Stories From Long Ago - Part I

"So...?"

"So tell me a story."

"A story? What kind of story?"

"A story from a long time ago. When you were little."

"Hmmm, let me try to remember."

"Fast, 'cos I'm sleepy."

"Ok, ok. Once upon a time..."

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Life was simple. The world was so small. The sun rose in the east. Which was across the highway that ran past the gate. The long, straight road ran from the north to the south. That meant, if I faced the sunrise, and spread out my arms, my left arm would point towards Jammu and Kashmir, and to my right lay Kanyakumari. 

I couldn't play in the sun because I would fall sick. I couldn't play in the rain because I would fall sick. I learnt how to spell "apparatus" while hooked to an oxygen tank at 3 in the night, because I couldn't breathe. Also, there was nothing else to read. My dad read The Count of Monte Cristo aloud to me, when I fell sick, and I liked their names. Fernand. Mercedes. Luigi Vampa. The Chateau d'If.

I didn't like travelling in buses because they were crowded, and they made me want to throw up. Trains were ok. Mom used to leave every morning at 7, and come back at 7 at night, on a train. My Dad and I would drop her off in the morning and pick her up at night, on the IND-Suzuki. It rained one day when we were coming back from the railway station. We were getting wet. Dad made me sit between him and Mom. I didn't get wet. "Tell God to make it stop raining", said my Mom. And I did. And it did. In those days, miracles happened everyday.

The "Seven times" table was my Everest. I could never figure out the intricacies of that weird number. But one day I finally tamed it. I couldn't wait to tell Mom. But I had to wait, because the train was late that day. It finally came.

"Mom, Mom, Mom, I learnt the seven times table!". 

"7 times 1 is 7, 7 times 2 is 14."

"...7 times 8 is...7 times 8 is..."

"It's..."

"No, Mom, I know it! Wait, wait, wait, 56!"

"...and 7 times 10 is 70!"
There. The flag had been planted.

I couldn't speak Malayalam. I could speak Konkani. No one spoke that at school. I could speak English. No one spoke that either. "Speak English" said the painted sign at the top of the blackboard. I was confused, because the teachers never spoke in English either. Everybody ran around during the break. I never ran because I wouldn't be able to breathe at night. I would sit watching other kids run around, and munch on my jam sandwich.

One day I felt like running, and I ran. And I heard another kid yelling and crying behind me. Apparently while sliding out of my seat, I had knocked over the desk behind mine, and it fell on his leg. He was taken to the hospital, and I had everyone telling me how I had broken his leg, and made him miss classes. I couldn't understand the big Malayalam words they used, but I got the point. And I didn't know how to explain to them in Malayalam that "I usually don't run around, this is the first time I tried to, and I didn't do that on purpose, in fact I didn't even know the bench was tottering behind me.". So I became the bad boy who broke the other boy's leg. I didn't bother running after that. It was pointless anyway.

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"You there?"

...

"You're asleep, aren't you? Ok then? Goodnight?"

...

Click.