Thursday, October 2, 2008


I think I'm actually becoming mature. I'm being able to look upon my childhood idiocies with amusement. I've just realised however,  that I don't like the word childhood. It makes me visualise a big, breathless, broad-jawed woman wagging a heavily ringed finger and saying- 'in My childhood, things were rather different; In my childhood, we never did that; in my Childhood, I had just as much fun as you but was not committing sacrilege every living hour.'

Ok. Maybe I'm not that mature after all.

But what the heck. I started this blogpost in a certain strain and I will not deviate from it. I feel like recounting my bacchabelar idiocies and having the world laugh at them, so may as well get down to it.

As a kid, I was obssessed with taking sides. My parents would dread going out for a movie with me, because it would INVARIABLY be followed by questions. 
'Wasn't the villain actually a better person than the hero?
Who did you find prettier: independent-warrior-princess or luminescent-delicate-nymph? 
Didn't the dog in the movie have a funnier expression than the cat?
Do you think the sequel will be as good as this?'

Parents have a tough job. But sometimes, so do friends. During the elections, I HAD to support a party. And I wouldn't rest till my friends supported one too. Of course, at that time I knew less about politics than I know about table manners in Greenland. 
(For one, all I know about table manners is that it's criminal to leave good food unfinished. Secondly, all I know about Greenland is that it's always white in colour on a world map.)
Atal Bihari Vajpayee was rather grandfatherly, so I became a full-fledged BJP fan. And I think my friends chose Congress, because the word has a nice ring to it.

'Idiocy' always reminds me of a particular incident. In class 8, my text books and me were vaguely aware of each other's existence, but that was it. Science was never my strongest point anyway. And in consequence, I got a 49 in Physics. Call it bad luck or good luck, my teacher wrote down a 54 in her marks register. As the very backbone of morality, I found it imperative to correct her. 
'Umm... miss. There's a slight calculation error.'
The teacher looked apologetic. She had interpreted my very palpable distress as outrage. Surely I was getting more than a measely 54!
'I... it... my marks... is 49.'
The apologetic look was now blended into one of deep sympathy. 'Poor soul', she must've been thinking. 'A little dumb, a little distracted, but rather a good person.' 
In my embarrassment, I'd even stuttered through my goodness. I should've said 'In reality, my marks amount to the singularly disappointing but definitely improvable score of 49.' That way, she would've known that my English is alright.

Then, I keep remembering the time I wanted to be a professional singer. In class 3, I actually told my class teacher so. It was quite selfish of me, wanting to impose my self-entertainment on the public. People wouldn't actually run away if I started singing, but to imagine they'd PAY for it! There's something beautifully tragic about an unrecognised genius, struggling to make both ends meet. However, recognised mediocrity struggling to make both ends meet is hardly a glamorous image. 
But on second thoughts, maybe I wasn't that idiotic, wanting to be a singer. Maybe I was just a little less disillusioned. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could make a career out of what we enjoyed doing most? Right now, it's not singing. But what if it was? What if I wanted to be part of a bathroom-singers band, write amateur poetry and make slapstick spoofs for a living? (I wouldn't mind!) Well, let's not dream about the impossible. At 18 years of my life, I'm supposed to know exactly who I am and what I'm best at. With a LOT of help from the dear ISC board, whose foresight and open-mindedness has shaped me into who I am today. It has such a diverse array of subjects, that I had to choose from amongst  Maths, Business Studies and Home Science. It stimulates the creativity so strongly, that our school gives us FILL IN THE BLANKS from Macbeth. So that we're forced to learn up the play, just to be on the safe side.
The safe side.
Damn the safe side.

9 beep/s:

cry freedom said...

ha. u reminded me of tulsyan and IB at the same time. both of them teach with such amazing dedication, i'm surprised i dunno the syllabus.

cry freedom said...

and to add, that one B.St lesson, where i used some intellect. teeny weeny. the first (and probably the last) time in the B.St class.

Yamini said...

or perhaps, there is. but it's all cute and nice, and it should be. idiocy, idiosyncrasy, whatever.


n yes, yes, you're so funny :D

Clezevra said...

All in the name of education... this is supposed to give us skills, I guess

Prince of Mirkwood said...

its 'hoye' and not goye if i remember my bong correctly...then again i may be wrong!

Death On Two Legs said...

EEEEP. Sorry. And thanks, I cant' believe I hadn't noticed earlier.

Death On Two Legs said...

Neeti- which BST lesson was that? Sorry, as a landmark event, it should be branded on my mind. But I just can't place it.

cry freedom said...

@ anoorag: i wondered about it too. but then, bengali has never been my strength, so i thought i was wrong! :P

@ anushka: u remember that one class where we were discussing the ISC council, and school, and how school was the first sphere blah blah..? and how school, along with the council should make an effort to let us discover our talents and loves as and when we wanted? it was right after we saw our padatik play.

Death On Two Legs said...

@neeti-OHHHH. That. YES :D I sure enjoyed myself that class.

And guys, give yourselves a LITTLE more credit. I'm sure you know that much Bangla.