The multitude of birds at Vasanta Vihar on Greenways Road stopped chirping on Sunday morning to listen to the happy chatter, sounds of long-remembered songs and animated conversation that permeated the air in front of the main building. Called by former Davis Cup player Rabi Venkatesan, the first group of students (1949-64) of Rishi Valley School had gathered for their 50th year reunion. On hand to remind them of their “sweet valley” days was their beloved Venks sir (S.V. Venkatachalam). There was much to recall for these Golden Decaders.
Palpable pride and warmth filled the nostalgia-wrapped recounting. “I do original work,” said Dev Mohan, chemical consultant. “I was taught to look at all aspects of questions, go behind opinions, avoid snap assumptions.” There were exams to pass, but there was no punishment for failing. “Teachers were unconventional, they simply asked us to set it right the next time.”
Amazing fate that we got there, said Kishore Ullal, ex-MNC boss. “From 8-16, I was in this paradise, enveloped in Nature, sensitised to birds, trees, rock formations. After 60 years I remember it like it was yesterday.” Teachers were polymaths, went beyond Physics/Chemistry/Maths to introduce them to a world of ideas. Don’t conform, they said, use your rational mind, but with love and consideration for others. Discipline was through persuasion. It was a nascent, experimental set-up. “Lessons like ‘observe, examine things for yourself’ make sense now.”
She and her sister (eight and 10) begged to be sent to this “magical Shangri-La” because of what their “railway cousins” had told them, said Reva Gokhale-Savkar, Professor, Virginia Community College. She never missed home, “the core of my being blossomed and flowered in RVS.” Mahalakshmi akka let her take leather-work lessons from craftsmaster David Hosborough during Maths classes, and when she returned after three months of making purses/belts, “there was no ‘You missed classes, you are behind’. There was no ahead-behind.”
Maya Kodange-Kalyanpur a writer and teacher and her brothers joined RVS because of “father’s job”. Education was about exploration, experimentation, she said. Liberating, said Punekar Sujit Patwardan. There was no need to bluff, teachers said I don’t know. It was okay for boys to cry. “I was insecure I couldn’t speak English well, couldn’t play football, but these weren’t problems. I played cricket, Raju mama encouraged me to paint.”
I discovered myself at RVS, said Maya. “I learnt to play the sitar, do carpentry.” She was taught English by Ms. Yarrow, art by Peter Ballen, an aggressive vegan. “He once stood with a knife over dissection in Biology class and thundered, what if I cut you up like this? It was great experiential learning.” Asha Williams from Philadelphia was at the reunion to renew her “holistic connection” with RVS mates. Like siblings, we make fun of each other, she said. Lack of regimentation made his parents choose RVS for him, said Kannan Thiyagarajan, father of documentary film-maker Swati Thiyagarajan. “I was in competition for “dull”, Mr. Pearce took me in.” Fourteen years — and not once was he made to feel awkward, he said. “We still carry a sense of wonder.”
Captain Navin-Chandra Sarma who was in the Merchant Navy was placed under Dr. Balasundaram’s care, so he wouldn’t get into trouble. Rishi-Valleyites stand out, said Malathi who remembers folk-dancing with boys till the early hours. “For me it was 10 years of great atmosphere, food.” Food was utilitarian, protested Col. (retd.) Baskar Shirali, who remembers Naidu sir bending the ball better than Beckham. “He hit a goal from a corner in one shot.”
It was the 6:1 student-teacher ratio that made the institution great, said Rabi Venkatesan. Teachers knew each student well, “we did Astachal — sit in pyjamas to see the sun go down, re-wind, review the day’s work.” Locals taught them Kannada/Telugu village songs, they visited the school often. Village kids were students too, “one Venkatappa excelled in bowling”. RV friendships are for life, said Jayakumar Reddy. Civic sense was made important, said Shrivallabh Kothari.
Jyothi Hazra (1949-58) remembers sobbing his heart out when dropped near Red House at age four-and-a-half. “Hearing a chorus behind me, I turned to see a bunch of kids sobbing away. Why are you crying, I asked. They said, we cry because you cry. I was miserable for two years, but it is the sense of fellowship that sustained me.”
J. Krishnamurti, who founded the school was the supreme mentor. He came often, his presence was divine. He would walk to the river, kids running after him. He would pick up a leaf, tell them about its colour/vein. “Observe” was his constant lesson. “He once stopped, pointed to a pregnant snake. He bade us wait in absolute stillness. It reached the edge of the ledge, but couldn’t get down. He picked it up gently, sent it on its way. He told us not to be afraid, snakes attacked only when they were afraid.”
