Thursday, April 25, 2019

The applause from Dad

Rewind. Circa 40 years ago. School days. Tense times, tense moments. Uniforms, books, leather shoes, homework completion, unit tests, utterly boring mass PT, swimming period............ it was honestly a tad too much for a plump, fun loving, slightly lazy kid. There were those moments of sanity like catching tadpoles in the valley, building dams on the hill, but these were far and few. Routine was very hectic, on a tight leash as it were. There were of course moments of fun and frolic with friends and those occasional forays across the border- St Josephs.
Remarks was one of the greatest curses of student life. There were these 4 pages at the end of our school diary( calendar) where teachers would write complaints. These were largely to do with homework not done, playing mischief in the class, etc. Then there was this death sentence- Pink card/ grey card that almost was tantamount to being sent to the gallows.
Get up at 6, and then creep into dad's bedroom with a sheepish look, sliding the calendar with a remark for his signature.
Getting the parent to sign the remark was such a stress.I would be prepared for getting admonished. But it was a trick that worked. He was still recovering from his somnolent state, and then had to rush to get ready for leaving for office. He would get angry, but then sign the remark. Hushhhhhhh. It was really torturous.
It was always a great strategy to get the remark signed. The moment the calendar had the red mark, my planning would begin. There were two other options.
1) As I enter home, take the bull by the horns and just tell mom. I got a remark today. This strategy would work if the last remark was received at least 6 weeks earlier.

2) leave for school and then come back saying I forgot something and then take the calendar to mom for signing. This was if the academic performance had been really poor for the preceding few days and  if the remark was given closer to the weekend. Then this tactic was used on a Monday morning.  Otherwise the weekend would get fired.

Sometimes, I would be out of the class for not getting craft material. I used to make desperate attempts to gather some glazed paper, gum tape and give the semblance of  being equipped to attend the craft class. But alas, it would often be inadequate.
           To add to the torture was the annual day function. My name was never in the list of students getting a prize. It was obviously expecting too much considering my average academic performance, my mischievous demeanour and a casual attitude. Mom and Dad would attend. And there were those Good Boys, whose books were always covered, uniforms with all buttons intact, homework always complete and who got some unbelievable marks. It used to really scare me. Post the function, I knew, I would be in for some really serious talk. See how xyz is doing. He's so sincere, intelligent and hard working. I used to really feel like burying xyz  6 feet under the ground. Why couldn't these guys also have torn uniforms, some really messed up report cards, a few remarks in their calendars? I mean, I wasn't doing anything grossly wrong, and yet, I never got any prize for any subject. It used to be really a matter of concern. And teachers, used to be so considerate when they would write very pithy and loaded remarks on the report card. 
" Can do better."
" Needs more hard work and sincerity "
 "Easily distracted"
 I used to end up feeling as if I was a rogue amidst monks, who had great concentration and discipline. These guys, who always got great marks, never shouted or played the fool in class..........?????
I  realised one fine day that I'm not one of them and can never be. I was the boisterous guy, always upto some prank, could not conceal my explosive laughter if any such situation arose in the class.
Was almost always last in the gruelling cross country....
"Black Rock, four poles, white rock and back" These words spelt disaster. 
Anyways, I always back then dreamt of one day walking up proudly on the annual day function to pick up a glittering cup watching my parents chests swell  with pride. No. Never. It never happened.
But, then I did do something right. Or so it seems. Being invited as the chief guest in the school annual day in  Loyola.
But, it will be so poignant.
My eyes will keep looking for my dearest Dad. The one, who made me what I am, the one whose memory keeps me going.
I hope Dad will be watching from wherever he is.
Dad,  I never made it to the stage, when you  attended the Prize Distribution function. But you never judged me by whether I walked on the stage to get a prize.  You always believed that my capabilities were never subservient to mere walking up the stage. I coveted those cups, and walking the stage, but you prepared me to walk the streets of life. You never assessed my worth by the  prizes I never received. You made me aware of the greatest prize that lay within me. You let me be, and loved and respected me for what I was and not what you wanted me to be. Your faith was amply justified when I got admission to medical school, did a masters in surgery and then got a gold medal for my neurosurgery board exam from Bombay university.
Daddy, I have made it to the stage eventually. I know, it won't matter to you. And yet I know you will clap and cheer the loudest. I know you will be there in the audience smiling with that look of
" See, I always knew your worth, whether you adorned the stage or not. "

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