How Doon shapes its young students

what is it about Doon School that makes adults in their forties, fifties and sixties, as much as lads in their twenties, turn mushy?

Are school days really the best days of one’s life? It would be sad if that were true. In my case, it would mean that after leaving Doon at 16, my life has irreversibly deteriorated. On the other hand, we all look back on school through rose-tinted memories. And the older we get the more hallowed they become.

What made Doon special was that each of us was treated like an individual. I never felt one of many. I was always aware of my identity, preferences and interests. (HT Archives)

This is a question that has been uppermost in my mind of late. Honestly, I’m not sure why. But it’s possibly because my great nephew, Faris, and his little sister, Ayla, have started school and seem to enjoy it enormously. Ayla is at her most cheerful in the morning when its time to leave for school.

The truth is that for none of us was school an unalloyed collection of happy joyous moments. There were also terrible times. Even if they helped us grow up, they were still painful to live through. Yet when we look back, we forget the hardship and suffering. We only recall the pranks, laughter and triumphs. If at all, we remember the punishments and penalties, it’s with pride at having survived them.

So what is it about Doon School that makes adults in their forties, fifties and sixties, as much as lads in their twenties, turn mushy?

To be fair, part of the answer must be the innocence and hope with which a teenager views himself and the world. He’s too young to know his limitations and still unaware of the obstacles that can thwart his ambitions.

Dreams seem realisable, odds can be overcome and the world appears a fair place. In this sense, school days are truly idyllic.

What made Doon special was that each of us was treated like an individual. I never felt one of many. I was always aware of my identity, preferences and interests.

I hated sport and got teased for it but no one forced me to play. I enjoyed debating and acting and was encouraged to participate. I wrote and read but that too was accepted.

Today, I would claim the story of the Doon School Scholar’s Blazér proves my point. For decades sportsmen were recognized with a coveted deep blue blazer. It made them special. Those boys who had got one were inordinately proud of their achievement. Those who had not struggled — often in vain — to qualify for this honour. But there was nothing similar for the academically inclined. They had no special distinction to set them apart. It took years of persistence for the School to admit the need for equivalent treatment.

In 1971 it did. On Founder’s Day that year, colonel Simeon, the Headmaster, awarded the first Scholar’s Blazer.

I was thrilled to win it but what followed proved more memorable. “What sort of blazer should it be?” the headmaster asked. I was non-plussed. All I could think of was an imitation sports blazer. After all, that’s what I had been craving.

“Come on, young man”, Simeon admonished, “Yours will be the first. You can create a design the whole School will follow. Do you really want to be a copy cat?”

Even today, almost 50 years later, I can’t believe the HM allowed a teenager to design the Scholar’s Blazer. I chose a conventional double-breasted style in black. And that’s how it’s been ever since.

The pride of Doon is that people like Simeon are not unique. My housemaster, Gurdial Singh, my maths master, Sheel Vohra, my geography tutor, Charlie Kandhari, the head of history, ‘Zeeks’ Sinha, and many others, whose faces I can vividly remember and who’s voices I will never forget, shaped my life. Not simply by telling me what to do but by encouraging me to do it my way. And when I got it wrong — as I often did — they explained that a mistake is not a crime. It’s better to try and fail than never try at all.

That’s the best lesson Doon taught me.

Karan Thapar is the author of Devil’s Advocate: The Untold Story. The views expressed are personal