BCS is our School.. We the boys who went through the corridors , sang and read in the School Chapel, played our part in the Irwin Hall , ate side by side in the Dining Hall, flung our boots on to the rafters in the dorms , played on the flats, ran the incline from Green garages to First Bridge, mugged in Class and occasionally bunked to town on the darkest narrowest short cut ( I believe now sealed by the residents of Knollswood), lifting our school 🧢 in humble greetings …
and watched the setting sun through the Tara Devi gap…
We left in our propelling wake, tradition, respect and strength…
Perhaps some of us created mountains and some remained in the trough of life’s changing waves…
But all in all we were the cut of the same cloth..
We are the Blessed sons of Bishop Cotton School.
Kindest Regards and Best Wishes,
with such a hot summer here at 60 degrees north past mid way into the Summer of ‘22
the lakes are glistening,
the river flowing with its usual flood, slack and ebb,
the roads dry and hoovered daily
whistling wind and gentle leaves,
I could neither feel nor smell any advance of thunder lightning nor rain … yet the air is clean and clear and exhilaratingly good for the lungs..! But it’s getting heavy hot..England too was suffocating and forests burn where I walked in Portugal and Spain ..
(… like four winter years earlier….. I was walking through a blustering storm that evening.. The wind was howling and crystallised ice stung my face like sharp missiles… My hair dishevelled across my forehead , my trench coat acted like a huge sail blowing against me as I was stopped in my tracks unable to move.. Just swaying from side to side until a bigger blast, beaufort 10 just carried me in the air and flung me against the glass doors of a quaint little store .. now closed with it’s signage for its next opening at 0900 the next morning . I fell hard on the ground and nearly smashed my nose and teeth but some redeeming force saved me..what I saw through that glass door was a childish writing on a small blackboard …’LOVE IS SOMETHING ETERNAL.. THE ASPECT MAY CHANGE, BUT NOT THE ESSENCE’ …..
And that for me was said enough..)
…but not this year nor last …the weather is no longer in control of itself..
( of course I still see some youngster on the green organic train and sections of humanity fighting for change; us humans are inhaling plastic and air with heavy particles and absorbing acid rain … it’s a rage within the youth .. it’s not their attitude … but Gratitude…)though I do would like to tell them as a sailor seaman captain we ensured the seas were clean if not we’d get six of the best .. and rightly so.
Whilst up in Simla, Mashobra and Kufri the weather Gods sent the rain down and the landscape transformed from dry dusty hard earth and brown pine needles.. to lush green .. just like in Kerala where comes vetiver in colognes to that freezer freshness..
…As in past winter years folk trembled with freezer fever wearing more indoors ( than outdoors ) like overloaded elephants in the plains of Chandigarh, Amritsar, Delhi and Jaipur….I’m told.
… but here in July 2022 wearing my linen shirt to look the dandy I was, I cranked up the Toyota and went to pay a visit….
..I arrived at the entrance and looked across the stone wall, that low stone wall and saw them all… those special ones who lay in rest … The Bells tolled and folk all huddled for Sunday Church..
Stepping out of my jalopy I felt those “ special ones” magnetic force envelop me and I floated in like a shy swan…. the winter birds still around as I was; too soon but soon they will wing off and shoot past to the bird swamps in Africa and India and further south; little do they know it’s gonna be a mild winter next .. so far..so they could actually stay.
.. I walked on soft moss and found the path that lead towards them… there was but a dry patch of grass, parts unkempt but then it was still summer and no real whiff of winter…
I stopped right above them…
and heard their whispers questioning all changes above and past since ..
what would the next day bring, pray ..?
I knelt on hard ground answering whispering “ much has changed since you were here..
we wrote letters to each other then with fountain pens and Prussian blue ink…
waiting for replies ,
anticipating good news
sitting on rocks and sand banks .. passing time ..
just waiting … we met at family reunions that we never wished to end, years and tears flowed freely.. we walked hand in hand amongst the trees picking mushrooms and blue and lingonberries..
played golf at 0100 and saw a pair of Moose staring at us in our world of tranquility..don’t you remember? There was no sound, no rattle trap, just sailing clouds and fresh crisp pine air..and the bouquet of arabica and delicious cinnamon buns”
“…enjoying those moment..yes we did” the voices said in unison ..
“…steamers arrived at sand heads.. you shook the German Captain’s hand wishing him calm seas, following winds and a school of dolphins frolicking across the bows..
clambering down the pilot ladder your canvas bag followed you
as you stepped on to the pilot boat, a last wave, a goodbye until…
as you spent two days on the Pilot Vessel “Samudra” playing bridge with your mates, they called you Omar Sharif and the Aga Khan for at dances at the Calcutta Club and Club 100 ( yes members maxed out) you held a fair damsel intoxicated by your charm and flair to glide across the floor…with habana cigars and cogñac and crisp white collars, hand wrapped bow ties; you loved your brogues .. did you not..?”
“ and humans …?”they ask..
..”too many tooooo many” I respond …. “no space only squeeze and packed like sardines is also a new emoji”..
I say “ these are new ugly signs to express in an idiotic way… vocal human affection and warmth no longer exists …there is a small little bit of hell called a mobile telephone that you carry with you and sleep with … no not with your lover but with people called Apple Samsung Sony.. these people have entered our lives our bodies our brain and our mindset….hypnotism ? Oh no… it’s called e-invasion .. they have conquered they have succeeded… Rotary telephones are now perched on stands in forest museums as folk exclaim .. what strange bulky ugly things those were… surprise teardrop … yes that’s the F-ing emoji… 😡 this one is deep soul angry or properly pissed to perfection .
… I was then but a school boy at Boarding on a spur at 7500 feet..
But I grew along the years, along my ears and a long… filling out too…
“ is that a tinkering of some strange bell “ they ask…
“.. yes “ I say..” life is strange and fast and hurriedly stressed ..so to keep distress at bay we de-stress with organic food, yoga and Buddhist chants and sit on mats..and gong ourselves out…”
“.. and the cars? Which cars ply the roads now ?” One* of them whisperingly asked ..
I sigh “ The Big wheels still zoom but fossil fuels are being cut and so El-driven cars abound, the trains are more silent, but on the Delhi-Kalka route the coach still clanks and rattles and surges and lurches forward and I spill tea on my jeans…whilst the X-3000 from Stockholm to Karlstad shoots clean as a whisper… steam and coal engines are now in museums… we go and look at them once a year but we look at our photo albums and remember you all as you smiled and held us and loved us truly… and I at least felt the warmth, your compassion and in your April
the strength of feeling happy and secure…”
“My roots are deep secure and solid
I drive a hybrid .. but if I could I would walk as I have walked about 6600 km in the last + 800 days ; that is a simple stride, a simple walk and all I see in the distance… yonder are the silhouettes of Catedral Santiago de Compostela..”
I hear sounds, melancholic sounds.. someone singing and the strains of a harp..I strain my neck and my ears to see who…
It’s the wind chimes amongst the pines..
And then … they’re gone.
No comments on today’s ways of the world.
26th July 2022
Global Warming – The New Yorker
Dear Ma’am / Sir,
Greetings from Karlstad Sweden
A scantily few probably get to read your wonderful paper rag; I am ashirwaded* to read it as an attachment.
With Europe going through an unimaginable heatwave with two jet streams having locked in the hot hot air or should I say 🐉 dragon’s fiery breath; it is time to dictate a few simple lines about this GW or Dharti-Garmi** not with technically obscene jargon only those fat assed decision making people sitting on their asses having breakfasted with sausage beans croissants dollops of butter and thick cut marmalade at the Breakfast Restaurant of The Waldorf, The Ritz or The Imperial Hotel, feign to understand and then put the hammer at another jostle meeting at another exotic locale flying first class.
Neither am I implying the Greenies coming out of the woodwork after Woodstock, Isle of Wight, Sundance, Stonehenge barefoot in their Khadi wearalls on the other end of the prism are doing an extreme job trying to sing to the trees, the grass and pray to the rain gods so rivers will again gush with passion and ice reappears on the glaciers and Mount Everest. There object is fierce and passionate.
.. all I am saying is the heatwaves have one one root cause.. the overpopulation that continues…
Factories would spill the soot only from Monday to Friday 0900 to 1700 if there were less of us hungry humans wanting to eat drink drive crawl and marry their mobiles which we all have done..
I mean how can we possibly listen to another human being as he lectures on the good the bad and the ugly as we silently secretly shamefully remove the bulge of the mobile from our pockets and start communicating with someone outside the room, many a million miles away ending with 😘❤️😀🙏🥵🌹👍? We have no real friends any more; the large global corporates are our superficial friends, they are our Mums & Dads who don’t look after your money but find ways and means to scalp you and drain you completely..
Sorry Chapess and Chaps making an example of getting on a rowing boat from Land’s End to New York or getting on a train to kill the plane is a sidewinder poor example. Walking is much better, healthier like on the Camino to Santiago de Compostela..
Being a Sea Captain and hauling my cargoes across the oceans with utmost care and still being penalised saving my ship and lives after a hammering hurricane because “Captain we wish to see the oil record to calculate if you cheated with the quantities of oil… and sorry we cannot contact the owners because they are sitting on their fat assess having breakfast“ I realised too soon…there are those who belch burp and fart and there are us .. scapegoats.
Someone has to take the fall for GW…
(the other day, some wierdo asked me as to why I was wearing white pants whilst everyone else was in shorts and shitty rubber slippers ….)
Did the Lone Ranger riding on Silver wear shorts in the hot deserts of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah..?
*ashirwaded : Blessed
*Garam Dharti : Global Warming
Kindest Regards and Best Wishes,
Farewell Speech – Udit Jain:
I still remember joining this institution in Class 4, where my matron helped me settle
and adapt to the school. Then came a time when I was crying not wanting to come back to school but here I am standing and delivering this speech and not wanting to go.
This is what Bishop Cotton is and the essence of being a Cottonian is.Since my BCS journey comes to an end, I would like to thank my teachers (academic as well as sports faculty), batch mates, matrons, wardens, my seniors as well as my juniors and each and everyone who has been a part of this exciting and memorable journey.I laughed, I cried, I learned and laughed again. I have had good days, bad days, highs and lows, and what not that this journey has shown me. I really thank each and everyone who supported and guided me all the way long. I would like to thank my teachers, PTI’s, matrons and wardens for motivating me and moulding me into a wholesome human being.We thought controlling our laughter in a class full of silence was the most difficult thing to do, but little did we realize that controlling our tears on the last day of school would be a million times harder.
There is a universal truth we all have to face, whether we or like it, everything
eventually ends. As much as I’ve looked forward to this day, I’ve always disliked
If an important, exciting and memorable chapter of my life is coming to an end but there is a whole new chapter of life awaiting for me and my batchmates, for which I wish each and everyone all the best.
Well, I would like to express it through a short poem:
We entered crying,
We are leaving crying,
Memories are such traitors,
They always leave us sighing,
With tearful eyes we settled our ties,
O God, we don’t want to
But it’s time to say goodbyes,
Now as our school life comes to rest,
We try and stifle the pain in our chest,
Now, finally when it’s time to leave,
This place bids us all the best.
In the end, I wish all Cottonians good luck for their BCS journey ahead and my advice to all Cottonians is that they should respect their seniors and love their juniors. Also, I
hope that the Traditions of 163 year old BCS remain intact as they were in the recent past.
Started walking 29th April 2022 from Lisbon Portugal and arrived here today 01 June 2022 at 1142 Spanish Time covering 783 km equating to 1,118, 571.42 steps…
A stage in my life that is teaching me what I never learnt in the first 63 years of my life…
humility humbleness and forgiveness
Vivek [Bonnie] Bhasin
BCS Class of 1970
Arrived at the Cathedral Santiago de Campostela
And please also see This One