
My Memorable Maris Stella Days

It was at the end of the 70s that my sister Christine and I joined Maris Stella College, Vijayawada, for our Intermediate course. She took Zoology while I opted for Special English. Walking into Maris Stella hostel with our trunk, bucket, mug, mattress and other essentials, I went up and asked a girl standing nearby if she could direct us to Room No. 8 (that went on to be our room for the next two years). That girl was Rani, a senior Inter student, supposedly noted for ragging the newcomers. But thanks be to God, she said (sometime later) that when I went up to her and requested her help, any idea of ragging us sisters, dressed alike, vanished from her mind! We, in all innocence, never even knew that there was something called ragging. And thus commenced the two most beautiful years of my life in Maris Stella, a college that became a very dear part of me. Rani and Margorie Pouchon (pronounced push-on) were our immediate neighbours and Room No.5 had two very dear friends of ours, Papa, who was in her ll year BA and Anuradha, my classmate.
College life was interesting with classes and weekly assembly programmes when our Principal, Sr.Teresita spoke to us. My teachers were a lovely lot of intelligent women who made sure we did justice to our study. Ms. Mercy, my Civics teacher was as strict as they come and wanted nothing but the best for and from us. She would begin her class everyday with questions on the topic she taught the previous day. Woe betide you drew a blank, then you would not hear the end of her lecture of a different kind. No brownie points for guessing if I was a recipient of such lectures! But what really amazed me was Ms. Mercy’s marvellous memory at recalling every point in her subject and delivering it with such clarity. Ms. Renuka was a very soft person and would tell us off ever so mildly (when we failed to answer revision questions), “Myself asking questions; myself answering”. That was enough to start a ripple of giggles in the class, but dear Ms.Renuka was never perturbed. Ms.Annie Nazareth, our English teacher was a darling – cheerful, funny and approachable. Ms.Girija Nambiar, a stately lady was my French teacher. She had an impeccable sense of dressing and a profound teaching methodology. Ms.Arogyamma, my History teacher, was sweet and as strict as she was sincere to her subject and her profession. She sure knew how to put the fear of the Lord in us with just a look in our direction. I am very sure every one of those dear teachers in Maris Stella were (and are) loving, intelligent dear women, sincere to their Calling.
There was an evening when the Gold Spot (an orange-flavoured, carbonated drink) company came to college to hold its annual cool drink competition; the winner would be the one who were able to consume the most Gold Spots. I entered the competition definitely not with the idea of winning, but for the sheer joy of savouring the cold beverage, and that too, free of cost! Food and cool drinks and Betty was the best of buddies! This leads me to my wonderful hostel life at Maris Stella.
My dear sister was my perfect foil, she, studious, sincere to her study and serious about things, and me, forever on cloud nine! Life in the hostel started early in the morning, when an electric bell (that could well wake up the dead) rang out shrill, sharp and ear-splitting! After our ablutions, we Catholic girls went to the aesthetic little Chapel near the hostel for Mass. Our warden was the very dear Sr.Nula, an Irish nun whom all of us loved and feared at the same time. She loved every one of us too, I’m sure. Her’s was the first room and bang opposite, was her office where she met us when needed, and our parents/ guardians when they came to visit us. There appeared to be innumerable girls in the hostel that comprised of three floors. And we had to go in batches to the dining room for our meals. The dining hall itself was pretty large and airy and seniors and juniors mixed freely with one another. Every meal commenced with prayer by Sr.Nula who then went around to see if all of us had enough of each dish on our tables. After that she left us to enjoy our meal and conversations. Rosamma, a lively and lovely lady from the kitchen literally flitted around the tables happily replenishing near empty bowls. Rosamma took a special liking to us and always gave me extra appalams that were my favourite. Still are. Old habits die hard, right! The many workers and helpers were truly a merry band of loving, hardworking women. Christine and I would, sometimes, go behind the large kitchen and chat with them and I am certain they loved those tête-à-têtes as much as we did. Evenings saw streams of girls strolling leisurely to the canteen, and from there to the other gate to buy chilli bajjis from the push-cart vendor, Ramakrishna. Those chilli bajjis should have been patented for they were by far the world’s best!
Sundays found us Catholic girls walk down to the Cathedral nearby for Mass; the only time we got to interact with the outside world. Breakfast on Sundays was again one of my favourites – Samosas, the triangular, flat ones stuffed with onions, chopped coriander leaves and spices, all in perfect proportion that made them utterly irresistible! Invariably there would quite a lot leftover by the time we returned from Church, and I, well, I believe in making hay while the sun shines! Those were my glorious days of gluttony, I guess!
We had strict study hours, early morning, before dinner and then again between 8 and 10 in the night. The bell was the harbinger of wake-up time, meals and study time – a death knell to girls like me who found it difficult to sit put even for a short while! Dear Sr.Nula would be on her rounds during study hours to make sure we were all at our study tables. But by now I am certain that you know Betty the Brat! Sitting down to study for two consecutive hours was sheer torture for me. So naturally, the minute Sr.Nula crossed our room, I would tell my sister dear that I was going to a friend’s room, and off I’d be. One night during study hour I was in Anuradha’s room, chatting with Papa, when she saw Sister returning and signaled me with her eyes. I did the best thing I could in so short a time… roll right under Anu’s cot and pray fervently not to get caught! Sr.Nula chose that exact moment to step into the room to speak with Papa. Lying on my stomach, trembling, my heart in my mouth, I was sure that even dear Sister could hear its loud thudding! At other times if Sister found me not in my room during study hour, my dear sister would sweetly tell her that I went to the bathroom. Looking back, I think dear Sr.Nula might have known of the various pranks we girls played, but in all goodness, chose to turn a blind eye to such innocent fun. When medical personnel came to the hostel to give us our inoculation, I was so nervous that as my turn approached, I’d go to the end of the queue. But the end did arrive, and after breaking all of my finger knuckles, took hold of a friend’s hand and commenced breaking her knuckles as well.
Accompanying Papa (as reporter) to a Fair for one of her journalism assignments, we happened to return quite late (with permission). By then our security, the dear Seetharamaiah, had locked the gate and gone on his rounds hostel-side. A proud progeny of my ape ancestors, I scrambled up the very high gate, climbed down into campus, ran all the way to the hostel where I saw our security and apprised him of the situation. When we came to open the gate, poor Papa looked a picture of patience personified!
I took part in most of the cultural programmes in the hostel as well as college. Christine and I were in the Irish dance that was part of the dance drama for college day. And guess who trained us? You are spot on dear friend. It was none other than dear Sr.Nula! Her nimble-foot movements and agility had me mesmerized. We didn’t let her down, dancing the Irish dance with abandon on stage, our green skirts complementing our white shirts and green cape fluttering from our left shoulder. I was also in a Lambadi dance, dressed in typical attire, ghoonghat and thick bangles that went from wrist right up to the arms. Christine and I also had the opportunity to add tennis and hockey to our repertoire of sports and games.
The two golden years at Maris Stella have blessed me with a lifetime of very fond memories of people and experiences that have helped mould me in more ways than I can imagine. Never knew that almost half a century later I would be at my table recounting the memorable moments that make Maris Stella another shining star in the firmament of my life, and in the life of all those who passed through her portals.
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This Post Has One Comment
You drew such a word picture, I can visualize every bit what you have shared. Nostalgic!