Copy Paste Series.. contd.

From an article in The Hindu dated 27 Dec 1992 - Father, Dear Father

Dear Papa,

This is in answer to your letter about my transgression. Yes, my first rank slipped to the second. An advice that I should think first before studying, before answering the papers. Yes, the operating word ‘think’ did make me muse and these are the results of those musings.
Father, we’ve never really been close and I can’t really say you’ve been my friend, philosopher and guide etc.,Yet, I would like you to be aware of my musings. They are very important to me. You are highly educated and you provide well for your family. But in your Departmental Store, do you apply Pythagoras Theorem or Newton’s Law of Gravity? For that matter, does your doctor friend? Or your lawyer brother?
Papa, my grandfather speaks of a carefree and beautiful childhood. Of days spent in plucking mangoes and guavas from their ‘jameen’, of picnics on the banks of the river where the men cooked mouth-watering food, of playing marbles and gilli danda. From his talk, it seems, studies were an ancillary subject; and living and experiencing, the major subject. Father, is he fibbing? Or, is it possible that the world turned topsy-turvy in just about 70 years?
Papa, my grandmother is semi-illiterate. Yet she is at peace with her pots and pans, her flowers and garden, her Bhagavad Gita and scriptures. My mother, highly qualified, is highly strung, tense and nervy. Do you think, literacy is a harbinger of restlessness, fear, frustration? Is it Adam and Eve eating of the Tree of Knowledge, all over again?
Oh Papa, last week my rose plant almost died. Some pests – I asked my Biology teacher what I should do to save it. And she was cross. She said to go ask the guy who keeps the gardening things. He’ll tell you. We learn about pesticides but we do not know to use them. Oh father, it matters not to me why the apple does not fall upwards, nor do I care what Archimedes did. What matters to me is that my rose plants remain healthy; when there’s a fuse in my house, I should know to do something about it; I should know to make a desk for myself from my carpenter’s tools. Instead, I learn about hypotenuse, relational square roots…
Papa, once I asked my grandmother how she got to be so wise. Do you know what she said? By living and experiencing. And she laughed as though I had asked something which was so obvious. Are we living, Papa? Or is life by-passing us? What I fear si that if I were to meet Newton face to face, I would fail to recognize him, so busy am I learning about him! You know, just like that boy Vinu, in the award-winning film. He prattles on – The Hibiscus is Red – a hundred times but in his book, he colours it yellow. Are we missing out on the essence of life? – Papa, that’s what happens in my craft and drawing class. My imagination wants to soar like a rocket to Jupiter and Mars. To traverse new worlds, new fields.
Anyway, Papa, do you know where I lost that quarter mark that brought about my fall? It was a fill-in-the-blanks.
I held that I was invited to tea and my teacher was adamant that he was invited for tea. A matter of grammar. And Papa, if he says George Bush is the President of India, it will have to be so. If he says the sun rises in the west, so be it; and if he says the earth is flat, it will be so, it will be, my Papa. At least on my papers. My first rank is at stake, you see. Still, my dearest Papa, I shall keep your advice in mind and strive not to lose any quarter marks.

As always,
Yours ever obedient son
Rahul.

PS: Your eyes will not see this anguished plea, my father. This was only to lighten my over-burdened heart. It is not all arteries and muscles. It feels too.


Raj Kinger