The Montfort Chronicles

He was a living legend, even in his time. He’s dead now, of course, but even from beyond the grave, his reach extends and permeates the gossip of the hallowed grounds of Montfort. As with all larger-than-life characters, Frenchie’s aura was owed partly to tales that grew in the telling, around and about him. He was a badass mothafucka and a lot of badass mothafuckin deeds were inevitably attributed to his ass. He might not have been responsible for half of them.

Here’s what is known for certain about the man. He taught us French, hence the handle Frenchie. He was born in Pondicherry, but beyond that all details of his early life cross into the realm of speculation. It is rumoured that even as a kid, he would beat up older kids and once even threatened his principal at knife-point because he pissed him off. He was said to have run a booze-smuggling operation in Pondicherry and when things become too hot for him, he hightailed it to France. Others speculate that he was really a mild-mannered youth with no distinguishable personality who had to skip the country because of a concocted murder charge: Wrong place,wrong time. All this might be just flagrant rumour and the validity of these claims, it is feared, might never be vouchsafed..

What is indubitable is that in his late twenties, Frenchie hauled ass to France. Here he worked for Renault, ( a brief stint, during which, the manager’s daughter fell in love with him. The manager had to fire him to prevent a social debacle. Frenchie’s charm was apparent even in those early days.) Frenchie then went on to serve a few years in the French army, doing 200 push-up days, cleaning latrines and sleeping in the nude in the harsh parisienne winters. This stage in France definitely toughened him up, if he weren’t tough already. This was also the time when one of Frenchie’s testicles got shot off. Supposedly. Which accounted for the fact that he had no children. Other accounts however, relate that the children born to Frenchie took one look at his face and decided that the cost of living might be too high. So they gave up the ghost within minutes of being conceived. This is again, unverifiable. The point, however is that Frenchie’s life has taken on a nature akin to Chuck Norris’ and the truths are difficult to separate from the fictions.

Anyway, he came back to India, loaded with mastery of French, a nasty chain-smoking habit which raised India’s pollution levels tenfold, tons of chutzpah and enough balls to force Saddam out of Iraq. After brief stints of teaching French at Chennai and other places, he finally reached Montfort, where he would remain until his shocking and untimely demise.