As a kid I was very poor in academics. So poor that I had failed the admission tests to get into the top schools in my hometown. As a result I had to settle for a ‘not so good’ school in my locality. I even remember doing away with my report card once.
Those days my father was posted in a civil hospital in a remote area across the Brahmaputra which made it hard for him to visit us (me, my mom and sis) often. Ma, almost single-handed, raised us up.
I remember one winter evening when I was playing with my friends from my lane. A few aunties were chatting close by. As it started getting dark, one aunty called out to his son and said, “Go inside son. Wash up and ask daddy to help you with your homework.”
Another aunty followed suit and asked her son to do the same. Seeing my friends wrap up, I also started to leave when suddenly one aunty, addressing me, asked “Who helps you with your homework, Rahul?”
I gave a blank stare before I could manage “no one”.
As I shifted my attention and started picking up the cricket stumps to take back home, I overheard a third aunty speak. “That’s why a father should always be there constantly monitoring a child’s progress in his studies...”
I was too young to fully comprehend the meaning of what I had heard. But I knew I did not like it. And somehow this memory clung on to me.
I don’t know if I can attribute the events that followed to this small incident. But yes, few months later, I repeated the admission tests and passed all of them with very good grades. It did not take Ma much long to decide upon this beautiful convent school which had its own school bus service that came right up to our lane. I started performing well in academics and two years later I won the “Best student of the year for academics and over-all conduct”, an award that shut many mouths...
Those days my father was posted in a civil hospital in a remote area across the Brahmaputra which made it hard for him to visit us (me, my mom and sis) often. Ma, almost single-handed, raised us up.
I remember one winter evening when I was playing with my friends from my lane. A few aunties were chatting close by. As it started getting dark, one aunty called out to his son and said, “Go inside son. Wash up and ask daddy to help you with your homework.”
Another aunty followed suit and asked her son to do the same. Seeing my friends wrap up, I also started to leave when suddenly one aunty, addressing me, asked “Who helps you with your homework, Rahul?”
I gave a blank stare before I could manage “no one”.
As I shifted my attention and started picking up the cricket stumps to take back home, I overheard a third aunty speak. “That’s why a father should always be there constantly monitoring a child’s progress in his studies...”
I was too young to fully comprehend the meaning of what I had heard. But I knew I did not like it. And somehow this memory clung on to me.
I don’t know if I can attribute the events that followed to this small incident. But yes, few months later, I repeated the admission tests and passed all of them with very good grades. It did not take Ma much long to decide upon this beautiful convent school which had its own school bus service that came right up to our lane. I started performing well in academics and two years later I won the “Best student of the year for academics and over-all conduct”, an award that shut many mouths...
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