CREATIVITY - SAM SATISH GEORGE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IrZFp0msx4

BREEKS REUNION 2011 - PICTURES

https://picasaweb.google.com/vivek.valson/ADREMHABBA2011#5651535027418009714

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150418123714056.438768.717909055&type=1

https://www.facebook.com/groups/adremhabba2011/photos/

ADREM

Breeks Memorial School motto:  AD REM—relevant; pertinent, to the point.

Ad Rem: Latin for To the Purpose, To the Point. 

Ad Rem is the School motto that rings out loud and clear in the chorus of the beautiful school song composed in the early 1960s by A. M. Brinicomb and set to music by C. Greenhalgh.

colors -  Red & Black

Marlene Fernandez [Marlene Almeida]

 Hi Girls&Boys! (Ladies&gentlemen!)


 I am Marlene Fernandez [Marlene Almeida] behind the pen, complying with Jamuna's request,for posting an article in 'Habba Newsletter'.I have to first appraise the organizers of Habba on the successful conduct of their events in Sept.2011.It was amazing!   I feel I ought to brief out details of my identity. I was appointed by Mr.Donald Fox, the then Principal,in July 1967 and retired under Mr.N.Raman in May 2005..During my 38 years of  service in Breeks I derived innovative ideas from my Principals,senior and Junior teachers which have guided me all along my teaching career.My entire family was connected with Breeks. It therefore,goes without saying,that I hold much sentiments for Breeks.  It's unbelievable! During the first two years of my service, I had a sort of complex which resulted in keeping distance from the senior teachers and senior boys.   By jove!  Suppose I get a snub or get ragged! That would be a bad scene!             
I was twenty at that time and the only friend I could move around with comfortably was Averil Ghulam.  We did have some good times.Gradually,I picked up courage and started asserting myself..Now,Mrs.Fernandez is bold and brazen..                                                                                                                                         Once,Miss Saldhana was watching me correcting an English Language paper of a class five student. She said,"Don't give more than 6/10 for a good essay,4 for average and 2 or 3 for those below average. Ever since,I stuck to these norms.  On another occasion,I was correcting a Maths answer paper of a standard six student,this time Mr.Karl was beside me.
I did not give any marks for a sum that I marked wrong.   He said,'Marlene,you should give marks for steps'.
Thereafter I began giving 1 mark for each step. To conclude, during the last 25 years of my service, the Headmaster facilitated many opportunities by which I was able to exhibit my talent.. This stands in good stead even today,as I am presently the H.M. of The Cliff Main School, Ootacamund. I am a straight speaker and my policy is hard work and sincerity.
This is absolutely true and pays in the long run.   Bye girls and boys!  Catch up with u sometime!                                                                                                                                                                                                                             With Good Wishes & Prayers.    MRS.MARLENE FERNANDEZ  

                                                                                                                                                                                                          
                                                                                                                                         

BERNIE MAX - BREEKS MEMORIAL SCHOOL - DAUGHTER OF MRS. FERNANDEZ

Hi guys, I am Bernie Max (MURUGAN), its a pleasure to highlight a few of my experiences in Breeks,for the newsletter...To commence with,I was in Breeks  from the Lkg to std 10..These years were indeed memorable...Breeks has taught me right from scratch,from paper to pen. 


To follow the path of truth,peace,to love,to honour and serve is what I inbibed from my teachers..Obviously,I learnt the very basics of education, religion in Breeks which moulded me into  being a good Human being.                                                


I used to take part in extra curricular activities,was in the school choir, singing competitions oh! and when it comes to the ANNUAL sports,it was real fun,we could skip classes to attend the sports practices,,but if we dared tried to dodge,our goose would be cooked the next day!!! I remember one afternoon when I was in the 9std,a group of us cut classes to watch"CharlieChaplin's" movie playing at Assembly Rooms.We were caught  by Mr.Lingan and we were punished by our principal Mr.John Mathias,and after that i use to shiver whenever I see him..          
                                                                                                                                                                                       
I was crazy on cycling in the 7std..a gang of us use to hire bicycles and we would cycle all over the town..I remember P.C Praveen joining me,and he would laugh and giggle at me whenever I lost my balance and  fell..these were the best days of my life..I will never forget my child hood friends whom I moved around with  from class 3 ,Poonam,R. 
Anitha, Jamuna,Nagul,Nelson,Aarthi Delsy,Charmain and later Yvonne Lobo..We all were the best of friends!!!..          

Last but not least, we enjoyed our picnics and the educational tours.It was great fun,esp the Cochin trip in the 7 std was wonderful!! The teachers were happy go lucky people at these picnics but the next day it was vice versa!!  I guess that's a teachers role.                      
                            
So I conclude saying once again, I've had the best days of my life in BREEKS..                                       T                                    
Cheers to BREEKS! & Cheers to Habba!  ADREM!!!         
                                                                                                                  

http://www.hindu.com/thehindu/mag/2005/01/16/stories/2005011600580100.htm

Homeland Magic, Vijay "Bajji" Balakrishnan 1970

“Where are you from, son?” asked the old woman, in a distinctly southern drawl.

I smiled and pushed my shopping cart of groceries closer to the checkout counter. “We moved to Atlanta from Minneapolis.”

“No, I mean where are you really from?”

Ah….a more difficult question. I grew up inside a picture postcard and fell out by accident through a tear in the paper. The mists that rolled over hilltops like lace veils did not follow me through the hole. Neither did the heady smells of eucalyptus and cypress fir, laced with smoke. No, you see, it is their fierce loyalty, or perhaps a spell (I never figured out which), that keeps them rooted in those valleys.

The postcard was an exquisite place. There were gardens awash in color, streams with squirming tadpoles, and lakes ringed with silent trees. The sky had a deep blue tinge, perhaps even purple, that I have not seen anywhere else. It was always cold in those hills, and the air felt like peppermint to breathe.

I walked everyday to a red castle, where a red-bearded man in a black cape started the day by reading from a Holy Book. He had mischievous eyes, that man. They twinkled brightly when he was animated. We heard him seated in rows in a great hall with a vaulted ceiling- the boys in grey on one side, and the girls in navy blue on the other. We did not always understand the holy words he uttered, but felt strangely better as we walked out of the hall after he was finished.

Eight of us climbed to the castle tower with a roof that looked like a pointed hat. Every morning began with a choice to either take the stairway that contradicted itself in right angles, or slither up spiral steps through a very narrow turret with slit windows. We sat at desks while thetas, betas, equations, formulas, and diagrams swooped through the small room in circles and settled on the rafters. Hindi letters jumped about on the lines above their heads like children playing on monkey bars, and Tamil alphabets rolled from side to side on their many curlicues. It was hard to catch them, as they seemed to anticipate every move. It was only when a bell clanged that they all flew out of the arched window to the distant playground.

We often trooped down the hill in neat lines to the playground. A whitewashed shed that smelled of leather and sweat stood at one end of a green expanse framed by trickling streams on two sides. There were always neat, white lines on the grass that marked out great rectangles and circles. At the corners of the markings were waist-high red and black flags. We knew it was the tall man who emerged from the shed in a brown sweater, or sometimes a greatcoat, that made the lines. Nobody knew his name. He was just “Watchee”. Many thought he lived in the whitewashed shed. Others said he walked home every day through a long tunnel to a sunny valley on the other side.

There were many rituals we performed under Watchee’s gaze.  In pouring rain sometimes, we struck little red balls into puddles of water with the curved sticks that he gave us. The sticks were transformed into paddles with which we beat great sheaves of mud onto ourselves. The mud would permeate everywhere. It matted our hair, lodged in our teeth and inside our ears. There was one boy who whispered that within the mud lay formulas and letters that had escaped the tower and gotten stuck in the slush.

We were divided into Reds, Blues and Greens- groups that vied with each other for excellence in letters, music, and sport. Each group had its Leaders, who urged their minions onward with words of special power like Self Reliance, Tojours Pret and Perseverando Vincmus. None of these rallying cries had the strength of Ad Rem, which was as old as the red castle itself. The large hall with the vaulted ceiling often echoed with the voices of four hundred boys and girls singing, “Ad Rem! Ad Rem! Ad Rem! Be this our watchword ever!” I had not noticed the word “ever” then, but I know now that the mystical Ad Rem is still with me.

I have since discovered a well-kept secret. There were more hours in a day there, than anywhere else. I think it was the man with the red beard, and his many assistants, that altered all the clocks. How else can I explain every race run, tree climbed, and song sung lingering on in great clarity, while my life since then seems like a blur?

I remember the day I fell through the crack. I climbed into a silver tube with wings that had great fans that roared. It rose into the air and carried me faster and faster beyond the clouds. I craned my neck and looked through a tiny window to see if I could see anything I recognized, but all I knew had quickly vanished.

I looked at the wizened woman. “Where I’m really from? I’m from a place quite far away now, Ma’am.”

“Must have been a happy place, son,” she said. “I can tell from the look in your eyes.”

“That it was, Ma’am. That it definitely was.”