Call it the age of innocence: else, why would 30-odd literature undergrad students bunk language class and assemble under the trees in full view of the authorities?

A passing nun asked in dulcet tones what we were up to – and we told the truth. We were trying to organise an excursion to Kodaikanal. One of the students had ‘contacts’ there to facilitate affordable accommodation.

Minutes later, the ground under our feet exploded. Like the aftershocks of an earthquake, alarm waves spread through the group from top to bottom: Princi (the inimitable Sister Helen Vincent) wanted to see us in her room right away.

We filed in, still only vaguely aware of our crime. So carried away were we with the idea of visiting Kodi that we had, en masse, stayed away from the French/Tamil/Sanskrit classes.

“I will see how you go on this excursion,” was all Princi said, calmly. A ‘no’ from Sister Helen Vincent may have been low on decibels but had a deafening ring of authority to it.

Stricken, we filed out and converged again – where else, under the trees – to take stock. All fingers pointed to the class rep and she resignedly agreed to lead the damage control exercise.

After what seemed an eternity, we went back to the room of judgement. While we couldn't really have appreciated the importance of language classes then, we resolved, in writing, I forget how many times, to never miss lessons again. A convinced Princi gave in graciously.

The trip was the sweeter for our almost not making it.

(Mythili studied at Stella Maris College in Chennai many years ago.)

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