JUMPING JACK DADDY!

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JUMPING JACK DADDY!

Jan 18 2008 | Views 584 |

“My college absolutely rocked because...I was their rocker extraordinaire,” my father used to say all the time. He’s 79 today. I asked him if he could create a draft about those years in college. He agreed to try. He has a computer at home, but he’s not in cahoots with the tricky computer keyboard. I type with two fingers while he types with just one. The microscopic icons on his blinking monitor have been the focus of numerous training sessions with him. Simple pen and paper no longer work because his aged hands tremble a lot. So, instead of waiting for him to produce his digitized masterpiece, I thought of saving time by doing it myself. Here is a brief glimpse into his college life based on a couple of funny incidents he has shared with us over the years.

Bangalore’s Central College was my father’s alma mater. He studied Bachelor of Science from 1948 to 1950. According to him, his Science classes comprising of Physics, Chemistry and Mathematics were so boring that he had his own special way of dealing with the drab lectures. He used to head straight for the back benches in his auditorium style classrooms and instruct one of his faithful buddies to make notes for him. After taking care of this critical business, he would quietly lie down on one of the long benches and take a nice long nap. Apart from the extraordinary efforts he took within the class rooms to secure a good education, he also wanted to try a couple of extra curricular activities relating to physical education. His college had openings for students to join the army wing of the NCC (National Cadet Corps). The college also had a boxing gym which drew a lot of young men aspiring to flex their muscles and test their luck.

My father was no exception. He was around 19 when he first registered with the NCC. The training according to him was rigorous. They started their mornings very early by jogging around Kempe Gowda Circle which was the epicenter of the city. The instructor had a series of exercise routines which had to be obeyed in order to make the grade. One of them was called the “Zameen Chodo” routine (meaning leave the ground). The instructor would halt the group of jogging men smack in the middle of the city and suddenly yell “Zameen Chodo!” The cadets were given a minute or two to scramble and ascend whatever was within reach and stay up there until ordered to dismount. The idea was to force them to come up with creative ideas and find ways to leave the ground at any cost, period. The ones who failed to do so were obviously punished in some form.

My father was very smart although he was not exactly quick on his feet. He always preferred using his brain over brawn. He found it tedious to run and climb on to poles, trees, window ledges and such other lofty places, all the while competing with other faster and robust students. So, on one such round, he was standing right next to the instructor when the “Zameen Chodo” command was bellowed. Without wasting a second’s thought, my daddy jumped on the instructor’s back and hung on to him for dear life! The irate instructor struggled to get the monkey off his back. Needless to say, this unexpected turn of events caused quite a commotion. All the other cadets suppressed their smiles but secretly applauded my father’s nerve to carry out such a brilliant idea. As for the poor instructor, he had no control over the way his command was going to get executed the next time. Students were jumping on each other’s back every time they were asked to leave ground. So to save his back, the instructor changed his style a bit. He would command "Zameen Chodo” and immediately start darting away from the chaotic scene as fast as he could!

The second funny incident happened inside his college’s boxing gym. My father, who had been a silent observer for sometime, decided to rig up his fists with a pair of gloves. He knew all the moves even though he had never set foot within the ring. Unfortunately, he had not paid much attention to the critical do’s and don’ts of boxing. He did not think that this rather barbaric game had any rules beyond beating the hell out of his opponent. This was his first time facing the boxing instructor. His adrenalin was already pumping even before the first jab came towards his body. The first few punches from the hefty instructor were enough for my father to throw all rules out the window. He was now a cornered kitty! He mustered all his strength to throw one strong wallop with his fist across the instructor’s face, hitting him right in the nose! That was it, brother! This instructor was seething mad! With his iron fists, he delivered a series of hard-hitting, stomach-wrenching blows to my poor father who was now moving like a rag doll.

When the volley ended, my father took one look at the instructor, removed his gloves right then and there and raced out of the rings never to return! He returned to boxing several years later, but only within the safe confines of his living room while watching the matches on TV.

This third incident, although unrelated to my father, happened a few years earlier in the Psychology Lab. In 1938, the professor of the lab had devised a novel technique to read brain’s pulses for reactions to stimulus. My father remembers this as a great achievement those days considering that the science of Psychology was still in its nascent stages. A visiting British dignitary was given a tour of the lab by the professor who was keen on testing his new invention on the visitor. The professor claimed that he could tell this visitor’s wife’s name just by using his unique contraption. With the dignitary’s permission, the professor attached electrodes to strategic places on the skin so as to measure electrical pulses. After completing the connections, the professor took out a long list of women’s names and started reading them out aloud, one by one. Each time, the electrical responses were recorded based on particular names and a shorter second list was compiled. Every time, the field was narrowed down to the final list of most likely names. Eventually, one name stood out after it consistently recorded stimulus from the dignitary’s brain. The professor confidently dismantled all the connections and declared the final name as being the wife’s name. The visitor looked at the professor rather bewildered and shocked. He turned to others in the room and told them to be careful with the contraption and its powers. He disclosed that the final name actually did not belong to his wife at all. It was his mistress’s sweet name!

After graduating from Central College my father specialized in metallurgy, in particular foundry and forge. He retired several years ago as a senior metallurgical engineer from Hindustan Aeronautics Limited but his college days have remained forever forged in his memory. Incidents such as the above bring a smile to anyone who listens to him some 60 years after they happened. I just felt the need to share his little stories in writing since he is not able to share them on his own.
Typing, just like physical fitness, has never been Daddy's forte.
This song is for my Dad only!

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