Tag Archives: Woodstock School

WOSA NA Reunion 2006

Note: Some of what follows will be incomprehensible and/or dull to those who did not attend Woodstock School. I have recently learned that I have far more readers among Woodstockers than I ever imagined, so this one’s for them – and anyone else who’s interested!

The annual reunion of the Woodstock Old Students’ Association / North America (WOSA NA) was held at the YMCA Blue Ridge Assembly in Black Mountain, NC. Our “extended 81 reunion” group – aka the young ‘uns – was staying in the family lodge, which sleeps up to 62 people, but can do so comfortably only if they are mostly in family groups of 3, 4, or 5. So it was just as well that we didn’t fill the place – we were few enough that couples and families could have privacy, and there was plenty of room for the singles and the snorers to spread out.

Ross and I drove down to North Carolina with Susan ’78, sister of the classmate we’d been staying with in Virginia. Susan had impressed the Sikh rental car agent with her ability to correctly pronounce Uttaranchal (the name of the new Indian state in which Mussoorie now finds itself). For that or whatever reason, he gave us a convertible instead of the plain old mid-sized car we had reserved.

We took full advantage of it, making part of the trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway, which runs along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains from Virginia to North Carolina. It’s a slow road – speed limit 35 mph – so the trip took longer than it might have, but was well worth it to enjoy a top-down view of the beautiful scenery. Other drivers kept moving out of our way; either they were very polite, or they thought we were Thelma & Louise with a sidekick.

While Ross lolled in the back seat listening to her iPod, Susan and I found plenty to talk about. She was three years ahead of me at school, which seemed like a lot at the time, but such age differences are hardly noticeable now. It’s a pity we didn’t get to know each other better, sooner – we have much in common in our attitudes and behaviors, beyond the shared experiences of Woodstock and India.

After ten hours on the road, we arrived at Black Mountain on Wednesday evening, August 2 nd. We weren’t the first – the class of ’46 were having a big reunion, and, of our own group, Anita ’79 and Beth ’80 had already arrived from different parts of Florida. The Blue Ridge Assembly campus is beautiful, the land so heavily forested that you can hardly see the buildings. The family lodge, when we found it, proved to be spacious and comfortable, with huge living and dining rooms and an industrial-strength kitchen.

…which we didn’t actually use til after 10 pm, when James ’79 finally arrived. Though he lives nearby in Asheville, it had taken him hours to fit into his car all the food he had bought for us. He had been back and forth to his local Indian grocery store so many times that they’d finally asked him, mystified: “Kya shaadi ho jayega?” (“Is this for a wedding?”)

In the meantime, we sat around and talked. And talked. And talked. Some in the group had known each other well at school, but had new spouses to introduce, such as Laura’s (’81) husband Billy (who was a blast and a half). Others had been at school together, but had hardly known each other back then. And some were already good friends with fond memories, e.g. me and Beth.

But, when we were all there together, our previous relationships hardly mattered. Having a base of Woodstock gives you so much in common, even if you came from different backgrounds and went on to very different lives. There’s a level of comfort in being with other Woodstockers that comes from not having to explain anything. We don’t know all the details of each other’s lives, but in some deep sense we are family, closer even than blood.

There were about a dozen of us in the family lodge that first night, with more trickling in (and out) throughout the weekend. Neerja ’81 and her husband Anil, neither of whom had been to a Woodstock reunion before, enjoyed this one, and plan to attend more. Sharon ’79, after ten years’ work at Woodstock, was now free to NOT represent the school to the alumni, and excited about her new job at a United World College in New Mexico. (She didn’t entirely escape notice – she received a speech of thanks for her long service to alumni, and a commemorative fruit bowl.) Chris Starr ’81, whom we hardly saw because the alumni job is now his, so he had to concentrate on the larger Woodstock family, as well as his own parents (former staff) throughout the weekend.

David E.’78 came with his lovely wife Beth and three (also lovely) daughters – he’s still a musician, to nobody’s surprise, and so is Beth. And he still has in a binder somewhere the lyrics to the songs sung by the “Babushop Quartet” way back when – I have fond memories of those concerts, and am itching to get my hands on the lyrics to songs like “I’d like to be in my dhoti” [sung to the tune of “Octopus’ Garden”]. Even better would be a commemorative video, if we could get the four of them together… My own daughter asked me why one of David’s was wearing a sweatshirt with crosses on it (from a Christian summer camp). Culture gap: many Italians wear small crucifixes around their necks, but never on their clothing.

David T. ’80 is still a runner and hiker, and now a coach of runners. He’s raising mission funding to go with his family to teach in Tanzania. On the face of it, David and I have practically nothing in common, and I doubt we ever said ten words to each other back at school. But I learned at the reunion that he’s funny and warm and fun to be with. When he departed Saturday night (his wife was home coping with four kids and packing!), he left us copies of his family newsletter. Presumably aimed at raising funds for the mission, it was couched in religious language which was at best meaningless to me. But his motivations for wanting to teach in Tanzania were such as anyone could sympathize with: one of David’s life goals is “teaching kids to have a healthy lifestyle.” That’s a goal I’m willing to support.

Anita ’79 is doing civil rights work in Florida. Beth ’80 has just moved to Florida, where her musician boyfriend hopes to find more paying work. Beth is writing music-themed mystery novels, and has a flourishing business selling rare records on eBay. If you’re looking for something unusual, let me know!

There was so much to catch up on that our group felt no particular need for organized activities – just as well that we hadn’t organized any! A few went on a brief hike Thursday afternoon, while Ross and Laura took advantage of the YMCA’s crafts room.

Thursday night, after a fantastic meal of kheema (ground meat) and chole (chick pea) curries made by James, we had a bonfire at which we sat around and gabbed still more (while James went to the airport to pick up Boni ’79). Once again, most of us didn’t get to bed before 2 am and, once again on Friday morning, I bounced up at 7:30, unable to sleep any later. I amused myself in the kitchen with the industrial dishwasher, and prayed for James to hurry up and come make chai (spiced Indian tea) – we all drank gallons of his yummy chai throughout the weekend, which undoubtedly contributed to the not-sleeping.

There’s a lot to see in the Asheville area, and some people went on Friday to visit the Biltmore estates. I stayed on campus to do more meeting and greeting. The main reunion group began arriving Friday afternoon, so there were plenty of other old friends for me to talk to. My only regret at these reunions is that there simply isn’t time to talk with everybody as much as I’d like.

James was cooking not only for our subgroup, but also for the main reunion, supervising the making of endless chai and a big banquet for Saturday night. For the banquet, he put together all the spice mixtures and provided recipes and supervision to the YMCA kitchen staff (though he wasn’t allowed to actually be in the kitchen, for insurance reasons). Because he expected to be busy Friday night, I had committed to cooking Italian food for our group, which came out pretty well in spite of unfamiliar ingredients. I hadn’t expected the sheer physical labor is involved in cooking for a large group – stirring and turning 10 pounds of ground beef in a pan is hard work!

But it was fun having our own kitchen. Everyone pitched in on cooking, serving, and cleaning, which somehow seemed appropriate to a Woodstock group, even though we rarely had opportunities to cook while we were in school. The constant availability of informal shared spaces meant that we could all drift in and out as we liked. Conversations eddied and swirled as people moved from kitchen to dining room to living room to dance floor. (I teased Neerja’s husband Anil: “I bet you never expected to come here and dance bhangra with a bunch of gringoes!”) The lodge also featured a long front porch with rocking chairs – perfect for hanging out and hanging loose.

Friday night saw the arrival of Lauri S. ’81, who, after years as a merchant seaman, is now working for an educational publisher back home in Finland. He brought his daughter Meri – a tall, gorgeous 13-year-old with a delightfully creative fashion sense (she makes some of her own funky outfits) who wants to go into fashion. Lauri’s brother Kris and Kris’ wife Karen also came, though I barely got to speak with them.

Stan L. ’78 was a late addition to the group, and (as part of the official reunion activities) gave a talk on AIDS – he works for the CDC in Atlanta. Davy S. ’80 was persuaded to show up suddenly from Florida, where he does something in real estate and has recently become involved in race horses. (Joe P. ’80 hoped to make a surprise appearance, but couldn’t pull it off, and I didn’t get his email about it til my return to VA.)

Sunita ’81 and Shashi ’82 made it for lunch on Sunday. (They were in Black Mountain Saturday night, but somehow didn’t manage to find us!)

The official WOSA reunion began Friday night with an opening ice-breaker led by David Weidman ’76. Everyone had tags pinned to their backs; each tag contained a word in a category (Indian foods, names of hillside homes, names of hiking destinations, Indian cities…). You had to circulate and, by asking questions which could be answered with a yes or no, figure out what your word was and what category it belonged to, then find everyone else in your category. Then there were more activities to do within the groups, to learn each others’ names.

I didn’t actually participate in any of this because I had arrived too late to get a tag and was running around filming, plus constantly distracted by seeing more people I knew (such as the Wray girls).

After all this warming up, there was a presentation from a local resident about the Appalachian mountains. I didn’t stay for it: didn’t feel like sitting still that long. I went back up to the lodge for more chai and talk.

I don’t clearly remember who all showed up when. The family lodge was perfect for informality, so people came and went all weekend. Even many who had more formal lodgings as part of the main reunion group spent a lot of time with us, especially the younger set. Patty G. ’78 with her TCK/French husband Francois and their large, amiable dog. Greg W. ’78, though he lives nearby, had not been intending to come to the reunion at all, but was eventually persuaded (browbeaten?) by a combination of his mother, sisters, and other attendees – I never got a chance to talk to him, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Nathan Scott ’83 was present in his role as SAGE representative. Studies Abroad in Global Education recruits students for exchange programs at Woodstock and its sister school Kodaikanal, and has recently launched a summer “experience India” program as well. Nathan is the younger brother of one of my classmates, and I’ve gotten to know him over years of us both working on WS stuff. Plus he and his wife spent part of their honeymoon at our home in Lecco, though my visit with them on that occasion was cut short by the sudden death of my father-in-law.

There was an even younger contingent from the class of ’93, but, again regrettably, I barely got to see them. They seemed to be enjoying each others’ company, at any rate.

Amal C. ’78 and Brad T. ’75 were present as new members of the WOSA NA Council, which oversees fundraising and other alumni activities in North America, including these reunions. I hadn’t known Brad before, and greatly enjoyed talking with him.

WOSA NA has a demographic problem. If you’ve read some of my previous articles on Woodstock School, you’ll know that my four years there came during a tipping point in the school’s history when, under the guidance of Bob Alter, the student population changed from primarily missionary children to become, first, more international and, later, more Asian.

WOSA NA is currently Woodstock’s largest alumni group. Some missionary families can boast long histories at the school (the record is five generations), and most of those missionaries were American. But, as the missionary presence in India began dwindling in the 1960s and 70s, so the American alumni population is ageing now and will eventually decline*. Many Indian/Asian alumni of my generation have ended up in the north America as well, but younger alumni have not so far been eager participants in WOSA NA activities (though many make strenuous efforts to see their own classmates all over the world ).

So the WOSA NA reunions have tended to be populated by, and cater to, an older group, a fact which worries the Council and the school – to keep things going, you need to keep the younger alums interested. Which our modest initiative seems to have done!

We took steps to encourage a mingling of the generations. Saturday night we lured a bunch of our favorite “oldies” up to the lodge with promises of illicit substances (YMCA campuses being dry). Sunday, we had 50 guests for lunch. The YMCA refused to serve the (abundant) Saturday banquet leftovers in their own lunch line, so James had it all brought up to us, and we dished it out to everybody who showed up – and we invited as many as we could find after the Sunday morning activities. People still tended to congregate with their own age groups and old friends, but it was a start.

In the end, WOSA NA were so pleased with the outcome that they decided that future reunions should include an informal space like this for anybody who prefers it – and they will do all the organizing and money-gathering that was so painful for me this time. James and I will be happy to come along as consultants on how to throw a good party. <wink>

The formal events included several lecture tracks, with so many interesting topics that it was hard to choose between them. I saw part of Gabriel Campbell’s presentation on the people of the Himalayas (fascinating), then Marty Alter Chen’s on her studies on widowhood in India (grim, but not entirely). I accidentally missed part of Brian Dunn’s presentation on Woodstock’s new Religious Life Statement, but what I heard made a lot of sense, and seemed to be well received by the crowd. (More on that another time.)

Saturday evening saw a presentation by and then a salute to Bob and Ellen Alter, important “fixtures” at Woodstock for so many years, and beloved by many. Sunday morning there was a church service (which I slept through – finally catching up from my jet lag) and then some more activities. James (under duress) and I went along to the storytelling session, which I filmed and will eventually edit to share online.

Several times throughout the weekend, people came looking for me specifically to tell me that they read and enjoy my newsletters. I was very touched. One said, “I’m a Unitarian, so I agree with your philosophy” – which I was not expecting in the Woodstock context! Rossella was startled by the number of people who exclaimed upon meeting her: “I know all about you!” – having read my newsletters and followed my links to her fotolog. She began to wonder, a little uneasily, just what I’ve been saying about her, but so far that hasn’t motivated her to go read my site!

Laura and Billy

Laura and Billy

Ross herself got on well with everybody and was not as bored as she had expected to be among all us “old people.” Having heard that Ross would be getting a digital SLR camera for her upcoming birthday, Amal spent a couple of hours Sunday morning teaching her how to use his. One of the evenings she went into Asheville with Laura, Billy, Beth, and Nathan, and was pleased that she managed to get into a bar by claiming to be 18 (she was about to turn 17), though they wouldn’t let her drink – she hadn’t realized that drinking age was 21, or she might have tried for that. But she was mostly interested in hearing the music, and not impeding the others from entering the bar so they could enjoy it.

Ross also got to spend time with her friend Justin from theater camp two summers ago, who happens to live nearby in… Bat Cave, North Carolina (I swear!).

Sunday evening we were all exhausted, winding down with lazy talk on the front porch while some watched a weepy Hindi movie in the dining room. I had finally managed to make some compilation CDs with our old favorite dancing tunes, but no one had the energy to dance (though Davy was thrilled that I included Dum Maro Dum).

We had already said some goodbyes on Sunday, to people who had to drive home to be at work on Monday. The rest of us gradually detached ourselves Monday morning and left, Susan, Ross and I facing another long drive in our convertible. Near the end of our journey we were amused to realize that we were driving alongside Glenn and Peggy, also on their way back to the DC area, and honked when they passed us. It took two more passes back and forth and lots of frantic waving before they realized that we weren’t some random jerks being rude on the highway!

So… it wasn’t quite the Class of ’81 25th anniversary reunion we had hoped for, but it was fun, and Woodstockers are all friends, even when they’re not classmates.

* re. those old missionaries getting older, I should note that most of them are remarkably robust and active, and still travelling to far more exotic places than North Carolina! Must be the result of decades of clean living.

Reunion Additional Notes

Sep 30, 2006

…I knew I’d forget to mention some people and events…

First, I don’t think I made enough fuss over James in my original article. This satellite reunion was really a partnership, and he made the whole thing happen in so many ways – being there on the spot to deal with the YMCA people (with whom, thankfully, he has some personal contact – he cleaned up several contract messes), planning and buying all the food and cooking most of it, and in every other way playing host to my hostess. James, it was a blast, and, even though I spent five long days on my feet, I’d do it all over again (as long as someone else handles the money)!

I also wanted to mentioned that it was fun to catch up with Ajay’82 again, and I was glad to meet his wife Dhooleka. She’s at Yale, doing research on Indian immigration, which I look forward to hearing more about.

…someone remind me, who else am I leaving out? So much activity, talk, and friendship (and so little sleep) was packed into five days that it’s all become a big blur now!

add your own thoughts and reminiscences on this or other reunions!

Old Treasures

Sep 30, 2006

Among the pleasures of a WOSA reunion are the auctions. Attendees donate items that they no longer want, most of them related to India and/or Woodstock, or other vestiges of exotic lives. As people retire and move into smaller homes, they have quite a lot to get rid of, so the pickings are rich for those of us in an earlier phase of life.

Most of the items are disposed of via a silent auction, where over several days you write your bids on a slip of paper next to the object(s) of your desire. Whoever’s bid is highest at the end of the auction period wins it. This year there were many beautiful textiles – for $22 I nabbed a gorgeous piece of cloth with embroidery, beads, and mirror work (probably fairly old, judging by the fine quality of the work), which will soon be hung in our house. I also got a teal silk sari with orange/gold trim, put up for auction by Anne, who had been a teacher during my day. When she told me that it had actually belonged to her sister Katie (who was our dorm supervisor), I realized that I have photos of Katie wearing this same sari. I’ve draped it over the curtain rod in our bedroom – we didn’t have any curtains, and the sari goes delightfully with the peacock colors of the other textiles in the room.

Ross walked off with the prize, a beautiful antique silver necklace donated by Lois, for only $37. She literally has not taken it off since she got it, and has received many compliments on it.

The best items are sold via a live auction on Sunday afternoon. I was slavering for a set of journals of the Himalaya Club, from the ’50s and ’60s. My husband loves to read about expeditions, so these seemed an ideal belated present for his recent 50th birthday. I winced when TZ (one of Woodstock’s wealthiest alumni) started bidding against me, but he let me get away with them for only $30. (These auctions probably raise less money than they could, because we all want to be nice to each other!) Turns out TZ was mostly interested in an article on skiing in Garhwal, so I’ll scan that into a PDF and email it to him. And Enrico does like them. Amusingly, one of the first items I ran across when flipping through one of the journals was a review of a book by Walter Bonatti, a famous Italian trekker.

Hogwarts Memories

I’ve just re-read the latest Harry Potter book, and am re-watching themovies, in anticipation of seeing the latest movie this week (it’s showing in English in Milan: even if there’s only two seconds of Alan Rickman in it, I want to hear his original voice! And I can’t stand the Italian names of the characters).

It struck me that the experience of going off to boarding school (even a non-wizarding one) must be exotic to many people – but it’s familiar to me. Let me count the ways…

Before heading to Woodstock School in India I, too, received a list of required school supplies, which I was advised to pack into a trunk that could be locked, with my name painted on. I don’t remember all the details of the list now, but I do remember being flummoxed by the requirement for warm clothing: we had been living in mostly-tropical Bangladesh for almost a year, and, even had I brought any winter clothes with me, I was a growing teenager. Fortunately, we discovered an open-air market in Dhaka where second-hand clothing donated worldwide to various relief agencies was resold (with or without the agencies’ knowledge?). There I found a couple of sweaters and a pair of jeans. (Wizard’s robes were not on my school list, though the need for formal attire for church was mentioned.)

So far JK Rowling hasn’t told us how students NOT based in London get to Hogwarts. From the fact that they all meet up on the Hogwarts Express, I deduce that they all go to London first, wherever they’re coming from, and then take the school train.

For Woodstock, the situation was a bit more complex: our school had to deal with students coming from Bangladesh, Thailand, the Middle East, Africa, Nepal, the US, and just about everywhere else you could think of (bit more of a cultural mix than Hogwarts!). They tried to arrange for us to arrive on the same flights, but staff nonetheless spent many sleepless nights in Delhi, meeting group after group off the planes. (In those days, India was considered more a stopover than a destination for airlines, so they mostly landed in the middle of the night on their way from Japan to Europe or vice-versa.)

After gathering us into larger groups, which usually involved a day or two at the YWCA in Delhi, the school also arranged our travel up to Mussoorie. By my day, this was mostly in chartered buses, but there were still groups arriving from all over India by train, as they had since 1900 when the railhead reached Dehra Dun (the town in the valley below). Before that, students had travelled by bullock cart and on horseback. Even in the late 1970s, a few whose parents were missionaries in remote corners of Nepal still made the first part of their journey back to school on their own two feet.

There were no lunch trolleys on our buses. Instead, we stopped at Cheetal Deer Park, which didn’t actually have many deer but could whip up the world’s tastiest cheese pakoras for a busload of students in no time flat.

No matter how you reached Dehra Dun, the final leg of the journey was up the narrow, twisty, switchback road to Mussoorie. There’s a point where the air suddenly changes, becoming fresher and cooler and cleaner after the dust of the plains, and a few curves after that you can see Mussoorie, strung out along the ridge at 6000 feet.

The end of the line for buses was (and still is) Picture Palace bus stand – though the Picture Palace that gave it its name no longer shows films, having been turned into a business complex. At the bus stand, coolies would swarm over the tops of the buses, getting down our trunks and cases, hitching them up onto their backs with ropes slung around their foreheads. Barefoot and bandy-legged (a bit like house elves, now that I think of it), bent nearly double under their loads, they would nonetheless usually beat us down to the dorms, where our trunks were piled along the hallways til we came and dragged them to our rooms, newly-assigned for the year.

Rowling’s living arrangements for Hogwarts students are absolutely shocking: girls and boys living in dorm rooms separated only by a stairwell? Sharing a common room in which they can mingle as late as they like, with no staff supervision? Good heavens! What hanky-panky these young witches and wizards must get up to.

At Woodstock, the girls’ and boys’ dorms were a good 15 minutes’ walk apart, with the girls’ dorm, Midlands, stuck out on a ridge about as far as you could get from anywhere else on campus. Boys were allowed no further in than a sitting room at the entrance, closely (if not always successfully) guarded by a dorm supervisor; the same was true for girls at the boys’ dorm, Hostel.

Except once a year, when each dorm held an “open house” in which visitors from all over the school could stroll around, admire everyone’s creative room decor, eat a “fancy” meal, and the opposite sexes could (gasp!) hang out in each others’ rooms for a few hours. With staff constantly prowling the corridors, of course – the rule was that every bedroom door had to be open, and if two people were sitting on a bed together, three of their feet had to be on the floor.

One huge difference between Hogwarts and Woodstock: the Hogwarts kids eat a lot better than we ever did (even if pumpkin juice actually sounds pretty disgusting). School food was legendarily bad at Woodstock, even worse than institutional cooking usually is. If Rowling ever attended boarding school herself, her descriptions of meals at Hogwarts may well be fantasies left over from her school years. Many teenagers obsess about sex. At Woodstock, much of the time, we were too busy obsessing about food!

There is little mention of between-meals snacking at Hogwarts, whereas at Woodstock we depended heavily on “tuck shops” at school and in the dorms, as well as the baker who would come around at recess and after school with a tin trunk full of home-made cookies, cakes and candy. And we lived for Saturdays, when we could go into the “buzz” (the local bazaar) and gorge ondosas, curries, and Tibetan noodles.

The major point of reference for students at Hogwarts (and, I suspect, at many traditional British boarding schools) is the “house” into which new students are “sorted” at the beginning of each school year. The kids live, go to classes, eat, and study mostly with their house-mates, and are not even allowed into each others’ common rooms (there’s no mention of an annual “open house”). They view members of other houses as rivals or even enemies.

The reference group for Woodstockers is the graduating class. We had houses only for intra-mural sports, to encourage athletic activity among those not good enough for the school teams. No one took the houses seriously enough to care much about Sports Day, except as a day free from lessons. (In earlier decades, Sports Day had been competed between classes, which generated more enthusiasm, although the seniors usually had a decided advantage.)

Our houses had boring names – in our day, simply 1, 2, and 3! Today they’re named after birds (Merlins, Condors, and I forget the third). Nowhere near as compelling and evocative as Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.

The class of ’78 did revive a tradition of the class word, which was supposed to be made up and its definition kept secret, though nowadays they run to the well-defined and obvious (“Intrepid”). My own class of ’81’s word is “Bijplufszkcian” – weird enough for Rowling, I think. No, I’m not going to tell you what it means.

Hogwoods Revisited

Dec 17, 2005

My fellow alumni responded enthusiastically to my article comparing Woodstock with Hogwarts. Stan Brush wrote:

“ONE big difference between your experience and ours pre-1947. We DID come by special trains, reserved compartments on regular trains that converged on Dehra Dun. Complete description inFarewell the Winterline.”

“Farewell the Winterline” is Stan’s engaging account of his childhood in India and Woodstock, and his adventure-filled trip back from India to the US when he graduated from Woodstock during WWII.

Many WS alumni have similarly fascinating stories, some recounted in Living on the Edge, a collection of tales including wonderful (and sometimes hair-raising) descriptions of epic train journeys across India to get back to school each semester.

Other comparisons came up. It’s not uncommon for some Hogwarts students (especially Harry Potter) to stay at school during the shorter vacations (in their case, Christmas and Easter; at Woodstock, the shorter vacation was in the summer). Zafar pointed out that one of his classmates never went home for summer holidays, because her parents were missionaries in such a remote part of Nepal that to get there took two weeks’ walking – the summer break simply wasn’t long enough for her to get home and back.

Eva Schawohl wrote:

“I think one of the big differences between Hogwarts and Woodstock is the monkeys.. I would rather have had to deal with dragons and pixies than those wretched monkeys. Especially the one that got into my room one Saturday morning in 11th grade. My great revenge was that I got one of them in the bottom with a broom… but not before he had gone through all my drawers and eaten a book. Though the vision of a monkey bouncing on my bed with my underwear on his head did keep me laughing for a while.”

[Monkeys as the anti-house elves? – D’]

The one thing we did have similar to Hogwarts is the dungeons, known as the music cells. Does anyone remember those terrible, cold, dark, damp cells with the tiny windows, with the ancient pianos in them? I think Snape would have found those cells more than perfect for Potions or Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. With any luck, he could have petrified the guy who played French horn really badly next to me every day after lunch.

Yes, everyone remembers them, and they were indeed dungeon-like, complete with “jailer” in the form of Mrs. Biswas. Not that anyone thought of her that way – she was well loved at Woodstock for 47 years – but she was a dragon about making us practice music properly during our practice periods. She seemed to know what piece every person in 20+ cells was supposed to be practicing, and could hear from two floors up if you weren’t. The only time we could get away with anything was during the weekly Music Department staff meeting. A group of us who happened to have practice that period would sneak out of the cells to sing pop songs, accompanied by Craig on Mr. Lind’s grand piano. At least it was music!

Today the former music building has been rebuilt into a bright, pleasant business center, and the music cells, in a different building, are new, sound-proofed, and named in honor of Mrs. Biswas.

Perhaps the largest similarity is the fact that no one knows actually where Woodstock is. Just as Hogwarts is not mappable, Woodstock isn’t either. I always had the impression that the school changed position, depending on were you were standing. Besides that, how many people have I met since that have thought the school is in America, on the grounds of the famous festival.

I think it is funny that the food thing really did persist through generations of Woodstock students. I was there from 1988 to 1990 and the rumour was the school spent 7 rupees [~15 cents)] a head on food, am not sure if this was per day or per meal, though I had had better tuck in the bazaar or Cozy Corner for Rs. 7.- than at school. As the saying goes, an army that is fed badly, fights harder, so perhaps there was some morality in serving us Chinese noodles that left a puddle of grease on the tray, or chapattis with the consistency of shoe leather. Toughen us up and then send us to fight in the world!

Kim Shafi ’74:

I can think of the pranks we did, an example specific to Woodstock: when solemnly getting “up to no good” such as setting of big firecrackers with the help of incense sticks set just so on the fuse so that it would be ignited deep within study “hall” time; the secret short cuts that we trod to get to forbidden places unnoticed when we should have been in bed; being selected from among all others for special punishment meted out by Ron Kapadia [Woodstock’s equivalent of Argus Filch, but far more dangerous] and then getting to leave a personal marker – a sort of badge of honor – on that old hard paddle…

Another alumna pointed out other similarities such as the schools’ being perched on high hills, and the kids walking around at night in a forest full of dangerous animals, even when we weren’t supposed to. Yes, dangerous animals. Woodstock is set in thick Himalayan jungle on protected land, and there are still leopards out there, though dogs are at far more risk from them than people.

I noted in the last Harry Potter film (which I saw, and greatly enjoyed, a couple of weeks ago) that the scriptwriter also seems to know something about boarding school. I can’t recall Rowling ever mentioning study hall in the books, but in the film there was a scene of a lot of kids studying together at long tables, whispering and passing notes – when they could get away with it, under the nose of Professor Snape.

The Soul of a School

Woodstock School was founded in 1854, for the daughters of American Protestant missionaries and of British civil and military personnel in India. Like most British and American schools of its time, it was founded on a strongly Christian ethic and tradition, aiming to instill Christian values and knowledge in its pupils. Woodstock girls were trained to become good wives and mothers, teachers, and missionaries. Given the context and the times, no one thought this objectionable.

The school has always been Christian, but it also has a long history of welcoming children of every race and creed, a tradition which has been vigorously defended by some of its most influential administrators.

In my day (1977-81), Woodstock had just begun a fundamental shift, still not entirely played out today, from “Christian” to “International Christian.” This was the solution determined by Bob Alter (principal, and himself a Woodstock grad, missionary, and a Presbyterian minister) to the rapid decline in the numbers of missionaries in India. Woodstock’s “natural” student body was disappearing, and, for the school to survive, new types of students had to be recruited. My own class of ’81 was 1/3 North American (mostly “mish kids” – missionaries’ childen), 1/3 Indian, and 1/3 “other.”

The staff, however, were still primarily mission-supported. Woodstock salaries were so miserable that, for an American, British, New Zealand, etc. family to be able to come, they needed other funding. Various missions paid travel and moving expenses, and sometimes topped up salaries. A later innovation was for money to be put into a fund back home against the family’s return, so that they’d have some hope of being able to afford college for their own children in their native countries.

To come to Woodstock to teach was therefore a huge commitment and, indeed, leap of faith. A few made the leap because they wanted to “convert the heathen,” but most, while they actively sought a Christian and/or international environment, were primarily interested in the teaching. They were highly motivated and effective teachers (they had to be), and it’s a rare alumnus who does not remember with affection and gratitude at least one special teacher. The staff, in turn, seem to feel amply rewarded: many have said that Woodstock students were the best they ever taught (and not just academically).

Still, there was a mismatch between the almost entirely Christian staff and the not-so-Christian-anymore student body. There were religious tensions in the school in my time, as there had been before and perhaps always will be. Speaking for myself, I arrived at the school a raving atheist, and nothing in four years of being preached at changed my mind. Very few students have been converted to Christianity during their Woodstock years; if proselytizing was ever the aim, it has failed miserably. But I don’t think conversion was ever anyone’s primary goal at Woodstock, nor, in spite of occasional staff excesses, was it ever on the school’s agenda.

Symbolic of Woodstock’s commitment to Christianity in my day was weekly chapel attendance, required of all students. I argued and won the point that, as a non-believer, this was a waste of time for me, and I should be allowed to non-disruptively read a book during the service. (I was once told off by a senior for reading “The Passions of the Mind” – he probably thought it was a dirty book!) The services weren’t wholly wasted on me; I enjoyed the singing, especially the least-politically-correct hymn in the book, “Onward, Christian Soldiers” (music by Arthur Sullivan – what’s not to like?).

Services were led by the school chaplain, but, given the variety and intensity of religious feeling among the staff, there was plenty of participation to keep things non-denominational (though strictly Protestant).

Many students largely ignored the content of chapel, seeing it, at best, as an excuse to dress up and be seen, otherwise merely a dull period of time to be passed in whispered conversation (when we could get away with it) or passing notes.

But even chapel was destined for change. During our senior year, our senior privilege of not going to chapel every Sunday was diluted by the fact that chapel became “non-compulsory” for all high school grades, except for one or two required services per semester. Instead, we had brief devotions during the thrice-weekly school assemblies, a tradition which continues to this day.

A further innovation in our time was allowing devout students of other religions to go to temples and mosques in town, especially during important festivals.

Religious education was (and is) required through high school; in 9th grade we studied the Old Testament, in 10th grade the New. All I remember of either is a skit in which Chris, referring to Teeran, said “My brother [Esau] is an hairy man” – which Teeran certainly was! In 11th and 12th grade we could choose more in-depth Bible studies, or World Religions, or Ethics.

Today [2005], the requirements are:

  • Introduction to World Religions (Grade 9; 1 semester, 1/4 credit)
  • The Historical Development of Religious Ideas (Grade 10; 1 semester, 1/4 credit)
  • 11th and 12th Grade Courses (Students are required to take at least one of the following semester-length courses each year. All carry 1/4 credit. Students choose one option from Group A and one from Group B):

    Group A Courses (specifically related to the Bible or Christianity):
    Introduction to Christianity
    The Gospel of John
    Old Testament Survey
    Paul’s Epistles

    Group B Courses (related to religion in a general sense):
    The Search for Meaning in Life
    Religions of Indian Origin
    Religions of Semitic Origin
    Contemporary Social and Ethical Issues

If I were a student at Woodstock today, I would probably argue against having to take any specifically Christian courses at all. However, given that required study of Christianity has been pared down to one semester, I can live with it. Christianity is a large part of many of the world’s cultures today, so it’s valuable for students of all religions to know something about it.

As for daily life among the Christians… I was (and am) a person of strong opinions, and, like most teenagers, I did not keep them to myself. I had it in for the missionaries, especially after some informed me that I was destined for hell if I didn’t believe as they believed. I had a furious argument with the teacher of our 9th grade religion class (who was also the school chaplain) about the unfairness of condemning to hell some hypothetical New Guinean who had never heard of Christ. His response, if I recall correctly, was that this was why it was so important for missionaries to reach every corner of the world with their message. I couldn’t (and can’t) fathom a belief which condemns people who don’t happen to have heard of the “correct” god in time to save themselves.

Some of my mish kid peers, being stubbornly opinionated teens themselves, were more aggressive than any staff member in proselytizing to other students, using well-worn lines imbibed from their parents. I furiously asked one boy why he kept hounding me. “If you found a wonderful fruit in the forest that no one had ever tasted, wouldn’t you want to share it with the world?” he asked. “Sure,” I answered. “But I wouldn’t shove it down their throats!” (He walked right into that one: having religion “shoved down our throats” was a frequent complaint among non-Christian students.)

At the ripe old age of 42, I have not changed my opinions about religious fundamentalism of any stripe: I firmly believe that religion, taken to extremes as it so often is, is one of the world’s great evils, leading only to strife, oppression, and bloodshed. There is much good in most religions, but it’s so often overwhelmed by misuse that all I can see is a net loss to humanity, sadly outweighing the undoubted benefit to many individuals.

However… I have learned to appreciate the non-proselytizing work that is the main focus of most missionaries worldwide. Their motivation may come from something I don’t believe in, but building and staffing schools and hospitals is good work by anyone’s definition, and I can only admire the dedication and courage shown by so many. The best staff at Woodstock were more concerned with living a Christian life themselves than with telling others how to live one. In those people I saw true Christianity at work, and they probably made more converts by example than anyone ever did by preaching. Not converts to Christianity, but to the true Christian spirit of giving and caring and looking out for one’s fellow human beings.

Doris Silver, the girls’ dorm supervisor, was one such. Being in-loco mom to over 100 teenage girls is a full-time job (which she did very well, but that’s another story), and she also had a family of her own. But Mrs. Silver was a trained nurse, and could not bear not to put those skills to good use. She ran a weekly clinic for the school servants and their families, treating minor illnesses and injuries which otherwise might have been left to worsen, and referring major cases to the hospital, where they might not have gone without Mrs. Silver’s urging.

I cared enough about Mrs. Silver’s feelings that I didn’t want to argue religion with her, and she never pushed it on anybody. She made it clear that she loved me no matter what I believed, and her God did, too. “I don’t believe in God,” I said to her once. “That’s all right,” she said. “God believes in you.” Which is probably the most generous statement I have ever heard from a true believer. A god who loves me even if I don’t worship him? I could almost believe in a god like that.

The Christian values demonstrated by Mrs. Silver and others “infected” most of us. My own class was probably less than half practicing Christians, yet many of my classmates, mish kids and non-, have gone on to careers serving humanity in one way or another. Would that have happened at any “typical” school?

After kicking and screaming about religion throughout my high school years, now, with 25 years of hindsight, I don’t regret Woodstock’s Christianity. Despite a few poisoned (and poisonous) apples among staff and students, Christianity has been a good thing for Woodstock students, and can continue to be so if handled correctly.

Woodstock today doesn’t wear its Christianity on its sleeve as much as it used. This is due both to internal policy and to changes in the outside world. I happened to be at the school for “homecoming” weekend in 1998, when new Principal David Jeffery made his first speech to Woodstock alumni. I was pleasantly astonished that he spoke for 40 minutes without once mentioning God. During a 1996 visit, I had been amused to overhear staff saying: “The principal’s back, we’d better show up in chapel this Sunday.” Two years later, it was no longer an issue – staff can go to chapel or not, as they please, without fear of executive disapproval.

There are practical and ethical reasons for Woodstock to be less overtly Christian in modern India, a country which often suffers “communal” (religious) strife and bloodshed. The Indian constitution firmly establishes India as a secular country, and it behooves one of India’s premier schools to uphold this important tenet.

On the other plate of the balance we must place the fact that the school’s land and buildings are largely held in trust by the Church of North India and the United Methodist Church, which could withdraw their support and take back their buildings if Woodstock were to become completely non-Christian.

There is also a delicate balancing act to be performed in staff recruiting. Some staff, especially some who are themselves alumni and former mish kids, are attracted by the idea of teaching in a Christian school. But there aren’t enough of these people to staff the school completely, and modern Woodstock needs a wider range of personnel. As recently as two years ago, staff recruitment materials on the school website showed such a strong Christian bias that some potential applicants were put off. The website now says simply: “All applicants are expected to state their willingness to support the statements of philosophy and purpose expressed in the School’s Mission Statement and to be comfortable with working in a largely Christian environment. As a Christian international school, we especially welcome applications from people with a Christian commitment.”

Summing it all up, I feel that Woodstock is in about the right place as regards its Christian identity and expressions thereof. There is a healthy mix of religions (and everything else) among staff, and all are free to express their religious feelings (or not) as they choose, for example in devotions during Assembly. That some staff are more publicly Christian makes them part of the broad spectrum of humanity that we hope Woodstock students are learning to appreciate and get along with – one of the desired student outcomes expressed in the mission statement is: “An understanding of the beliefs and values of the Christian faith, and of other world faiths.”

Mussoorie Monsoon

Most Woodstockers are nostalgic about the monsoon, though we’d probably be a lot less so if we had to live through the entire season again!

I had not been to India during the monsoon season since 1981, and had forgotten how beautiful the hills are when they’re lush and green and wet. Every tree is covered in ferns and moss. And, after a while, so are you. Nothing ever dries thoroughly during the monsoon; bedsheets feel damp when you crawl in at night, and you have to keep a strong lightbulb burning in the closet so your shoes don’t go moldy.

India Vlog: Tenzing’s Monkey Tales

Tenzing Nima, Woodstock alum, actor, and proprietor of Momotours, came over for dinner at Sharon & Steve’s, and regaled us with monkey stories.

There are two types of monkeys in Mussoorie, langurs and rhesus. Langurs are beautiful, graceful, and fairly shy of people. Rhesus are very aggressive and can be dangerous. So langurs are hard to get pictures of, while rhesus may attack if photographed.

These are sometimes called Hanuman langurs, because the monkey god Hanuman is often depicted as having silver or white fur and a black face (although he’s also often portrayed as hairless or human flesh-colored).