The Iron Hand

Everyone in the class was afraid of our Chemistry Sir, and I was no exception. Though short in stature, Sir commanded respect from all quarters. His mastery over the subject had won him many admirers, but a lot many of us respected him out of fear. An indomitable voice, that always demanded a "pin-drop" silence, was one of the numerous arrows in his quiver. I'll tell you about the other arrows some other time! The super-arrow that he had was his thick fleshy hand - the Iron Hand.

It was a lousy Thursday afternoon and we were all dead tired after the rounds of basketball that had ensued in the previous time-slot. As usual, I had occupied the first row in the class. Not because I was a book-worm or was thoroughly interested in studies, it was my damned height which had forced me to do so. Everyone was creating some sort of noise while reluctantly settling down with their notebooks and pen. It all died down the moment sir entered. He immediately picked up the piece of chalk and scribbled something on the blackboard. "Chemical Bonding" - I could read it only after he moved away from the blackboard and started his lecture. Passionate as he was for chemistry, he wanted everybody to pay minute attention to what he was saying. Ofcourse all the teachers say that. But in chemistry class, our head was like a magnetic needle pointing North. And North was none other than our Sir. So his to and fro walks near the blackboard would have a fifty heads swinging alike. A view to watch!

Sorry that I have divulged into the classroom ambience bit more than what was required. But its all too irresistible for me! The main turn in the story comes now!

Amal used to sit behind me and that day, he did something which was going to be a turning point in my life. Curious as you may be to know what he did, I must admit that I am going to dissapoint you by telling that he kept hitting my legs from behind and I kept turning behind to find out the culprit. It was like there were 49 North oriented needles and a single dis-oriented one. Sir noticed. "You! stand up !" boomed Sir's voice, with no doubts about the level at which his anger was at that moment. It looked like all the electrons in an atom had forgotten "aufbau principle" and were orbiting at their highest energy states.

Now here's a part that you may associate with the action flick "Matrix". Sir's Iron hand started its journey for a forward sweep gathering a lot of momentum through its way. The time it reached my cheek I was already bending backwards. Many hearts skipped beats in the class as everybody watched with a bated breath. Will he get it ? or will he escape ?? But it wasn't exactly a day for the Iron Hand as it sweeped along my check, missing the expected impact and gently sliding over. I never got a chance to explain that I was an innocent victim and somebody else was the culprit. "You are going to stand outside if this happens again" was the stern warning I recieved. And I forgot the incident for another two days till I was reminded of it on Sunday.

I had gone to the railway station to see off my father. Rajdhani Express was a few minutes late and so I was idling my time near a magazine stall. Don't know what occurred to my mind, but when I turned I saw father chatting with Chemistry Sir. I couldn't believe my eyes! I shockingly recollected the incident that happened 2 days back. What the hell is he doing here ? Is he complaining about me to father ? Yes, my fears were not unfounded. He indeed was doing that. After he left I learnt that he had come to see off his son. But the only thing bothering me at that time was my father's sad face brimming with concern. "What will teachers think when they hear Sir's son is not studying and disturbs in the class ?"

I was determined to take revenge. Although in a novel way. I was determined to sum up the entire Organic Chemistry course and spit out any part that anybody dared to ask. It wasn't long before I succeeded in my revenge, and no doubt had risen in Chemistry Sir's eyes. All because I had a reason behind my success.

This happened 10 years back, and I still think, wouldn't it be nice if we had a reason, more of a fire, behind everything that we did and that drove us to achieve more??

Helping Hands - is it for the poor or the rich ??

The other day, I was walking down from office along with a friend to catch an autorickshaw to get back home. Traffic was at its best, and one cannot expect anything from an evening traffic other than snarling horns, ever-poisonous carbon monixide, and above all, speedo-maniacs behind wheels ready to torture the poor accelerator pedal as red turns green. For many, green doesn't mean GO - it means FLY! ( ofcourse I must admit, it's the same for me too when I am at the controls!).

Well, that is not what I wanted to talk about. I was just trying to set the background for a very small incident which I happened to witness that day, and which forced me to ask myself a question "Helping Hands - is it for the poor or the rich ?"

The mood of traffic was obvious - everybody was eager to get back home, and so was I. My friend and I paced up our steps on the foothpath when I noticed a middle-aged man on a dilapidated old scooter loaded with milk-cans almost caught off-guard and fall down. "Just a sec, let me help that guy." The moment he was back on his feet, I moved on."Will he be able to manage ?", my friend asked. "Thats fine, he can do it. It was just an imbalance." and we continued our walk. A minute later a thought crossed my mind, there were a dozen people standing at that place, but nobody stepped forward to help. As if I couldn't help it, my train of thoughts started running with a loud humm. Was it out of sheer indifference ? or was it due to inertia( the famous Newton's law stating - objects will remain in the same postion till an external force is applied on them) ?

Had it been a girl ?? Leave alone the odd dozen standing there, another dozen would have materialized from thin air to help her! Or what about a guy in decent clothes ? I'm sure he would have atleast got 1 or 2 helping hands. But what about people whose fortune forbids them to wear decent clothes, ride a vehicle, stay anywhere else other than the wretched footpath ? They slip and fall a thousand times, but it goes unnoticed.

May be I might never be able to find an answer, but the question remains - "Helping Hands - is it for the poor or the rich ? is it only for good looking girls ? or also for that pitiable old woman in rags ?"

The Game I loved to indulge in - Basketball

I remember the first time I was introduced to the game of basketball not as a spectator, but as a player. I was a sixth grader at that time and had already started visualising myself as an ace basketball player in my class. Ofcourse I must admit, everybody has the freedom to day-dream and I had my own too.
We all lined up along the basketball court and our Sir, in his ever reminiscent stride came up to each one of us to check whether we had cut our hair properly, clipped our nails and were in the proper sports attire or not. Self-Grooming was the sole factor that acted as a confidence booster - Sir used to remind us. It was not as easy as I had imagined, just get into the court - start dribbling, and take a beautiful shot to impress everybody present, including the girls! We had a round of rope-skipping and 2 rounds of jogging around the court waiting for us before we actually could hold the basketball. Warm-up, Sir used to say, is an essential part of any sport. I understood the real meaning of this years later, when I had put up considerable weight.

After a full-fledged warm-up we were ready to battle out our first game of basketball. No sooner had I taken the ball in my hands, my day-dream seemed to melt away. The ball was quite heavy, and it ought to be for a sixth grader who was just 4' 4" tall. Shooting a basket and impressing girls was a long way to go, I was barely able to dribble the ball 3-4 times at a point. Sir asked everyone of us to line up for a beginner's throw from the 3-point line. My first throw was a damper. It barely touched the backboard, reminding me once again, its not as easy as you thought buddy!

"Steady yourself first. keep dribbling till you feel you have steadied your body and locked your aim. Then shoot". Sir's baritone seemed to boom at me. "Lock your aim and shoot" - my 3rd try yielded a result and a subtle smile on my face.

2 Years Later
I was now an Eighth grader but still struggling with my height. Being 4'9" tall only invited sneers from my classmates who were atleast half a foot taller than me. But my height worked to my advantage in basketball bashes. My postion used to juggle in between Point and Guard. There was a guy who was really tall. So tall, when he stood guard in front of his basket spreading his legs, it was like Eiffel Tower giving me an invitation to pass through its legs. Thats what I used to do always, pass through his legs, with ball in my hands and leave him groping for the ball. Man learns from mistakes and my friend also became wiser the 7th time I applied this trick.

1 Year Later
I have been promoted in class as well as in height. At 4' 11" I was satisfied about my growth in height and in the game of basketball. We used to have some good matches but our warm-up schedule remained still the same. And yet, the excitement of playing a basketball game remained undiminished.

I miss all those who used to play with me, I'm sure some of them might have already gone into a flashback mode after reading this.

I miss the game, and I miss our Sir. May his soul rest in peace.

The Beginning

Everything in this Universe has a beginning, and so do I. But there have been so many beginnings in my life, I am pretty confused which one is the real one. I feel like everyday is my first day in this world. Every morning sees a new person in me, trying to find the answers to a zillion questions. Questions that start haunting me the minute I am ready to face a new challenge everyday.

I think I will settle down with this first blog as "The Beginning". A beginning towards a long journey. A journey, which I hope, will be dotted with milestones beckoning me towards the door which opens up to answer all the questions life poses. Its natural to expect surprises round the corners and roadblocks when I feel like speeding away!

So lets start reading stories from the StoryBook called Life!