On Remembering School Days :: One

Dad once asked me why I hated certain things and people so much.

 

I said because it felt good. Because certain things and people are just not worth loving. Fine, someone else can love them all they want, and that's perfectly ok, but don't take away my right to hate. Right? Yup, very right.

 

Moving on, I said I'd write something about school days. This is my way of catching up with the nostalgia because frankly, if I don't try to remember now, somewhere down the line, I WILL forget it all. I don't want that to happen. Maybe this place will be a collection of all the tidbits that I can remember.

 

Yes, school. What all do I remember?

·         Going to school on a cycle. Changed 3 cycles through all the years in school.

·         Using Ink Pens. I used to take a geometry box full of pens for some reason.

·         Bags! Which were of so heavy.

·         Tiffin box.

·         Small break and recess.

·         Ironing my own clothes.

·         Polishing my shoes, dad's shoes and sister's shoes too. Glad that mom didn't wear black shoes or I'd have polished her shoes too.

·         Home work diary. Man, that blue cover, that's all I remember.

·         Chemistry lab. I have fond memories of labs, because they brought a strange kind of freedom from the classrooms.

·         The big bell in school which used to be a steel plate but later turned into a Mandir Ka Ghanta.

·         Teachers, who were all more awesome than each other, didn't realize it back then, I do feel and respect that now.

·         Classmates, who were of no use. I am not in touch with a single one of them (OK, one only). Which is ok by me.

·         Morning prayers, where students used to fall down like watermelons from trees.*

·         One teacher who beat me up once. (I remember your name man, and we will meet again surely, he he)

 

Yup, that's some of it. There is a lot more. But that in some other post.

 

Next, The Caravan I saw On a Road While Coming Back From Office.

Trying to understand Me

Writing here, on the blog is different from any other place that I write. There is a perfect knowledge that everything here will be read by the parents, teachers and anyone who cares enough to run my name through google.com. So, what do I say that makes sense for everyone, or maybe not. There is never a perfect answer, is there?

My plan for this space in the coming few days is to write about the things that I miss. I said things, and not people because people who are not there in our lives are not there for a reason. There is no reason to feel bad for their absence because this is the way life is, we all move on.

Again, i digress, things. We were talking about things. And of course, with things come memories. There are just too many memories in my head, because it is difficult to forget than to remember.

The very first memory I have is of being defiant. I don't remember what I did but I was punished for that be me being made to sit home and my sister was taken for a movie. Which movie was that? I don't really remember. But what I remember is saying sorry for the first time. It's a strange muddled memory in my head, but that's one of the earliest things that i can remember. School came much later. And there were some interesting incidents in school too.

That, tomorrow.

The Problem

I do not care about Writer's Block, that's for lazy people who can't put their fingers to the keyboard and make magic. Writing not a skill you can learn, it's not the money that you can earn, it's not something that can be achieved by any mortal means. Writing is a gift, either you are born with it or you are not. If you don't have that gift, don't try. It will be failure and painful.

Come to think of it, it's never really about the writing. Or to expand this thought, it's never really about what we are doing. The job is not a job, the friendship is not really a friendship, the food we eat everyday is not really for sustenance (You can very well survive for at least a month if you don't eat). There is always a bigger picture. Always. There is always something bigger going on behind the screen of what you see. There IS a bigger purpose. Everything we do, everything we see, everything we say, feel, touch, hate, love is just another link in the chain of events.

What is all this leading to?

I don't know.

We all have to reach our own destinations. And whether you like it or not, life is going to drag you down to your final home, it depends on you whether you reach there kicking and screaming with mud on your knees, or with a winning grin on your face.

It's late at night as I write this and my mind is full of thought. The mind never stops thinking. There are just too many thoughts. And they are good thoughts at that. The only thing needed is to put those thoughts "out there" and infect, inspire, or inform as many people as I can. Why? Because thinking alone is no fun. If I am troubled why don't you join me and share this feeling.

Now, quick, the order of traffic lights, red on top or green on top?

Goodnight.

Dad read this blog today, oh boy!

Every man who has ever been a boy has looked up to his father for guidance, money, inspiration, support, money, love, care, money and much more. And little boys can be unforgiving little devils with memories that would shame a herd of elephants. I remember a lot of things when I was a boy and I looked up to Dad for all the things including money and inspiration and jazz. Now, Dad read the blog a few days back, (Hi Papa, I know you are reading this too), and he asked me what would I write if I had to write about him. I told him I can do a 300 word essay on you, but I charge 1 Re per word. He said 50 paise. I said 80p. We both settled at 75p.

Jokes apart, one of the most fond memories is of sitting behind him on his scooter. Dad is a slow driver and when he took me to play video games at the local gaming shop, on the way I used to think that I can stand on the back seat and he wouldn't even know it because he drives such smoothly. We used to go to play badminton in the college where I'd do my +2 in future years but in the school years the college seemed like a haunting and mystical place. Which was sadly disproved when I spent two years in that place. But I remember watching him play in the open court and thinking- Damn, I'll never be as fast as him in the court. I never was. I'm sure he can still make me run like a rabbit in the badminton court, and I don't say this because I am unfit, this is because he has the experience and the stamina. He still tells me that he makes kids my age run in the court during games. If I am asked to play against him, I'm going to politely decline, a wise man should know his limits.

Today, Dad is like a pillar of support where most fathers kick the ladders from under the feet of their kids, he has stood by me in the strangest of circumstances when I thought things to be beyond hope, he has, in his own way, somehow opened a path. Always.

So, consider this a Thank You note, which I wish to write a thousand times and still it will still not come up to the gratitude I feel for my father.

He is an awesome person, a Rockstar in the true sense of the word. He rocks even more than me. Now that's saying something!

Hats off to you Dad!

*Please deposit the money for this writeup in my bank account. ;) (Kidding!!)