Sunday, August 16, 2009
What have I scored?
For quite sometime, I had this eating up my thoughts. Something was mistaken. Something was misinterpreted. Something lost the track of what it was supposed to be! It is not weird if it reminds you of something else other than what I am going to write about, as everything becomes that 'something' which is prone to misinterpretation by virtue of the limits of intellect of the respondent, most of the time. ;)
It is quite normal for a father - who has dreamt so much about winning life and has eventually failed in doing so, to say his son, "You should top your class dear. It is the humble dream of your father!"
I remember the words from my mother who always had a sad opinion about most of my relatives. She felt like I was the only choice for her to depend on, in regaining the lost honor of my ancestors - technically it was 99% my father! Sorry, if that sounds ridiculous when I say, 'He feels himself to have failed in making it!'
She would say, "Vikash, உங்க அப்பா வாழ்க்கை-ல தொத்து போனத நீ தான் சரி செய்ய முடியும். நம்ம எல்லாம் middle class people. நமக்கு படிப்பு தான் வாழ்க்கை. படிச்சா தான் நல்ல நிலைமைக்கு வர முடியும்...!"
And all that she can tell, to make me "Yes Raghu... You have to do it!" But, Gosh... How long would it stand? At certain point of time, I realized that I had my own deficiency (which I would really never accept, except for writing this article) in remembering what I have learned. I had a poor memory structure. My vision was my source of learning. If I couldn't visualize it, then I will soon forget that! I mean very soon... Definitely before putting that on my answer sheets, at least! ;)
I had developed some sort of guilt even, when I feared that I am not going to make it, with my schooling at Ramanathapuram. Anyone who knows about Abdul Kalam would say, "He could make it from here. Then, why can't you?" I have only one thing in return. "May be, APJ should have tried it now!"
When I was a kid in LKG, I would watch my sister reciting multiplication tables during the recital hour in her class. I fascinated the day, when I would get the chance to do that. I got it. Trust me, it was the worst dream ever. I cried when I got the chance, as I couldn't withstand the pain in my knuckles which had become red, on hitting at it every time I made a mistake. It was the cruel babysitter (Aaayama!) who delivered all her wrath on her drunkard husband on my knuckles taking chances of my memory, then.
To be continued...