would certainly classify under the heading of ‘List of Repugnant School Horrors’ but was there something else which stood above all? Nothing I thought would fit the bill till it all came back to me. The ultimate anathema or Bete Noire (for want of a more accurate word) – The Omission Chart or more popularly known as the ‘Black Mark Chart’!

Before thoughts likening Black Marks to Black Death or Black Plague even begin to surface, I can assure you that this was no way close to the aforesaid latter examples. Indeed it was much worse! Or atleast that was the general perception among students. In short, the Black Mark Chart was in fact in pure terms a piece of chart paper pasted on the wall juxtaposing the board. But the contents smeared all over the paper were viewed with a jaundiced eye by every single pupil who wished for a time to time adventurous deviation from the blueprint laid out for the ‘Code of Conduct’. This chart was nothing of the sort you might find a bunch of NASA astronauts working on before a rocket launch nor is it as complex as the one scientists are peering at the CERN’s headquarters. It merely contained 1500 small evil treacherous boxes of pure destruction (1500 is just an approximate guess (50x30) 50 assuming to be the number of students in the class and 30 was the upper limit on the permissible number of black marks a student could afford getting). A black mark in short was a signature the teacher would place upon in a cell when she caught an errant student in his act. The student might have dozed off, or talked in class, or not finished his homework, punched a rival in the stomach, pulled the hair of a bystanding girl or anything for that matter.

The rules of the game were as follows. You were in safe zone as long as your count remained in single digits. The instant you got your tenth blackmark, you were almost immediately pulled by the collar and hauled up before the principal for a day long punishment, that involved vitriolic outbursts, written apologies, summoning up of parents and shaming in front of them and not to forget being subjected to the ignominy of the spectacle being witnessed with Schadenfreudian joy by hundreds of students who would think of a hundred reasons to pay visits for this very purpose, to the admin office that was right next to the principal’s den. The next day you were back to class but certainly a laughing stock for the next few days. Then you get another leeway to conduct your boisterous activities. If you managed to touch 20, you’ll pay another visit to the gallows. If at all the Mt. 30 was peaked before the culmination of the academic year, your name would supposedly be struck off the rolls and you are free to search for another educational institution.

The journey of the chart began at the start of the academic year, roundabout June, freshly pasted, milk white coloured, containing the names of all the students on rollcall. By the end of first week, the mischievous and unruly elements would have already started incurring wrath from the teachers and a few signatures would be typically visible. Within a month, a common scene in the lunch break would typically entail feisty debates on who the top contenders would be for the first day long at the principal’s office. Very soon, the rowdier specimens true to their form would start doing day long trips and once they returned, condescending looks would be exchanged among the brighter minds and the more well-disciplined birds. Within 2-3 days all becomes normal and soon the rowdier elements would start displaying their incorrigible character again and by the turn of the New Year, a few cap a score of blackmarks. Another day long follows. By this time, they would already be branded as dregs of humanity and very nearly ostracized by the majority of class pupils. Their general standing among their peers would have been relegated to that of sharks at a bathing resort.  So these specimens now having nothing to lose unleash themselves without any restraint and start becoming a menace to the society at large.

Anyway, now that you have gotten a gist of what this entire rigmarole is about, I’ll get to the more juicier and entertaining part – the various situations and transpiration of events that could lead to obtaining blackmarks. There were certain teachers who took out all their pent up frustration in life in the form of doling out blackmarks. The most prominent person that springs to the mind was a Mathematics teacher, who simply loved autographing the chart for every conceivable reason. I can fondly recall a classic example. In my 8^th grade, on one particular afternoon period post lunch, he was involved in a conversation with his favourite student – a studious girl who had recently joined the school from the National Capital. His typical flirtatious gag ‘Dilliwali Kya Baat Hai’ was met with a well-planned counter in the form of ‘Sir, Bisi Bela Bath’ by one of the tough eggs in the back bench. Where the tough egg might have gone wrong was in the supposition that this gag might be viewed as hilarious. The motive was partly met for the class broke into peals of laughter, but sadly not by the person to whom the humour was intended. With flames shooting out of his eyes, the teacher executed a perfect pirouette act on his feet, marched upto the chart and nonchalantly signed his name 3 times against the tough egg’s name. Then there was this crafts teacher who never failed to enter the class armed without a pen. And she would straightaway proceed to the chart with the ink resting on the paper warning the class to maintain an air of respectable reticence. Her overall attitude was one of a medieval executioner wielding his axe at some unfortunate woman with her head on the chopping block condemned to death on account of witchcraft. Another example was our Sanskrit Teacher, a religious man who wore Dhotis to school with his forehead adorned with 3 broad lines of white ash. This man was a rather simple guy. He didn’t put on airs, went about his job of teaching Verb conjugations, Shlokas and often regaled us with stories from the Holy Scriptures. But one thing that was capable of turning him into a bloke with an almost murderous zeal was the sight of pupils playing ‘Pen Fight’ or ‘Pen Game’ one of the most popular games played on school benches across the length and breadth of the country. To a man who considered every single piece of stationery item as a sacred relic and a reincarnation of the Goddess Saraswathi herself, indulging in this favourite pastime was almost tantamount to committing sacrilege! An otherwise passive person, at the sight of this game, he jerked into a fit of violent spasm and almost immediately galloped towards the chart, like a war horse at the sound of the bugle, to do the honours.

Towards the end of the academic year, say about March, a few pupils would have perilously lurked close to double digits (Including yours truly many times). Whenever they sensed that they were on the brink of the ultimate reprimand, heart rending scenes would ensue. Students literally jumped in a rather simian fashion and held tightly onto the teacher’s foot pleading for mercy. Some would go and place their finger thus covering the 10^th cell against their name while the teacher would almost start signing on the finger! A few times the beseeching would not go in vain. The English teacher was once on the verge of condemning a tough egg to his doom, but so strong was the latter’s cri de couer, that she eventually gave in and granted him presidential pardon. I strongly feel, having taught Shakespeare’s ‘Merchant of Venice’ to the class a few days back, she might have felt of what use is teaching pupils that the ‘The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven’ if she could not practice what she preached!

On the last day of the academic year, a few days before the commencement of the final exams, around the end of March, the class would break into raptures of joy after the final bell. The rowdier elements would charge like a group of thirsty buffaloes on sighting a watering hole and tear apart the chart to shreds and start bellowing profanities. The overall feeling for them, rather us, I'd say for I was part of this party several times, was nearly comparable to winning the cricket world cup. In a word ‘Utopian’!

That was the end of the Black Mark chart for the nonce, but it would be back stronger than ever in its rebirth at the start of the next academic year !