The dog ate my homework!

We hear the expression “The dog ate my home-work”. It was the proverbial, lame excuse that students used, to outwit teachers. Teachers had a tough time to sieve out the legitimate excuses from the outlandish ones!

“Ma’am, I completed my homework, but forgot the book at home! Mother promise!” saying so, the student pinched his neck. The teacher retorted, “So forgetful, is it? Do you forget to brush your teeth also?” You had half a mind to respond, “Yes, I forget that too!” But then, such an indiscrete answer would provoke the teacher. Silence was a better option. You put on the most sad-puppy face to bail you out from the brewing crisis.

Back then, the absence of the cellphone gave complete anonymity to the student. The parent was  inaccessible. Information was exchanged between parents and teachers through hand-written notes in the school-diary. For most parts, students wrote the notes, filling those big parental shoes at that tender age! Sridhar was absent for a couple of days. When he came back, his diary said- “Sainus”. The teacher caught him by the ear, so sure that he had fudged the excuse and his mother’s signature. Sridhar had a glib answer for his sinus ailment, which caught even the teacher off-guard, “Ma’am, my mother does not know English! She studied in Tamil medium!”

Playing truant from school was common. The diary was filled with reasons like “cousin sister’s wedding”, “went to native”, “high fever” or “bad cough”. When you got the diary signed, you coughed a few times, to lend an element of authenticity. Students invented innovative excuses- “helped grandaunt who fractured leg”. Some went one step further- “granduncle gone”.

The occasional parent-teacher meetings led to prickly situations. The teacher expressed genuine sympathy, “I am very sorry to hear about Dinesh’s granduncle.” Dinesh’s mother was confused, “But he does not have a granduncle!” Sridhar quickly saved the blushes- “Teacher, that was not Dinesh, it was Rajesh’s granduncle!”

One lost count about the number of relatives who had broken legs or who had passed beyond the pale of human existence! The following year, students resurrected the same relatives for another round of falls and broken bones.

Class tests and excuses went hand in hand. Just when the test was about to begin, Dinesh complained of stomach-ache, the most unverifiable ailment! Dinesh put on such a theatrical act that the teacher was forced to excuse him.

Dinesh limped away to the sickroom, holding his belly. He passed by the class-window. The coast was clear.  He glanced at his buddies. His face lit up with the most mischievous half-smile before he doubled the decibel level of his pain! What a sly fox!

Footwear Escapades!

There are situations where there is no choice but to leave your footwear outside. It could be a religious event or a group gathering. You come back and cannot spot your slippers. The mind is in a haze- you try to recall your footwear and where you left them. In a frenzy, you shuffle all the footwear in the pile. Some look similar, but they are not yours. Anger fumes from within- who could be so unscrupulous as to steal your footwear of all things! Or perhaps, so careless not to recognize their own slippers!

The next course of action is unclear. Should you file an FIR? Or should you make a dash with a different pair? What if the rightful owner comes running and holds you by the scruff of the neck? As you ruminate over the possibilities, all the people leave the premises. It is now totally empty, but one forlorn pair of slippers is still standing! The feet have an uneasy feel as you trudge away with that pair! At times, the shock is worse. The last pair belongs to different slippers and sometimes, both slippers are for the same foot! The mind goes blank trying to piece together this puzzle.

Slippers are slippery fellows- with a mischievous soul pervading the sole! They wait for the opportune moment. You are pleased with life and walk with a larger-than-life swagger. Suddenly, the foot is arrested. The Hawaii-chappal buckle has slipped off from the base! Hobbling on one foot, you manage to set it right by threading the buckle back into the hole. From now on, you are on the backfoot. Every 100 steps, the problem resurfaces. It is like a tooth that has developed a cavity. The shooting pain is just round the corner!

Shoes are funny fellows. They are pebble collectors! The collection stays unnoticed on the sides and heel, till it swells, and you start feeling them! Upturn the shoe one day, and an entire family spills out. It rains shells and stones, nails and coins, an entire treasure that you never knew!

Formal shoes play a particular prank. The sole gets partially detached at the tip. As the foot is raised, it opens its mouth, and snaps shut, when you place the foot on the ground. Call it Murphy’s Law, but faced with this predicament, not one cobbler or shoe-shop is in sight. How far can you walk thus, scraping and flapping your way?

Just when you lose all hope, something snaps from within. In a moment of brazen recklessness, you abandon both the footwear forthwith. The crutches are thrown away. You step out and hit the turf with bare feet. The freedom is total!

 

The vanishing skill of handwriting!

Back then, we dealt in sweeping generalizations! If someone had a bad handwriting, we were sure he would be a doctor! The doctor’s proverbial scribble while prescribing medication was well known. And if someone could decipher that handwriting, he would be a pharmacist! It was a miracle that the pharmacist handed out the correct medicine, for the prescription was totally illegible!

Teachers pulled you up if the handwriting was bad. “Your handwriting is like your head-writing!” they scolded, as if destiny’s reading was easier than this gibberish! The first-ranker in class invariably had a beautiful handwriting. His proficiency was a nuisance since he showed the rest of us in bad light! Any time, you brought home the first-ranker’s notebook, comparisons were inevitable. “Look at his handwriting! They are like pearls!”

Handwriting was a skill you worked on from the beginning. Initially, you went through the drill to write one letter at a time, and then, moved to “running-hand”. These days, the nomenclature has changed. “Running-hand” is replaced with the Americanized term called “cursive-writing”. A “running-hand” gave you speed- a critical need for the old-style exams. Invariably, there were outliers, who never took to running-hand. They continued to write in “print letters” all through life, and still managed to clear exams. “Lefties” had a different writing style. Their elbow was bent and came around the paper, and the wrist was cocked, as they chiseled away with their pens! Some stuck their tongue out or babbled away involuntarily, as their writing hand kept pace with the mouth! Writers came in all flavors at school.

It is ironical that a skill so fundamental as this, is on the brink of extinction. Some of us have not written for ages. Signing a bank-cheque makes us nervous. The hands tremble as the pen is brought to paper. It requires several trials on scrap paper before the cheque is signed! A week later, the cheque is back with us, with a blunt note that the signature does not match! The helplessness is acute, as if we need to go to kindergarten all over again.

The question is- does handwriting have a place in tomorrow’s world? It is amply clear that the future is typing- whether it is on the cellphone or the laptop. That said, wouldn’t it be more worthwhile to replace the writing drills in school with typing exercises?

Going forward, no one is going to sign a bank-cheque. “Bio-metric” security and its ilk will take care of that. It took us decades to go from thumbprint to a reasonable percentage of writing-literacy. And now, with bio-metric, we are back to thumbprint all over again! Life has come a full circle!

Spot the 6 differences!

Magazines of the past carried a constant fixture called “Spot the 6 differences!” It was impossible to flip the page once you saw the two pictures. You hopelessly succumbed to the temptation.

The first few minutes punctured your self-esteem. The pictures were exact copies, and not one difference could be spotted, leave alone 6! You wondered if someone pasted identical images to send you on a wild goose chase!

You stared at the pictures unblinkingly- the tree and the bird, the man and his dress. You had half a mind to punch the editor in the nose, for incorporating this activity and wasting your time. Just when you were about to give up, you spotted the first difference. The bird’s beak was parted in one but closed in the other! Your kicked yourself, “How did I miss this?”  Once the first hurdle was crossed, you were on a roll. Other differences bubbled up- the hat had a different design, and the shoelace was untied. Eventually, the fort was conquered, and pleased as punch, you turned the page.

Later in the day, your sister questioned if you spotted all the differences. Apparently, she could find only 4. “It was so simple!” you lied. For effect, you pompously mimicked Sherlock Holmes, “You see, but you do not observe!”

Now, you were pulled up to explain the differences.  In a moment of indiscretion, you took up the challenge. Quickly, you reeled off all 6. But there was an objection, “That is only 4. You counted the hat twice!” Irritation turned to anger as your credibility was in doubt. You raised your voice and asserted, “Bird’s beak: one!” “Man’s hat: two!” This time, the fingers stayed upraised at two and you could count no more!  

It was unbelievable. That you had solved the problem once, was history.  It was a brand-new problem yet again. How much it toyed with your patience! At the end of it, you gave up and turned to the page that carried the answers printed upside down. It was a humbling moment. The oversight was so obvious. In one picture, the man’s hand was resting on the hip; it was hanging down in the other!

Humans are strange beings! Where there are no problems, he invents one, just to whet his problem-solving appetite. Apparently, crosswords and puzzles keep the mind alert as we age! “Spot the 6 differences” falls in the same category. It is heartening that this innocuous tease has such lofty goals!

Meanwhile, it is another day, with a new “spot the 6 differences”. You avoid eye-contact and quickly turn the page. Something snaps- you dither and go back! You are sucked into the whirlpool all over again!

 

The name game!

Remembering names is not easy. The problem starts at the beginning- right at the point when you ask someone’s name. That moment is distracting- you are either scrutinizing the face, or shaking hands, or focusing on telling your name, that you miss the reply completely. Seconds later, you are unsure whether it was Mahesh or Sunil. Even now, there is a possibility for course correction. You can ask a second time, “Sorry! I did not get your name!” Leave this chance also, and you are forever doomed to play a catch-up game.

He could be someone in your work-place cab. Each day, you converse, and familiarity grows. Soon, you have chatted on all topics ranging from office politics to Cricket. Once you hit this phase, you cannot suddenly bring up the topic, “What is your name?” You try surreptitious methods- try to peek at his badge. Or check his name when he signs against the cab attendance register. Or beat around the bush by asking, “Whom do you report to at work?” Later, you cross-check the reporting-chain directory to find his name. Meanwhile, friendship continues, and you are now thick pals. While he calls you by your name, you are forced to take recourse to “how are you doing man?”, to add that element of cheeriness to the conversation!

The problem gets compounded when a third person joins the same cab. One day, catching you by the office café, Mr. Third enquires, “What is the name of that talkative person in our cab?” You are now caught napping. You blurt out, “I don’t know!” It leaves Mr. Third totally confused, “But I thought you knew him well!” You sheepishly reply, “I do! I just do not know his name! Can you find out? By the way, what is your name?” Mr. Third backs off, totally alarmed!

The pandemic has wiped the mind clean! Virtual working has ensured that you thankfully retain the names of those you regularly contact. But when it comes to the secondary circle of associations, they have faded away. After 2 years, you meet one of them. You recall the face very well. But the name eludes- it is at the tip of the tongue, but you cannot spit it out!

Self-doubt creeps in- Is it ageing, or has corona eaten away memory? The fact is- the mind has its own mind. It is a hyperactive, mischievous child. The more you are vexed with the mind, the more it toys with you! Leave the mind alone, and out of the blue, someday, somewhere, it bubbles up the name! The Eureka moment is sudden! “That was Hari!” You smile at yourself! “How did I forget his name?”

Spoilt by salesmen!

Buying shoes in the US follows a fixed procedure. You head to one of the sprawling malls. The sheer variety of shoes numbs you. You need help from the attendant on the floor, “I am looking for formal shoes. Can you help me?” His answer is clipped, “Sir, Aisle 3A! You can search by the shoe-number!” You cannot fault him for he has conveyed the information, regardless of the business-like tone. After some fruitless sole searching in Aisle 3A, you lose interest. You decide to postpone the purchase and buy the shoes in India!

The moment you walk into a shoe-shop in India, the attendant latches onto you. He does not care for the shoe-number that you tell him. Who knows, the foot may have grown or changed shape. With the precision of an optometrist, he brings out the foot-measuring instrument. Placing your foot on the instrument’s incline, he scrutinizes it, and shouts a number in the vernacular.

The shop has a false ceiling with a little aperture. Like manna from heaven, multiple boxes rain down and fall with a thud. Gleaming black shoes emerge from the boxes. He dusts off the shoes, with a clap of the heels! He puts the shoe on you, easing it with a heel-scoop. He is not satisfied with the fitting as he feels for your big toe. One more shout and more shoes rain down! This time, he is sure, and ties the lace for you. He asks you to take a stroll. It feels right, but you wonder if it is a tad loose. No problem, he has a spare pair of socks ready! With the socks on, it feels perfect as you glance at yourself in the side-mirror!

By now, the attendant has tiny cups of hot tea ready. It is an offer you cannot resist! With the size decided, the salesman spoils you with choices in formal wear- black-shoes, brown-shoes, shoes without laces, shoes with prominent heels and even a shoe that curls up at the end, like royal footwear!

He entices you with more and more footwear variants- walking-shoes, running-shoes, and home-wear slip-ons. He bends the entire shoe in half to demonstrate how flexible and comfortable it feels. If your wife is by your side, he deftly changes the track, “And for you sister? We have some elegant slippers!”

All you wanted was one shoe. At the end of the purchase, you carry a dozen bags- shoes, socks, polish, foot-powder, Hawaii-chappals, and a lot more! Your wallet is lighter, but the self-indulgence is fulfilling. The old shoes are abandoned at the shop as you walk off with the new pair! There is a newfound spring in your steps!

 

Power-cut!

As children, we looked forward to power-cuts, especially those in the late evenings and nights! The suddenness of it made it thrilling. You froze like a statue and held the pose, as though arrested in movement. If you tried to move, you stumbled over chair-ends and side-tables or worse, stepped on someone’s foot!

As you peered out of the balcony, the urban landscape was straight out of a fairy-tale. The neighborhood looked grotesque, draped in just the light of the moon and stars! There was an irresistible urge to add to the spookiness by mimicking all kinds of sounds! A clip-clop of a galloping horse with its loud neighing was a top favorite! You created eerie sound-effects- the bark of an angry dog, the bleat of a goat, and the protracted sound of wailing-wind! Ghosts and spirits seemed to get a new lease of life when the darkness was total!

You grinned in the pitch darkness, cocksure that these antics would provoke your elder sister. That was the intent anyway. Her protest was quick and predictable, “Can you stop this nonsense now and stay quiet?” There was never an answer to my counter-question, “You are scared, isn’t it?”

Occasionally, a building in the distance was completely lit up while we stayed enveloped in darkness. That was a bitter pill to swallow. You seethed with anger at the unfairness of it all!

Back then, there were no power generators. You waited till the current was back, sometimes, after several hours. Power-cuts gave you freedom to do nothing! It was a ready excuse to skip homework and study-time. You felt on top of the moon! Soon, mother brought out the candles and placed them at strategic spots around the house. Dinner was served in the candlelight. In that mellow lighting, even curd-rice had an added aura!

Power-cuts helped to unleash your creative potential. The play of shadows on the wall created immense possibilities. Against the wall-canvas, father used his fingers with dexterity. An entire world of shadow-puppets emerged. It was accompanied with appropriate sound-effects, like a full-scale light-and-sound show! There was the shadow of an old man, complete with a bald head and tuft, whose mouth and chin quivered as he spoke gibberish. There were barking dogs, prancing deer and flying birds. Parrots perched on branches and swans stuck their neck out! It was difficult to distinguish the parent from the child!

When the electricity was back, the end could not be more anti-climactic. You blinked, overwhelmed by the blinding light all around. The fun ended abruptly, and now, you had to go back to the pedestrian routine. How you wished, there was no light and only darkness!