“Doctor saab, my child got a bruise on his knee. It’s bleeding heavily. Help, please.”
“Hmm, blood is very precious. We cannot permit its loss,” said the #surgeon. Nobody was sure if he owned a medical degree. However, his ancestor had been a great surgeon once upon a time. He spent plenty of his earnings to ensure that the young surgeon’s face was splashed upon pamphlets and trumpeted through handouts as the upcoming Messiah.
The village people were #innocent, #trusting and #hopeful. So they trusted and hoped.
A school memory pops out of my amygdala.
Lil Sweety is in the 10th std. Unit test exam. Subject – English.
She receives a measly 0.5 marks for one particular 5 mark question. She anxiously goes through her whole answer and finds no fault with it. She approaches the teacher, proffers her answer sheet and politely enquires what went wrong with her answer.
The teacher peruses the answer once and jabs a triumphant thumb at the second sentence. “You wrote M.K Gandhi instead of Gandhiji.”
Sweety blinks in puzzlement and tries to establish her point. “Madam, M.K Gandhi is the same person as Gandhiji.”
“I know.” The teacher snaps. “But you cannot write M.K Gandhi. It’s insulting to the Father of the Nation.”
Sweety is even more perplexed. ”Why should he get insulted by his own name?”
“You wouldn’t understand. Don’t repeat the mistake next time.”
“Is there anything else wrong with my answer?”
Finis. Sweety’s marks stay stubbornly steady at 0.5 out of 5.0
Needless to say, that is the end of her experiments with Truth. Since lil Sweety is not convinced by the teacher’s reasoning or reply, she decides that the best solution to this problem is to keep the entire M.K Gandhi chapter as optional. Not just for the Final exam, but Forever.
P.S– It’s a true story from her childhood. Sweety is now grown up (relatively) but she remains as baffled as ever. What crime did she commit?
What would you do if you were lil Sweety? What would you do if you were the teacher?
Rejoice. Count your blessings. Discover paradise.
The avalanche of celebrity breakups is a boon in disguise for us. Of course, it’s ghoulish to prey upon celebrity divorces. It’s perverse to spit into their crystal palace – or pee into their goldfish bowl. It’s demoniac to relish their ugly skeletons. It’s voyeuristic, it’s parasitic. It’s –
– cathartic. Liberating. Introspective. Epiphanic.
You see that millionaire Adonis with the killer dance moves & a billion drooling fans? Well, his wife is all smiles as she celebrates escape from his gilded cage.
See that gal whose taut globes are the envy of the globe; who has fame & wealth firmly scissored between her equally taut calves? Well, her husband is straining at the leash & frothing at the mouth.