My name is Jitu Savani.
I was born in Nairobi, Kenya where my family had lived for decades. I had absolutely no family connections with India and the only reason I was sent, as a 6 year old to India was my father felt that a far higher standard of education, with an Indian bias would be imparted in our ancestral country.
Thus, I became a pupil at Lawrence School Lovedale, one of the most prestigious schools in India, from the beginning of 1958 to the end of 1968, a total of 11 years. Thousands of miles away from my protective family, severe beatings and physical torture, inflicted and allowed on hapless boys by teachers, servants and older boys was allowed and accepted as normal right from day one. That should NEVER have been allowed!
Rudyard Kipling’s famous quote about sister school, Lawrence, Sanawar: “It’s miraculous beyond all whooping. We’ll make a man of you at Sanawar.” was, of course nonsense for all those who were turned out, certainly in my day were boys who had been through unnecessary torture!
I can state categorically that those were 11 of the most miserable years of my life. Compared to the relative luxury I lived in in Nairobi where the streets were cleaned on a daily basis (water was plentiful), home-cooked food was hygienic and nutritious, living conditions ultra comfortable, it was bewildering for 6 year old me to then have to adapt to slum conditions! Those slum conditions remained in force throughout the period I was in Lovedale with constant shortages of water, filthy premises, abysmal toilets, filthy servants, poor nutrition, frequent bouts of diarrhoea, an infestation of cockroaches, and an abundance of rats.
With the benefit of hindsight, even 67 years after I commenced my ensconcement at that institution, I ask myself, why did my father pay to have his children endure such slum conditions?
Setting the physical conditions aside, there was absolutely nothing positive by way of learning or character building that compensated for those slum conditions.
I achieved absolutely nothing of worth and would have been far better off going to a local school, enjoying the comforts of a loving home, a loving extended family, and all the creature comforts necessary for a happy, productive childhood. Above all else, I would have been in my comfort zone within my own community rather than that I was lumbered with. The hatred I developed for certain members of certain communities, with which then as now I wouldn’t wish to be associated, endures and will do so until I meet my maker!
None, I repeat none of the ‘education’ I picked up at Lawrence School Lovedale ever came in handy when I left that institution. Indeed, one of the happiest days of my life was the day I left the school even though it was to an uncertain future.
Having left Lawrence School, I arrived in the UK immediately thereafter due to political upheavals in my country of birth, Kenya, and I was thrown in at the deep end. I found employment as a messenger (the term for that in India is peon or better still chaprassy) in a bank. I worked my way up, becoming an Associate of the Chartered Institute of Bankers UK and an Associate of the Chartered Institute of Management Accountants, UK. I retired after 44 years service as a senior bank manager. Along the way, I helped my my brother, an Old Lawrencian himself, become a successful doctor and my sister, also an Old Lawrencian became a successful lawyer.
I picked up absolutely nothing at Lawrence School Lovedale that had a bearing on my ability to meet the travails of life and cannot emphasise enough that as far as I am concerned it was a complete waste of time, money and opportunities for which, apart from the wonderful friends from a wide variety of ethnicities, all I got was misery.
The only shining light from my 11 years is the friendships with some of my classmates and schoolmates, the ones who went through the same daily grind of life that I did at Lovedale. These friendships have been valuable and will endure. Most of these friends have moved on; I haven’t and won’t! The reason is simple: never again must ordinary, everyday Indians allow a bogus system of a boarding school education ruin their lives. Never must they accept the deceit of people, such as Mac, from the Railway Colonies play a negative part in their lives and go on to make those lives a misery. In this day and age of Social Media, remember the bullies with a view to catching up and dealing with them in due course.
Never Give In is the motto of the school, Never Forget Never Forgive is mine!
My Lohana Heritage V Railway Colony Heritage
I stand today as a proud Lohana — a bearer of a name that carries centuries of history, valor, migration, devotion, and resilience. Ours is a community whose story begins in the golden light of myth and continues to shine across continents. From the deserts of Sindh to the shores of Gujarat, from the sacred cave of Hinglaj to bustling cities across the world, the spirit of the Lohana people endures, shaped by time but never diminished by it.
We trace our lineage to Luv, the son of Lord Ram, who ruled the kingdom of Kosala and stood as a symbol of righteousness, duty, and strength. Ram himself belonged to the Raghuvamsha — the great Solar Dynasty, or Suryavansha — a lineage believed to descend directly from the Sun God, Surya. To say we are children of the sun is not simply poetry; it is the recognition of a spiritual and martial heritage that forms the backbone of our identity. The word “Lohana” is not merely a surname — it is a legacy, an echo of a time when we were warriors, rulers, and defenders of dharma.
Our history is not preserved only in books, but in the stories of our grandmothers, the hymns sung in devotion, and the values passed down quietly in daily life. As Kshatriyas, we carried arms, upheld justice, and protected our people. But history is not always kind. As empires shifted and circumstances demanded adaptation, we did what we have always done best — we evolved. From sword to trade, from kingdom to commerce, we became merchants with the heart of warriors. We carried our principles into business and our dharma into diplomacy. Even in trade, we dealt with integrity, a subtle but strong echo of our warrior roots.
But what is heritage without faith? Central to our journey is Hinglaj Mata, our kuldevi — our guardian and mother. Her cave shrine lies deep in the Makran desert of Balochistan, Pakistan, a place both remote and revered. According to legend, it was there that Sati’s head fell when her body was scattered across the Earth, creating the Shakti Peethas. To us, Hinglaj Mata is more than a goddess — she is our protector, our compass, and our comfort in times of uncertainty. During our migrations, it was said that she watched over us, guiding us through deserts and across borders. Even today, when many cannot reach her cave due to geopolitical barriers, she lives in our homes, in our prayers, in temples built in Gujarat, Maharashtra, and far beyond — in East Africa, in the UK, and now across the globe.
I grew up hearing stories of Hinglaj Mata from my elders. Tales of the annual yatra across the desert, of pilgrims walking barefoot, carrying nothing but faith and chanting her name with every breath. In those stories was not just religion — there was identity, endurance, and pride. She remains our matriarchal anchor, holding together a community that now spans continents.
The Lohana journey is, in many ways, a tale of movement. From ancient Sindh to the heart of Gujarat, from bustling ports to merchant caravans, we have travelled far. And with each step, we have carried our values, our goddess, and our history. We are known today as entrepreneurs, philanthropists, professionals, and cultural stewards — but beneath every modern identity lies the ancient flame of Kshatriya spirit, burning still.
What makes our story extraordinary is that through centuries of change, the essence of who we are has not dimmed. We are a community deeply rooted in tradition, but never afraid of modernity. We honor our ancestors not just in rituals, but in how we live: with courage, adaptability, generosity, and faith.
So when I say I am a Lohana, I am not merely declaring where I come from. I am invoking the spirit of Luv, son of Ram. I am standing in the sunlight of my ancestors. I am bowing to Hinglaj Mata, whose silent strength echoes in the soul of every Lohana. I am remembering those who walked before me — through deserts, through hardship, through change — so that I might speak today with pride.
We are children of the sun, guided by the goddess, shaped by centuries of resilience. And our story is far from over.
Having read this History of my Lohana heritage, what was the reality at Lawrence School Lovedale? The following snippet will drive home the reality:
Mac, about whom I have written several Pages, as part of his English Literature lesson taught us the George Bernard Shaw play Arms and the Man.
In Shaw’s play, Captain Bluntschli is mocked as the ‘Chocolate Cream Soldier’—a man who carries sweets instead of bullets. It sounds laughable, even cowardly. Mac then led us to asking: Is it cowardly to admit fear? Or is it brave to be honest in a world full of pretenders?
Bluntschli doesn’t fight for glory—he fights to survive, to think, to help others. He’s mocked for it, but in the end, he’s the one who wins respect. Mac thought this was an end in itself!
With hindsight, and all of us have 20:20 vision with hindsight, I wish I hadn’t been taught this crap; particularly not by Mac! We, and certainly I, took to interpreting this to absurd levels! It meant, accepted being ‘skinned-up’, beaten and robbed by the thugs that Mac left us in the care of while he, ‘brave man’ that he was took the ‘practical’ option of fleeing to the Lawley Institute to gamble away! I would have been better off being ‘home-schooled’ in Nairobi; I would certainly have had the ‘fighting spirit’ ingrained into me from a very early age and would have abhorred the Mac type cowardice.
Even to this day, I resent the fact that my father paid COLOSSAL sums for having his children tortured in this way and that Railway Colony man Mac, far from taking his responsibilities seriously, and he was paid handsomely for this, simply upped and abandoned them.