Beyond the Hallowed Halls: My Experiences at Aitchison College

Sayed Amir Hussain – English Teacher

I am honored to have been associated with one of Pakistan’s most esteemed institution, Aitchison College. This revered School not only instilled in me the values that have guided my life’s journey but also provided me with the opportunities to put those values into practice. As I reflect on my experiences, I am compelled to share my thoughts about this iconic institution that has had a profound impact on my life.

As I prepare to share my experiences as a teacher at Aitchison College, I am reminded of my initial impressions of the institution before joining its faculty. At the time, I was familiar with Aitchison’s reputation, as well as its long-standing rivalry with Lawrence College, with whom we had a regular series of fixtures. While I had interactions with Aitchison students, it was their principal who left the most indelible mark on most of us – a man whose influence extended far beyond the campus, shaping the lives of countless students who passed through the college’s hallowed halls.

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Abdul Ali Khan

The Noble Savage (A phrase borrowed from his former student)

He believed students to be whipped out of their ill tempers – and the curative power of the cane

Before I joined Aitchison College his reputation was a by word of fear, a coarse ruffian. In an age when the head might have to deal with as many as two hundred boys single-handedly, he would adopt a combative style and face them down. A towering personality, a good above six feet tall. He loved bullying people under him. His round of the school, during games time, was on horseback with two dogs, perhaps Labrador, flanked on both side of the horse. He was an intimidating sight. His size alone often persuaded potential troublemaker to get in line. For students his very presence was a disciplining force. Not only the students but the teaching staff and the lower staff were seen busy with their work.

Yet in his retirement he was feted by his old boys. Such retrospective hero status can be a consequence of a romantic and selective memory, but in his case, it seems it was more than that. The school was ‘fondly attached to him’, he was the boys’ ‘surest friend’, he was ‘enemy to none, and enemy he has not’. As a former pupil, observed, ‘he had no favorites, and flogged the son of the most influential to the least influential with perfect impartiality’. Consistency and fairness were qualities as much needed by teenagers than as they are now. He was rough with them, but neither unkind nor unjust beneath that roughness. He was right hearted in the depths of his nature. It must indeed be a tribute to the school that boys were generally happy there. We hardly heard of boys who ran away and of others who were withdrawn. But when one remembers the problems inherent in adolescence there would seem to have been only light casualties. By the time boys came to leave Aitchison, there was perhaps a danger of excessive nostalgia. All this to an outsider looked very pleasing, who would take away a very good impression of the school discipline.

On the other hand, his high handedness was evident in the staff room as an individual who lords his power over others . . . acts in an arbitrary manner, belittles subordinates, lack of consideration, discourages initiative. Fearful and stressed teachers had generally downshifted to the lowest mode of functioning. Creativity and innovation suffered. Paths of communication were shut down entirely.

So, when I joined Aitchison College in January 1974, reverberations of the principal’s dictatorial behavior were still palpable. The atmosphere was tense and the staff seemed tense. I found boredom was the common condition of school teachers, and anyone who had spent time in a teachers’ staff room could vouch for the low energy, the whining, the dispirited attitudes, to be found there. Some of them were found half asleep in the staff room, the rest sitting idle as serious as a judge. Most of the time their heads were down, even while crossing each other in the corridor they kept their head down and half nodded to return the wish. They didn’t bother to lift their head. It was very difficult to make them talk. When they finally condescended a reply on being asked persistently why they looked so bored, they tend to blame boys, as you might expect and some of them when opened up would blame the choking atmosphere of the School. Who wouldn’t get bored teaching students who are rude and interested only in making fun of the teachers. Of course, teachers are themselves products of the same twelve-year compulsory school programs that so thoroughly bore their students, and as school personnel they are trapped inside structures even more rigid than those imposed upon the children. Who then, is to blame?

Abdul Ali Khan was a feudal lord; he was chosen purely because of the family background. The Wikipedia writes about him: “a Pakistani Educationist, born into a political family, he was the youngest son of Bacha Khan. He remained apolitical in his whole life. He was educated in Colonel Brown Cambridge School in Dehra Dun and completed his bachelor’s degree from Peshawar University before travelling to England to complete his postgraduate studies from the University of Oxford.”

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Power Beyond the Campus

He wielded significant authority and power. He not only kept a hawk’s eye on his students within the campus but also outside. I was watching a film in Plaza Cinema, when the screen suddenly went black, and a slide appeared with a message that read: “Some Aitchisonians are watching the film. Please come out, your principal is waiting outside.” The message was both surprising and ominous, and it quickly became clear that the principal had arrived to collect his students. My curiosity got the better of me and I decided to sneak a peek at what was happening. It was amusing that the students of Aitchison College were quickly rounded up and loaded into a college van, like they were being “carted off” to face the music. I heard later that the students were caned in his office. An iconic office, a physical manifestation of his larger-than-life personality – imposing, intimidating, and awe-inspiring. Every detail of the office seemed to reverberate with his commanding presence. The room exuded an aura of authority, discipline, and tradition, leaving no doubt that this was the domain of a man who demanded respect.

To reach his towering two-storey high office one had to scale a narrow, spiraling staircase leading up to the office, a daunting ascent that left even the most energetic individuals breathless. By the time you reached the top, you were breathless, your heart racing from the exertion. It took a few moments to collect yourself, to normalize your breathing and calm your nerves, before you were ready to face the principal. It was from here he wielded his power.

Directly under his office was the courtyard of the Mandir, when we Gallians came for the fixtures against Aitchison College, in early sixties we were housed at the Mandir, directly under his dreaded office. We were specifically warned by our teachers not to make noise or play any game in the courtyard lest we incur the big man’s wrath. However, instead of the expected stern reprimand, an ominous silence prevailed. But this was not to happen, boys are boys we played cricket, football and even hockey. The courtyard had wooden doors all around, the impact of the ball made loud noise. Except for the “shush” from friends and teachers nothing ominous happened. So, if the game stopped for a while, began again with caution first and then with gay abandon.

During the fixtures he was meticulously present, his enthusiasm and passion palpable as he cheered on his boys with unbridled energy. He was their biggest fan, urging them with infectious zeal, and encouraging them to give their all on the field. As the final whistle blew, he was always there, beaming with pride, to offer warm words of praise and appreciation to both teams, win or lose. His genuine interest and heartfelt support inspired the students, fostering a spirit of camaraderie and sportsmanship that extended far beyond the playing field.

No Rules Day

His rules were notoriously strict, and he was particularly fastidious about maintaining the school’s grounds. One of his most infamous edicts was the prohibition on crossing the fields in dress shoes. However, in a surprising display of flexibility, he also instituted a “no rules day” – a special occasion when the boys were given carte blanche to do as they pleased.

According to my friend, who witnessed the mayhem first stand, one such “no rules day” descended into chaos. In the heat of the moment, someone mischievously threw water into the headmaster’s office, soaking books and important papers. The aftermath was tense, with everyone waiting with bated breath to see how the principal would react.

In a remarkable display of integrity, the principal chose not to take action against the perpetrators. He had, after all, declared it a “no rules day,” and he refused to go back on his word. This unexpected show of consistency and fairness earned him even greater respect from the students, who appreciated his commitment to upholding his own rules.

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A Narrow Escape

Here I would narrate an incident: In his tenure I roared into the Aitchison College on my scooter, eager to meet up with my friend. I entered through the Sunderdass Gate, oblivious of the school security, it was the last thing on my mind, and I reveled in the thrill of speeding through Katcha Red road of the campus. The relay of whistles from the guards was just a distant echo, a mere annoyance that I chose to ignore. Fueled by youthful pride and a sense of invincibility, I continued to accelerate, the wind rushing past my face.

But my joyride was short-lived. Near the swimming pool, where the two graves are, suddenly two burly guards materialized out of nowhere, jumping into my path and forcing me to slam on the brakes. My heart sank as they grasped my arms their firm grip brooking no resistance. “You’re coming with us,” one of them growled in Punjabi, as they marched me off to face the principal. My carefree afternoon had just taken a drastic turn.

The principal, clad in his casual games kit strode confidently towards me, his eyes fixed intently on mine. The school was in the midst of a swimming competition, and the atmosphere was lively, with cheers and applause filling the air. But all of that faded into the background as the principal approached me.

“So you think you can escape, gee?” he bellowed, his voice firm but with a hint of amusement. I stood there, feeling sheepish and embarrassed, my eyes scanning the surrounding area, aware that everyone was watching this exchange. My nervousness grew, wishing I could just disappear.

But then, something unexpected happened. The principal’s demeanor changed, his expression softening as he said, “your school doesn’t have boundaries you can easily get away there but not here, I remember you as the captain of Lawrence College cricket team.” His tone became more patronizing, and I sensed a hint of warmth beneath his authoritative exterior. I breathed a silent prayer, hoping to be relieved of this embarrassing situation, and perhaps, just perhaps, escape without too much trouble.

As I stood there, trying to navigate the principal’s mercurial mood, I caught a glimpse of two dogs standing attentively in one corner of the swimming pool, their eyes fixed intently on their master. They seemed to be waiting for a signal, their bodies tense and alert. The principal’s words sent a shiver down my spine: “You cannot escape at Aitchison. I don’t expect anyone to try,” his tone further softened, perhaps distracted by the loud cheer owing to swimming competition. God was kind to me for injecting kindness in him which otherwise was unheard of, he unexpectedly turned to the guard. “Sahib ko is kay dost kay pass lay jao” (take him to his friend). I almost thought I heard “Dhaos” instead of Sahib. A pet phrase often heard from him. His voice now firm but no longer menacing. The guard nodded and gestured for me to follow him. On the way the guard called me lucky to escape without being hurt. As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of the dogs relaxing, their tails wagging slightly as they seemed to sense their master’s mood had shifted. I breathed a silent sigh of relief, grateful to have escaped the principal’s wrath.

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Tailpiece

While scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon a fascinating post from a former student, who fondly recalled the historic visit of Chinese leader to Pakistan. The student’s nostalgic account transported me back in time, offering a unique glimpse into a memorable event.

According to the student, the students were made to stand outside the gates of Aitchison College to welcome the esteemed guest. The student vividly described the excitement and anticipation that filled the air as they waited for the arrival of the Chinese leader’s cavalcade. Khan’s impressive achievement was his ability to instill a sense of discipline and restraint in the youthful boys under his care. Whenever Aitchisonians were teased or provoked by boys from other schools, the principal would remind them to maintain their composure and not rise to the bait.

He would caution them to ignore the provocations, advising them to focus on their own character and conduct rather than reacting impulsively to external stimuli. However, once the storm had passed, the principal relaxed his grip, allowing them to indulge in playful antics. This clever approach helped the boys release pent-up energy and tension.

This is what the old boy wrote:

Mr. Abdul Ali Khan was the principal from 1962 to the 70s, I being extremely naughty, had many interesting encounters with Khan Sb the last one being a narrow escape in his office when he threw a heavy glass paper weight at me I ran like hell we had this love hate relationship but I always had this deep respect for him

I remember when the Chinese president came to Lahore we stood outside the main gate with our ‘Pagrees’ (Turbans) to receive him, some boys from another school kept teasing us. Khan Sahib told us to hold on, as soon as the cavalcade passed he told us to get hold of them and what a thrashing we gave them.

In his heydays when he was in Oxford his friends lovingly called him

ALI THE NOBLE SAVAGE

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