Elsamma, the narrator's sister, who lovingly took care of him before and after he joined the residential school; the matron; the confusion that mixed-up roll numbers created; reading out news on the stage; climbing coconut trees; buying 'Goldspot' with a few rupees; drinking bonji (lemonade)...
Ramesh Babu, retired naval officer, has woven all these flavours of Sainik School at Kazhakuttom into his compilation of short stories entitled After you sir. The title itself is drawn from the manner in which students at the residential school often told each 'after you'. Years after the author left school, he meets a young man who, in the course of a conversation, says, "After you, sir". This triggers off a wave of nostalgia about the school, which incidentally is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year.
All this nostalgia is fine, but when it runs into 250-odd pages, there are bound to be repetitions. Through the course of reading the collection, you get to read similar anecdotes: the confusion over roll numbers, for instance, keeps making an appearance in every other story. Or anecdotes about the dhobi, the students contracting infections, etc.
All this nostalgia is also fine, if one has had a similar Sainik school upbringing.
Then, this book is just for you. Not that the stories have no connect with the rest of us who haven't had a Sainik school background.
There are certain stories that appeal at a universal level. The story of Elsamma, the narrator's sister, who has sold all her jewellery for her brother's education, is touching. So are the anecdotes of some students dropping out owing to poverty and other pressures at home.
Long descriptive passages about coconut tree climbing, plucking the coconut, etc., take away from the literary quality of the stories. Stories (if you can call some of them that) revolving around the many kinds of trees in the school campus, hardly hold the reader's attention.
What does, is the short story about 'Flash' and 'Splash', the two newsletters the students at Sainik school came up with and circulated secretly. The students get caned when they are caught. Karadi Tales revolves around how a certain teacher was called karadi (bear) in school, and though the teacher knows who the culprit is, he doesn't punish him because he cares for the student's future.
A moving story, one which reflects the loftiness and maturity of the teacher. It also shows how the mischief of a youngster in class can often go too far and could have consequences on other levels.
And yet, the collection leaves you disappointed. If only the characters were fleshed out better, if only the author had managed to condense the stories into a fewer number, maybe we would be reading a far better collection by now.
What is in our hands, though, is a collection that tries to fit in as many memories and anecdotes as possible.
Even as the author tries to bring out every shade of his colourful alma mater, the acknowledgement at the beginning of the book lowers expectations even before you start reading. "I am neither a Chetan Bhagat nor a Rashmi Bansal," he says. But why should he aspire to be either of them?
Ramesh Babu, retired naval officer, has woven all these flavours of Sainik School at Kazhakuttom into his compilation of short stories entitled After you sir. The title itself is drawn from the manner in which students at the residential school often told each 'after you'. Years after the author left school, he meets a young man who, in the course of a conversation, says, "After you, sir". This triggers off a wave of nostalgia about the school, which incidentally is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year.
All this nostalgia is fine, but when it runs into 250-odd pages, there are bound to be repetitions. Through the course of reading the collection, you get to read similar anecdotes: the confusion over roll numbers, for instance, keeps making an appearance in every other story. Or anecdotes about the dhobi, the students contracting infections, etc.
All this nostalgia is also fine, if one has had a similar Sainik school upbringing.
Then, this book is just for you. Not that the stories have no connect with the rest of us who haven't had a Sainik school background.
There are certain stories that appeal at a universal level. The story of Elsamma, the narrator's sister, who has sold all her jewellery for her brother's education, is touching. So are the anecdotes of some students dropping out owing to poverty and other pressures at home.
Long descriptive passages about coconut tree climbing, plucking the coconut, etc., take away from the literary quality of the stories. Stories (if you can call some of them that) revolving around the many kinds of trees in the school campus, hardly hold the reader's attention.
What does, is the short story about 'Flash' and 'Splash', the two newsletters the students at Sainik school came up with and circulated secretly. The students get caned when they are caught. Karadi Tales revolves around how a certain teacher was called karadi (bear) in school, and though the teacher knows who the culprit is, he doesn't punish him because he cares for the student's future.
A moving story, one which reflects the loftiness and maturity of the teacher. It also shows how the mischief of a youngster in class can often go too far and could have consequences on other levels.
And yet, the collection leaves you disappointed. If only the characters were fleshed out better, if only the author had managed to condense the stories into a fewer number, maybe we would be reading a far better collection by now.
What is in our hands, though, is a collection that tries to fit in as many memories and anecdotes as possible.
Even as the author tries to bring out every shade of his colourful alma mater, the acknowledgement at the beginning of the book lowers expectations even before you start reading. "I am neither a Chetan Bhagat nor a Rashmi Bansal," he says. But why should he aspire to be either of them?