Growing Up

Packing me off to school was probably the biggest hurdle that my parents had to come across each day. It was time to whine and rant everyday in the morning coming up with some excuse or the other, and it ranged from the mundane to the bizarre.

Mundane would be something like pain in the legs and bizarre would be my delusion that I am going to croak in an aeroplane crash into my primary school that day. Somehow I got into my head that these flying objects would someday falldown coz of lack of petrol.

It was the year 1977 when I was chucked into Lower Kindergarten and the tortuous road to acquiring an education that will be a foundation for my career later in life. I tried all the tricks in the book, but then I wasnt going to have it my way.

Finally after much cajoling, with a heavy heart and armed with a double bubble gum (which is my fav pastime to date--chewing the cud) and a box of sweets to be distributed to the fifty odd students of my primary school, I was ferried by dad and was left under the loving care of Mrs. Melda.

My quirky memory doesnt permit me to remember many of my early days at school, but each day when I came home, the first question that I would shoot at my mother is "Eppoma holiday" (when is the next holiday). My mom says,"Naalaikku school mudinju evening veettukku vandha adutha naal holiday." (the day after tomorrow is holiday). The next evening, again the same question posed and the same answer given, until Friday arrives.

Friday evening seems eons away and finally it shows some mercy on me after a gruelling 5 school days and my joy knew no bounds. It is play time again. I take out the tricycle and begin my quota of fun with the cycle. You smart asses used to ride the cycle, but being the genius that I was, I found more fun and pleasure in tumbling the cycle wheel over wheels down a flight of 10 steps outside my house which lead to the orchard.

The tossing-the-cycle-down-the-steps game gets a tad boring after tumbling ten times or if my mom came out and gave me a whack and it was time to 'explore' newer and more exciting games to play. How about irritating my brother? Yea. That sounds funny and it fits the slot of an adventurous game.

Though my parents had christened my brother with a mellifluous name, I had a particular penchant for calling him "pullayaarappan". He sure looked like the elephant God Ganapathi, with a cute rotund belly and chubby face and a lot of tyres in the form of baby fat that he could've modelled for Michelin.

First he too is interested coz it gives him an opportunity to be noticed and irritated upon, but cant stand the onslaught for long and he too decides to pelt me with his toys. I run for my life and find the place behind my mom, who is cooking in the kitchen, quite a safe haven. But no, he is relentless in his pursuits and we run around my mom, when finally she gets weary of this rubbish and whacks both of us with a "murungakkaai"(drumstick).

What a fine choice of vegetable to whip two insolent knaves! The moment it lands on your skin it stings like a thousand bees together, but quite safe and you cant be arrested for MSBP( Munchausen's syndrome by proxy) unlike the poor moms in the UK.

Game abandoned. What next? Ok how about finding some birds nests in the dahlia shrubs. Great idea. As it is evening the bulbuls are coming back to their nests for the night. We allow them to get comfy in the nest and take out a torch light to go and peer for them. The bird flies off on seeing two 'hunters', but hey, the eggs are there. Three ovoid pinkish-whitish, dotted eggs.

It is warm. Kewl. But we need mom's permission to take the nests into the house. So back we go to my mom and beg for the nest's asylum in our home. A vehement NO from my mom indicates that she isnt willing to accomodate the coir-sticks-feather-goo house in the bedroom. Adults, such spoilsports.

Disappointed we demand an explanation as to why. The reason is more than sufficient to leave the bird's palace alone. Now what is the reason? Here it goes: The bird might take revenge on us and "nondify our kannu" (dig out our eyeballs) at night while we are asleep. Sounds spooky. My brother is already having goose pimples. Hell with the bird. Who wants that stinky piece of bird shit.

Now where is the carrom-board. Yessssss. We pester my mom to yank it out from under the cot and place it in the living room and begin our game eager-beaver like. Not even half way through and my brother is cheating. this warrants some swift action and I fling a few pieces of those "carrom coins" and after a while all the pieces are strewn all over the place and this earns me the second whack of the evening. Did that pain? Huh? You should be kidding me! How can it pain for a real man?

My mom yells from the kitchen,"Innikku unakku school-la solli koduthadha, thambikku solli kodu." (teach your bro, what they taught you at school today). Wow, an opportunity to have a one-upmanship and show him his proper place in the hierarchy of education.

"Madaya unakku seriya solla theriyaadha?" I admonish him if he isnt on track. This is wonderful, I am loving every part of it, and whatever words the ma'am scolded me with earlier in the day, I take this God sent opportunity to use it on him. He isnt satisfied with a grumpy teacher and says that he has enough of the crap. But no. I am in no mood to let go. How often are you given the liberty to whack him with a plastic scale if he is wrong?