Life of a Loser – Part 1

My early years and Elementary School years

Murali Chemuturi

My Birthplace

My birthplace was a small village called Chityala with a population of about 2000 people
in those days – it may now have about 4000 people. At that time the entire village
population was Hindu save about 10 people who were Muslims but it remained only in
name there was no mosque in our village. They took part in all Hindu festivals –
sometimes rather actively. We had neither electricity nor running water nor drainage of
any sort. People used to draw water from community wells using pails. Carrying water
was twice a day routine for the family. I used to help my mother in ferrying water from
the well into the house. None of its streets were paved. They were just lanes – neither
were they orderly. When it rained, in those days it used to rain four months a year, all the
lanes were slushy with wet mud. Except a few elders no one wore any footwear –
footwear was a mark of prosperity or learning and indicated that the person has urban
leanings – and it was a derogatory term to be called urban! Barter system was still in
place as well as segregation. One resides in their place and interacted too with persons
of their caste. Money was used but very little. The barbers cut hair and shaved all free of
charge when possible and he was given his share of the crop by the farmers. So was the
washer men – they washed everybody’s clothes and received their share of the village
crop. Brahmins performed all rituals and received their share. Carpenters, goldsmiths,
ironsmiths – you name it they all followed the same. Perform all duties and receive their
share of the crop at the harvesting time. There were rules about sharing – main crop that
was paddy was shared – subsidiary crops were not shared. There were well-understood
proportions of sharing. All others were attached to farmers – each farmer has a set of
families attached to him.

The caste hierarchy was set and well understood. Respect was according to birth and
age. Money had no role in getting more respect.

Education meant being well versed with Vedas. Well-read means reading Maha Bharath
and Ramayana. To be called a Pundit – one must know and be able to recite some
portion of at least one Veda. British introduced their curriculum in India but it cost a ton
of money and it was so tough – only Brahmins were foolish to attempt it. The nearest
school was 25 miles away with out any decent public transport – how can busses run on
mud roads which will become slushy from rain four months a year? My father studied in
the school at Rajahmundry but failed to clear the school final exam. My mother stood
first in her eighth class exam (may be her class had 10 students) but had to end it as she
was married to my father.

Every thing was running like a well-oiled machine and it was hunky-dory. The peace and
tranquility were shattered by independence in 1947. Caste hierarchy was being openly
questioned and violated. And the sharing, free services were undergoing metamorphosis
and the times were turbulent.

We had a village doctor - he was not a qualified doctor – he just learnt to give injections
and used to practice medicine under the guidance of better-experienced quack that was
living five miles away. He used to give some sort of first aid to the patients and then go
to his mentor, explain the symptoms and come back and administer the treatment
suggested by the senior quack. If the condition got serious, the senior used to visit our
place and it was really serious, the patient was advised to go the hospital 25 miles away.
You may be amazed if that it was very successful – we had many cures and failures
were very, very rare. Perhaps, most of the diseases were due to contaminated drinking
water, poor sanitation and mal-nutrition. The air was pure and filled with natural scents
so much so, that if a car or bus passed by, the petrol smell used linger for an hour.
People were sturdy – no automobiles of any sort everybody had to walk or cycle and
manual work. Everybody was hale and hearty except for contaminated water and
mosquitoes.

As we had no electricity, we had to read by kerosene based hurricane lanterns. So we

all would complete supper by 7 PM and go to bed between 8 and 9 PM. The lanes were
deserted after 8 PM. But the village used to rise early – before dawn around 430 AM and
go to work. They used to return around 8 AM to eat breakfast – the leftovers of last
evening mostly and return to fields around 10 AM. They used to have lunch around noon
and return to fields after a siesta around 230 PM. They finally returned after the sun set
for supper and sleep. This was our routine. All persons worked at a very leisurely pace.
It was an idyllic environment. Now all that had changed. Communists came into villages.
Now people work from 930 AM to 5 PM with an hour’s lunch break.

My birth

Such was the village and times I was born as a free Indian. I was the fourth child among
four brothers and three sisters. The eldest of the family, a male child died shortly after
birth and that left us evenly balanced with three brothers and three sisters. In the living
brood, I was third and in the total brood, I was exactly in the middle. Perhaps I have the
middle-child syndrome they are talking about recently!

My father was married but lost his wife to malaria or pneumonia or both (who
diagnosed? There was no doctor then, leave alone diagnostic facilities), which were
rampant in our village in our times. He married again when he was 35 years old to a girl
aged 13 – come on – before you start cluck-clucking, it was common in those days in
rural India.

So when I was born to my mother, the second wife of my father, my father was 46 years
old and my mother was 24.

My parents were Brahmins – so it makes me a Brahmin too. My father was chiefly a

farmer who tilled his five acres of land and using his educational qualifications, he also
worked part time as the village officer. Now don’t be misled by the title – he was
collecting land revenue from farmers and remitting it to the treasury. He started at a
salary of five Rupees per month and when he relinquished it in 1978, he was drawing
about fifty Rupees. If I have to say one thing that I emulated from my father – it was his
sense of responsibility and hard and sincere work ethic. He never ran away from
responsibility nor flinched at hard work. He was ready for tough manual labor any time.
He did so until he was seventy years old – he was certainly a strong person and carried
a 75 Kg (160 pound) bushel of paddy on his back when he was 70 years old.

My birth itself was uneventful. I was delivered in our own house with the village midwife
cutting the umbilical cord with an iron sickle. No qualified doctor was available within 25
miles and they were prohibitively costly. All children were born this way and many have
died. If there were any complications in the delivery the mother also died. I was fortunate
to be born in the middle of the day close to 12 noon. Some were born in the night and at
that time the midwife, who was already old and had poor eyesight, could be drunk and
could cause grievous injuries to both mother and child. She had a steady hand though –
that was the main qualification for her midwifery. She severed my umbilical cord all right
– see I am here to tell the tale!

I was born with the same birth star as that of my living elder brother. We have 27 star
constellations and the moon moves thru each of them at the rate of one per day. This
birth star is used to set good dates and times for all aspects of our lives. But being born
with the same star of an elder brother is an evil omen. So my father performed a ritual
called “Graha Santi” – meaning propitiation for the planets during the ceremony of
Barasala – this is performed soon after the birth in which the child is given a name and
cleansed of all the evil sight that fell on the baby from the time of birth till date.

My early years

I do not have much recollection of my infancy – except that I was terrified of injections
and did not like milk, curds or buttermilk. I remember that I was given a few injections by
our village doctor. The first incident that I remember was of a visit to a Bhishak (a
medicine man using Hindu traditional medicine – Ayurveda) – Ranga Acharyulu. I was
told later that I contracted some serious form of Jaundice, which was rampant in our
place and came close to death and he treated me. I came face to face with death twice
so far – once when I was 4 years old and next time when I was 49 years old – more
about that later. He told me to take the medicine with buttermilk and threatened me that
he will give injections if I violated his order. I was terrified and complied. My mother used
to threaten me that he will tell Ranga Acharyulu if I do not take medicine properly. Only
years later did I learn that Dr. Ranga Acharyulu was the gentlest soul and never hurt a
little boy. What is more, he was a devout person doubling up as the priest of the Temple
in his village. Wherever he is now, I pray for his soul. I also remember that my pet name
was “Boori Gadu” – boori was a sweetmeat made from Bengal gram, gud (unrefined
sugar cooked from sugar cane juice), which was round in shape and my face, was round
(perhaps it is still round presently) – “gadu” is a familiarity term indicating a younger
person. This name was forgotten by the time I was 10 years old except by three persons
– two were my cousins (daughters of my father’s elder brother and one villager) – they
still call me by that name, substituting “gadu” with more respectful word!

Another incident that I remember very well was a visit to my uncles. Back in 1956 our
elder uncle, we had two, was working in a private company and was residing in
Secunderabad. Our younger uncle was office superintendent in a government
department and was located in Pune (in those days it was called Poona).

One of my cousins (son of the elder sister of my mother) aged about 25 years and
working in merchant ship as a marine engineer out of Liverpool in England - visited us in
1955. He escorted us to our younger uncle’s place. Incidentally, his elder sister happens
to be the wife of our younger uncle – yes – it was and still is, permissible for a girl to
marry her uncle (only mother’s brother – father’s brother is not eligible) – but the reverse
– that is for a boy to marry his aunt (neither mother’s sister nor father’s sister) is not
permissible in our Hindu society of Andhra region. That was the firs time we had long
train journey – it took us nearly two days for that journey. We had no bath for two days –
for someone who bathes twice a day – and all meals were from the railway platform
where the train had longer halts.

We had steam engines and the train had to fill water every two or three hours and it took
nearly 20 minutes. We could eat food on the platform, and take a stroll and return to our
compartment. I felt like running on the platform but my mother was not willing to let me.

My cousin dropped us – that is my mother, myself, my elder sister (8 years), and two
younger sisters (aged 3 and 1) off at our uncle’s house and after a couple of days left for
his ship from Mumbai (then it was Bombay), which is close to Poona – about four hours
by train.

My uncle resided in a rented house - don’t get any ideas, it consisted of just two rooms,
even the bathroom and WC were shared with other tenants. You call those two rooms by
any name you want – there are just two. Then, we were three adults (our uncle, aunt and
our mother) and six children (myself, my three sisters and my uncle’s two children) living
in those two rooms.

We stayed there for sometime – I am not sure how much – may be two weeks or three
weeks. One incident stood out for me – I remember it vividly. One day, my mother went
shopping with my aunt. Our uncle had two children a girl (one year older than me) and a
boy (two years younger than me). So all went shopping – somehow my mother was not
willing to take me along. I was left in the house – all alone with a stern warning that if I
made noise and stir up the neighborhood, I will be severely punished including branding
me with a hot iron. It was may be an hour or two hours, I can not tell – but it seemed like
an eternity – I was about five years old village boy locked up inside a two room tenement
dark with all windows locked up so that the neighbors do not suspect any thing amiss. It
would be an understatement to say that I was terrified – did not open my eyes till my
mother returned. I did not know how much time passed. My mother brought me footwear
to appease me and I was appeased.

But I complained to my uncle when he returned from his office in the evening and he
scolded the two conspiring women and took me outside and bought me some candy.

But this incident raised a suspicion in me that perhaps my mother does not love me for
reasons not known to me. Further incidents proved my suspicion – more on that later.

My Elementary School years

I remember my joining the village school. It had classes from 1st to 5th class and had five
teachers. The teacher of the fifth class also doubled up as the head master of the
school. He also practiced medicine part time to earn a few more Rupees. No, he also
was not a qualified doctor.

The tradition is that when a boy attains the age of 5 years, 5 months and five days, he
would be sent to a school – be it in the middle or the close of the academic year or even
if the school is yet to open!. Any way the teachers are also villagers and they were more
than willing to accommodate the student – they were glad to get one extra student – as
parents were not willing to send children to school – they can earn money – boys
tending to cattle – girls working as domestics. Needless to say, I went to school in the
middle of the academic year – in 1956.
Now if it conjures up, from my mention of the word school, ideas of a public school with
big playground, uniformed students, principal with a starched collar and well turned out
students, you are far from the truth. The school was in rented premises of a small house
with five rooms. It had thatched (made of palm tree leaves) roof. Mud walls and mud
flooring. We did not have desks and we rather squatted on wooden planks with folded
legs. Most of the students did not wear any shirt. Some wore knickers and some came
with a loincloth. All of us had slates. The teacher taught us the alphabet for a long time. I
was the youngest in the class all the rest were a couple of years older than me at a
minimum.

The syllabus to be covered for the first class was limited. Those days, first class meant
one book, second class meant two books, third class meant three books, fourth class
meant four books and fifth class meant as you can rightly guess, five books. No written
exams were conducted then and the head master orally examines the students and
decides whom to promote to next class and whom to detain. I was promoted from first
class to second class without any issue. I could answer almost all questions.

By the time I finished first class, our school moved to its own premises. It had tiled roof.
Sand stone construction using mud mortar. The walls were not plastered and there was
no flooring – we were squatting on wooden planks as usual. By the time we left school
everyday evening, all of us were coated with a layer of dust and my mother made me
take a bath as soon as we returned. What is more some of the boys were eating mud
scooping it by the fistfuls and we used to complain to the teacher “Master garu, this boy
is eating mud!” We called our teacher by the term “Master” – I do not know why – but
that was the custom. “Garu” is a term of respect in my language that is Telugu. We all
had fun when the teacher caned the erring boy.

In second class, we had a female teacher for some time. I do not know why, but those
days, female teachers were looked down upon in our place. It was very embarrassing for
me to go to school. Surprisingly, she was good. Those days, learning means by hearting
the books. I could by heart the two books within first four months. My teacher was at a
loss what to teach and she took me to the head master. He asked me to recite some
poems, some lessons and some questions and asked me to solve some mathematical
problems. I was able to do that despite the spine chilling fear of standing in front of the
head master who is supposed to be master in using the cane and there were a couple of
bamboo sticks placed menacingly on his table.

The lady teacher told the head master ‘Look Sir, he has completed his lessons in second
class. There is nothing for me to teach him. So why not promote him to third class?”

But it appears that my father was on the wrong side of his medicine practice as he used
the other village doctor. The old rivalry among quacks to get more patients. The other
village doctor was of an upper caste than the head master of my school. My father
belonging to the highest caste could not stoop down to using lower caste head master
over the upper caste village doctor for his medical needs. That had cost me.

Head master advised my teacher to use me to assist other dumber students and refused
to promote me to third class. So she used me to assist her with correcting the home
work and teaching the students in her absence when she went to meet the head master
– I could be wrong but I had a feeling that the meetings were more frequent than
necessary. But fortunately for all of us – she used some influence and got transferred to
her native village or some place she preferred to be and we had a male teacher take
care of our class till the close of school. He was handling third class and was partly
handling our second class.

He was there when I arrived in third class the next summer.

The school environment including the facilities remained same and I still remained the
youngest. But my reputation grew as more meritorious of the class. The lady teacher
was the reason for that – she gave me some unwanted publicity among the teachers.
See, most of the teachers were permanent residents of my village and my merit fostered
jealousy among them towards my father. This was an emotion, I continued to face from
my colleagues throughout my life and some of those jealous colleagues went to
unimaginable lengths to conspire and cause trouble to me. There were times that I
wished that I had just the normal merit – for the life of me I could never define what is
normal merit.

The teacher in the third class, Mr. Ammi Raju, was a sincere person who tried to give off
his best to the students. The head master didn’t appear to have liked this and we heard
loud arguments between our teacher and the head master many a time. We had the
head master’s son in our class. He informed us that our teacher was not behaving well
and trying to show off his knowledge, according to his father. I could neither understand
nor accept this version – our teacher seemed very sincere and taught us excellently; He
taught us some games and tried to introduce some extra curricular activities. The head
master did not want to stay late – he had his medical practice to attend to. I always
learned something new. As time went by, our teacher also started complaining when the
head master’s son was absent from class. By the time I stepped into class four, the
teacher was transferred. I met him once when I grew up into my twenties – he
remembered me. He told me that he was continuously trouble by head masters and
transferred from place to place. I was really sorry for him. He was the best teacher I had
in my elementary school. It also gave raise to another suspicion – merit may not be
extolled and perhaps it would not even be tolerated in my place. This too unfortunately
brought home to me in my later years.

My fourth class was uneventful. A younger brother was born into the family making us
six. My elder brother progressed to his 12th class – the final year of his school. My father
and mother loved him dearly. In our families, the elder son was expected to take over
the family from the father and all fathers prepared him. My father too wanted the best for
his elder son and sent him to live with my aunt (another elder sister of my mother – she
had two elder sisters and two elder brothers a total of five siblings) – she lived in a town
and had electricity – about 40 miles from our village. My parents set our goals – my
brother to be educated and take up a job in the towns / cities. I would carry on the family
tradition of farming in our native place. It is a great example of “Man Proposes and God
Disposes” – I ended up in a city and by elder brother settled in my native place as a
teacher.

I have completed eight years of age and my father started taking my assistance in
farming. I used to go to paddy field with him, tended cattle along with a little boy of my
age whom my father employed to tend to cattle. We had a couple of cows and a couple
of buffaloes. Assisted him in cutting grass and bringing it to our cattle. He did most of the
work. I assisted him a little and stayed close at hand giving him a hand when he needed
a second person. There were too many snakes around – my father used to ignore them
– but I could not and was afraid of them. The stories narrated to me by my elder
classmates made me wary of snakes. I never realized that my elder classmates – that
means all of them – were trying to scare me and I was really scared. My father used to
tell me that they are venom-less but who knows? I could not distinguish between cobras
and harmless water snakes in those days.

My shift to high school

In that year we had another new teacher – for our fourth class. He stayed close to our
house and I was sent to him for private tuition for some time. He suggested that I could
skip fifth class and join 1st form in a high school.

Those days, there was an entrance exam to join high school. There was no minimum
qualification prescribed. The boy should be eleven years old and must pass the entrance
exam. It was also a filtration system as each high school catered to four or five
elementary schools and all students who passed fifth class cannot be accommodated in
the first form due to inadequate infrastructure.

The high school was located in an adjacent village named Anna Devara peta, three
miles from my village.

Taking the suggestion of my teacher, my father made me sit for the entrance exam – he
declared that it would give me first hand experience for the next year. I thought that I
wrote well. When the results were declared, my father dispatched my elder brother with
me in tow, to find out how I performed. I passed.

My father’s nephew (his elder sister’s son) also had a son of my age. He too sat for the
exam and he too passed. They stayed in a village, named Venkataya Palem, one mile
from my village.

Discussions ensued between my father, his nephew and my elder brother dissecting the
pros and cons of skipping fifth class. Finally it was decided, that we would be sent to
high school. My father and brother accompanied me along with my father’s nephew with
his son. I was ten years old but my would-be classmate was 11 years old. My father’s
nephew assured the head master of the high school that he would ensure that he would
obtain age condoned from the district HQ and admitted his son stating his age as ten.
My elder brother and father stated my age as 11 years old and admitted me.

My classmate who was one year older than me is officially one year younger than me in
records. Later on, my father gave an affidavit to the school that he would not change my
date of birth.

Thus I started my high school. I was shortest but one, in the class as well as the school
and needless to say the youngest.

My high school started as a disaster for me. It was like this.

My elder brother completed his 12th class and wrote his public exams – evaluated
centrally in the whole state and results declared. Well the results came and my brother
declared that he passed. It was an event to celebrate. He was the first in the family,
rather the dynasty to clear the school final exam in the first attempt! Also the first in the
village to do so! All near and dear ones pressed my father to give a tea party and my
father obliged. All males in the village and the family of my father’s nephew visited us
and made the party a success. Lots of congratulations to my father and my elder
brother. Our elementary school head master also came and he flattered my father that
he brought fame to the village and so on. Then my elder brother, after admitting me in
the high school left for my aunt’s place to get his certificates and my father started
arranging money for admitting him in the college.

One day a post card was received from my uncle in whose house my brother was
residing and studying. The sum and substance of it was that my brother failed the exam!

My father and more my mother, could not bring them to believe it. They said that some
thing was wrong somewhere – their own flesh and blood could not lie – it came in the
papers – how could it be? They wrote back to my uncle – can he check once again;
were the news paper wrong; or can we write to the Board of Secondary Education to
take another look, after all, to err is human.

My uncle’s reply devastated my father more than my mother. His reply stated that the
head master of the school expected my brother to fail all along and he sent notices thru
my brother, which never reached home.

But it became a joke in all the surrounding villages that a foolish Brahmin gave a party
for the failure of the son. Most people never brought it up in my father’s presence except
politely and in a sympathizing manner.

But high school students are another matter – they continuously ragged me about it.
Students from all classes used to come to my class and enquire about me and when
they spotted me, used to ask me to describe the party for failing the exam. Don’t we –
that is my father – know how to look up results in a news paper; how my brother pulled
wool over my father’s eyes showing his number – they all knew exactly how it happened;
it was allover the place – the teasing was endless. I was dreading the before hours,
intervals and after hours of the school.

My father too vented his frustration on me – I am the visible one – my elder brother is far
away in my aunt’s house.

This went on for a month. Then my class teacher conducted slip-test for two subjects.
First time my performance was evaluated objectively. Slip-tests were conducted on a
Saturday and results were given on Monday. They were one-hour exams with five short
questions. Came Monday, and the teacher, I remember the teacher till date – his name
is Choppagatla Sree Rama Murthy - a middle aged traditional Brahmin. He called my
name and I stood up. Then he told the class “He set a record – it is against rules to give
100% - so I had to give him 90% and 95% - all of you ought to emulate him”. He
congratulated me. It was new to me – being congratulated that is. Somehow I was
responsible for all things that have gone wrong in my house – including the disastrous
party and my brother’s failure. Somebody is saying that I am best. That was the first
occasion that I got the suspicion that perhaps that I am a good boy after all.

The head master came to our class to see me. He told me to keep it up. He was a bit
disappointed that it was not one of the teachers’ sons and to find me a rustic village boy.
Perhaps he expected a refined boy somehow mistakenly admitted in his school. Then
students from all classes came to see who this specimen is who scored 90% marks!

That’s how my high school years began. More in the next part.

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Did you like this, if so drop me a email – murali@chemuturi.com - thanks for reading this.