Malayalam screenplay writers Bob-Sanjay remember their teacher-mentor Mary Roy

Sanjay Cherian
It was some day in January 1979 that I first set foot in that nursery. In a larger sense, that was the day ‘I’ began to ex. Neither on that day, nor during any of my school days did I realise that I was destined to be one among the stars that dotted a large firmament willed into exence a very special person. It was much later that I read Japanese author Tetsuki Kuroyanagi’s Totto-chan: The Little Girl at the Window (1981), which is an engaging book on life in an ideal school in Tokyo. I had no difficulty relating to Headmaster Kobayashi. In our world, he was simply called Mary Roy. Or Mrs Roy as she was to us. She knew each of her 300-plus students name; knew the strengths and limitations of each one of us and demonstrated through her actions her firm belief that “to teach John Latin, one should know John as well as Latin.”
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I was bad at studies. My report card sported more red lines than anything else. Not surprisingly, I was withdrawn and carried around considerable levels of inferiority complex. Sports was not my forte either. A childhood that could easily have been scarred the label “useless” was saved the encouragement Mrs Roy gave me to write and stage school plays. She gave me absolute freedom to write, choose my cast and direct. The school hall was at our disposal for rehearsals. As was the time we needed for practice. When we were ready, we had the opportunity to stage it before the entire school. None of them were particularly good. They were mostly repurposed from the comedy movies of the time and put together in my own juvenile fashion. But Mrs Roy enjoyed them and appreciated them. I understand now that her approval had nothing to do with the quality of those plays. It stemmed purely from her concern that without this I might shrink further from a complete lack of self-confidence. It was her way of looking out for me. How I regret never telling her how much those days strengthened my journey forward!
Sanjay (extreme right) at school with friends. (Credits Sanjay Cherian)
The heady days of staging Andrew Lloyd Webbers’s Jesus Chr Superstar were a similar exercise in strength. Studies gave way to training in drama. For months, 13- to 17-year-olds toiled. We had very little academics in those days. Unsurprisingly, there were many who were troubled that. But Mrs Roy knew we stood to gain much more in life lessons during that period than we would in class rooms. We had national-level talent to train us. A huge stage came up in the school, exclusively for the performance. That play, that had become our collective emotion, was banned from being performed due to the objections raised some. They thought they won. They were wrong. It was much later that we realised how little the actual performance meant compared to the wealth of experience gained in those months. That was our victory. In all those situations where life called upon me to be strong, if I was able to rise to the occasion, it was because of Mrs Roy standing tall, casting shade on the Headmaster Kobayashis of the world. There is no argument anyone can put forward on that count, that I wouldn’t be prepared to counter.
As there are space constraints and word limits to adhere to, there are a thousand things I have to leave unsaid. Every time I refrain from casually throwing a crumpled piece of paper on the road, every time I let an opportunity slip because it would have meant taking the easy way out, every time I relate to the nuances of gender equality, I owe it to Mrs Roy and her army of dinguished teachers.
After bidding Mrs Roy a final goode as she slept her eternal sleep on Thursday (September 1), I took a walk around the Corpus Chri campus – Sorry, I know it is Pallikkoodam now but to me it will forever be Corpus Chri – and I could feel someone whispering: ‘You are Mrs Roy’s boy’. I can wager that every student who has lived their life in this school will be hearing that refrain today. That is a responsibility we bear. Living up to it is all we need for our world to be without limits. For us to be without limits.
‘She always insed that children should be independent’
Bob Cherian
Get up at 5.30 in the morning. Catch two buses during the wee hours and reach the school at 6.30 sharp. (If you are five minutes late, you are doomed). There awaits you an hour of athletic and sports training. If you are lucky, a cross-country race will also take you surprise. At the end of all this, you are an unsightly creature. But no worries. You can take a bath in school itself. Change into your uniform before classes start at 8.30 am, after the assembly.
I am not talking about a military academy here… Welcome to Corpus Chri High School.
Rehearsals of Jesus Chr Superstar on campus. (Source: Sanjay Cherian)
Once in a while, I used to wonder why I was sent to this school of all places. But the answer to that query was delayed decades, when I looked back and realized I studied in one of the best schools of India. And the reason was Mrs Mary Roy, our founder-principal. We all call her Mrs Roy with love.
Corpus Chri (now Pallikoodam) was not an ordinary school. We never “studied” there. Instead, we talked, interacted, discussed, danced and sang. Irrespective of aptitude, we took part in all games and sports. We even acted in big productions of the school, in musicals and operas such as Pied Piper of Hamelin, Casper, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Salome. We even got a chance to deliver our lives in Sanskrit for Bhasa’s Urubhangam, when it was staged in school.
All because of Mrs Roy.
She was a visionary, not only as the founder of a school, but also as an exemplary human being. She had high ideologies for which she would fight to any extent. The horic verdict the Supreme Court Of India which gave Syrian Chrian women equal right to property was the result of Mrs Roy’s lone and long battle.
Mrs Roy introduced seemingly unconventional methods of teaching, which eventually helped her students to achieve their goals. She always insed that children should be independent. Once when confronted with a parent who was not very happy with her child waking up at 5.30 in the morning to go to school (mostly related to the practical difficulties of it), Mrs Roy replied, “Let him get up and make a sandwich on his own. Let him scramble an egg. Let him come to school himself. Why do you always want to do these things for him?”
With her team of great teachers, Mrs Roy made her school an international brand. As for me, I am forever indebted to her for what I am today. She knew my interest for movies and dramatics, and gave me full freedom to write and direct plays. It went a long way to shape my script-writing career. She was always proud of us (Sanjay and me) and found time to watch our movies. And as destiny would have it, we were blessed to have Mrs Roy’s grand-daughter Maria act in one of the lead roles in our movie Notebook (2006).
Sanjay and Bob Cherian have written for films such as Ente Veedu Appuvinteyum, Traffic, Notebook, Mumbai, Uyare, Salute and Kannekkanne. (Credits: Sanjay Cherian)
As Mrs Roy walks away into the depths of time, I bow my head in respect and gratitude. When I was in high school, there was a financial crisis at home which forced my parents to consider shifting me to another school. Mrs Roy immediately gave me a scholarship so that I could continue my studies there. I firmly believe that decision changed my destiny. Had it not been for her and Corpus Chri School, I would never have become a doctor. I would never have become a screenplay writer.
In each grain I have today, her name is engraved. She is one person who will be with me till my last breath.
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