DS Class of 89 - Just another WordPress weblog

by Sanjeeva Pedris (14th January 2005)

In 1989, our A/L Maths class organised a pilgrimage to Sigiriya. Really, it was an excuse to sing some baila, bond with the brothers and have copious amounts of alcohol. Sanjaya DeSilva, Katta, Singappuli, Kuruppu, Nishan to name a few who went on this trip.

The memorable moment came on the bus when the boys were in full swing, and smart Kuruppu offered our class teacher (Mr R.) a bottle of beer. Mr. R. got up turned around and all he did was take one look at us. The look was enough to quieten not just a bus full of 50 boys, but all of D.S. dare I say! Then Mr. R. imparted a word of caution “Mata aaye beela ahu wunoth” he said “bus eka dhanmama colombata haravanawa”. We all said “yes Sir” and quietly continued drinking anyway and barely managed to get to the top of Sigiriya. Mr. R. is now in New Zealand and fondly (!!!) recalls this incident.

by Damitha Perera (08th Sep. 2003)

This happened in early 1989, in our class of 11C2 .

The time was around half past eleven, subject was “Logic”. The famous long haired Logic maestro was taking the class. Not a sound other than his rough voice was heard. Every one used to be in the class during Logic, not because of the interest for the subject, but because we feared he would catch us next day for sure if we cut the class.

So, as usual he started the class packed with action with his famous arm throw-off and on touching his barely groomed beard with a piece of chalk in his other hand ready to be thrown at some one who is not concentrating.

Good half-hour past, suddenly an unusual object (mind you at a speed of an F16) flew over my head followed by a loud voice “I say meheda inne????”, Well I knew it was not aimed at me, cause one thing his aim is normally very accurate, and the altitude of the object was much over my head.

All looked back at once, the target was my good friend Ranjaya Ambegodda.

“Mehe enava oai, thamuse kudu gahalada?, mokakda oya, gannawa ballanda.” Our friend who was sweating and now stammering surrendered the piece of paper to the angry master.

A sarcastic smile appeared on his face, every one eagerly waiting to hear what is scribbled on the paper, “Kawdha oai chutiya kiyanne???” holding one ear of Ambegodda he started questioning. “Sir mage nangi
kenek” replied the culprit, “I say ,nangilata me wage magul liyun liyanawada oai?” and started dragging the lover boy to the front of the class, got him to kneel down, Ranjaya’s eyes were filled with tears, more because of the sarcasm than the physical pain he had to bare. Matter ended there.

The boy was kneeling down, the lecture commenced once again, a good twenty minutes passed by and in a much lower tone than usual, the famous Logic guru whispered “I say oya mage serreppuwa evanawako mehata!”, this was the hilarious part. All were giggling inside but could not laugh out loud because of the fear. Once the class was over we all had a hearty laugh and poor Ambaya had to go through a hard time after this with boys calling him “Chutiya” every now and then.

by Bimal Gunapala (1st Sep. 2003)

This I thought was a hilarious incident that happened when I was in Grade10. I must admit the finer points of this story are a bit scratchy in my mind so if anyone remembers this story differently please send me an email and I will be glad to incorporate your points. So here goes…

The year was 1986. I was a student in class 10G. Our classroom was on the top floor of the two-story building that was situated between the school hall and principal’s office. Our class teacher was much feared science teacher Mr. Percy Perera. Despite that we were a notoriously loud bunch… especially when we had a “free period”.

The “bell” rang for our “maths period” which happened to be soon after the “interval” on a hot but breezy late morning. Students started trickling back into our classroom… our maths teacher; Mr. X was already in the classroom. He patiently waited for another 3 minutes until everyone (well, almost everyone) was back in their seats. So the lesson began. Unfortunately most of the students were still in their “interval mood”. Mr. X was clearly getting a bit annoyed. Then he started checking our homework. That didn’t go down well… let’s just say that some of us “forgot” to bring our homework.

So it was time again for another one of those lectures that we hated so much. Just then, another couple of guys casually walked into the classroom. Despite the fact they were almost 10 minutes late in returning from the “interval”, and the presence of Mr. X in the class, they obviously didn’t feel the gravity of their casual approach and attempted to walk straight down to their seats without even giving an excuse to Mr. X. It could be because Mr. X was known for his easy going and jovial self… but today he was not in either of those moods. He already had the cane (which incidentally was purchased from the moneys that were collected at the start of the year) in his hand. He stopped those two guys dead on their tracks in front of the classroom and questioned them. The offender who was closest to Mr. X was “Mahilal” (Now you remember this don’t you Mahilal?). So he must have felt that he should attempt to answer Mr. X. And he did (or at least tried to). He must have forgotten that he still had a half-melted “bulto” in his mouth. All anyone else could hear was a series of half words and “chumps”.

Mr. X lost it. We could see fire in his eyes. Almost automatically his hand gripping the cane tightly, swung around to hit Mahilal. And he did. The cane caught Mahilal squarely on his left cheek. Everyone was dumbstruck… including Mahilal. A good 5 seconds passed by in total silence. Then Mahilal raised his hand close to his mouth and spitted out two pieces of “bulto” on to his palm. The shot had split the “bulto” in half. I remember trying my level best to hold the laugh inside of me. Lucky thing I did too. Because I don’t think Mr. X was in a laughing mood. Although he must have felt relieved that the “bulto” was there to prevent Mahilal’s tooth from splitting in half.