We all have secrets which we hope will go down the drain with time. But they are always there, hiding in some corner.. In childhood they are innocent, tucked away in the imagination like a favourite toy hidden from a sibling under the bed. In adolescence, it is a soft feather, carressing you warmly, hugging you, and lurking as a smile around the corner of your lips. Then, when the mind grows, somewhere in its labyrinthine hollow, your secrets become your prisoners. You keep it behind closed doors, and seal it tight. If, somewhere along the way you slip, and let your guard down for a moment, someone innocently might crawl inside through those closed doors... and a new secret is created!
One of my best friends had a big problem when we were very small. She got very less marks in Social Studies. When we got the report card, her eyes welled up with tears. Her already round eyes became rounder, like a fried papad....
Two seven year old heads glued together, ideas rushed back and forth, but couldn't crack the case of escaping her father's wrath. Dejected, she was on her way back home, when , only a sandwich away, she saw the way out. There, on the entrance of her house, was her dad's name in block letters! She took out her report card, and her pencil, (pens were not allowed in Lower Primary) and clearly wrote down her dad's name along the dotted lines... IN BIG BLOCK LETTERS! (Well, she was clever enough to know that signature means writing your name..) Next day, with a beaming grin of triumph, she handed back her report card to the teacher, who took it without a blink. But mysteriously, her dad materialised after an hour, and he and the teacher were having some secret whispers.... I looked at my friend's face which was as white as her uniform shirt. A moment later her dad hoisted himself right before her eyes, and father and daughter exchanged a long glance. Her lips began to tremble, and two little pearls were waiting to leap out from her eyes. He scooped her up in his big arms, and giving a peck on her cheeks, exclaimed "Who else can be more creative than my daughter!" That was a bountiful moment. Tears flowing freely from her eyes and nose, she kissed him and hugged him tightly. And the teacher too, witnessed the scene with a sly smile.. What would have been in her mind? Yet another secret...
4 comments:
You have had a good teacher and the girl is really lucky to have such an excellent dad. God bless them.
Beware! This had sown the seeds of cloak-and-dagger conspiracies behind classes long ago, and we reap the 'benefits' now.
However, it's piece of sky sown with stars of revelations and cognizances.
Such a nice father!Little secrets of your childhood days are a treasure. Made me smile..
I can't tell you how much I can relate to this story. I have feared report cards and getting them signed, all my life. But the worse thing happened to me, not when I was seven, like you, but when I was in seventh std. That year my Class teacher made a mistake. She apparently entered someone else's 3rd term marks in my report card! (One report card for all 3 terms in an academic year) So she visibly used an ink eraser to rub away all the wrong marks, and enter mine. When I took the report card to my parents, they blamed me for correcting my 3rd term marks!! At the end of every academic year my dad takes my report card to apply for scholarship from his organization and for the next few months my mom and dad continuously blamed for not been able to apply for the scholarship because I 'corrected' my marks! I did suggest that they can call the class teacher and ask, but I was too young to push it further. It was one of the first things that I can remember, that hurt me and it will always remain in me, deep down somewhere.
This write-up of yours brought back those memories into my mind.
So, all I can say is that, I JUST LOVED this write-up you out up.
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