The Montfort Chronicles

 Frenchie was a holy terror to most guys in Monty. At a time when corporal punishment was not frowned upon, he made liberal use of the rod. Frenchie's cane was a work of art unto itself. Made from supple bamboo, it extended almost a full metre. Frenchie boasted that he made it more flexible by rolling it up and immersing it in a jar of castor oil. After a couple of weeks of this treatment, the cane was dried in sunlight for a good two days. The result was a fully functional weapon of student-terrorization that could bend from tip to tip without breaking a sweat. With such an object at his disposal, the possibilities for terror were infinite. And how well Frenchie capitalized.

By the time my batch had arrived in school, the man had built up a reputation for ruthlessness that would put Idi Amin and the Gestapo enforcers to shame. He was truly Machiavellian; if Draconian measures were required to induce cringing terror in us, that was the path he would pursue. Never mind the consequences. Tales were told of how Frenchie once thrashed a guy just for asking why he smoked. I personally knew this junior of mine called Azad who cried just by seeing Frenchie thrash someone else. He was a major motherfuckin thulper (thulp is monty slang for ‘beat the living daylights out of’). Frenchie,however, had a method to his madness and preached a unique thulping style( rumor has it that he was a pioneer of interrogation techniques in the French army.) The arse would be thrashed first, then your hands got the treatment.. Finally you had to take off your shoes and you would get a few solid ones on the soles of your feet. I have never seen him exercise this routine on anyone, but he once described it to me with obvious pleasure and excitement. The rationale, he said, was to render the victim uncomfortable in every position. He couldn’t stand on his feet or sit on his butt. Basically, he was fucked.

Despite all his failings, Frenchie was a teacher non pareil. His classes were always brilliant; nary a dull moment. Year after year, the feller managed to get at least one or two of his students to obtain state ranks in French. When my batch’s time came, yours truly did the honours ( State 2nd in French, baby. I know. Crazy shit!)

Also, when birthday boys made the rounds distributing sweets to the teachers (this was customary), Frenchie made sure his students got some too. The bloke had an undeniable charisma about him. Even those who hated his guts admitted to a grudging respect of this mustachioed motherfucker with the fantastic stories and the flexible cane. It was said that as you got older and reached standards 10th 11th and 12th, Frenchie would begin to act quite cool towards you. Unfortunately, we were never able to find out if there was any truth to these tales. I have however, heard of how he would sometimes smoke with some 12th standard guys during lunch breaks. But though he had these moments where he almost seemed like a human being, nobody ever assumed anything where Frenchie was concerned. He could be the nicest guy in the world to you, joking and shooting the crap, but if you fucked with him you got fucked into oblivion. Ultimately, Frenchie remained unknowable and isolated, trapped in layers of mental blocks, attitude and godknowswhatelse.