“Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.” – Khalil Gibran
How true I say. Especially, when I am at the pinnacle of forgetfulness at the ripe age of 21. And, more so when it gives you a sense of precision while trying to find excuses for the foolish mistakes you have been consistently committing. One incident is all it will take to get myself entered into coveted record books of Limca or Guiness and maybe also a short story on ‘Ripley’s believe it or not’ for my forgetful nature.
They say history repeats itself and here I have put down some of my recurring experiences to corroborate that statement. To give a better perspective to things let me take you fourteen years back when I was in class 3. As soon as the school bell rang signaling end of day, I ran down the steps towards the school gate and standing there was my lovely granny welcoming me with a grin on her face. Still in top speed I crashed into her exclaiming how I beat all other students to be the first one out of school. She did not appreciate that, warning me I will hurt myself soon if I keep resorting to such idiotic antics. In the same breath she enquired, “But, where is your School Bag?” I gave a typical open-mouth reaction as if I were Kiran More fending questions asked in Swahili by a bunch of African journalists on Ganguly’s chances of a come-back at Sreesanth’s felicitation ceremony in Kochi.
“Dropped it while running? I am sure you did just that.” Still in the open-mouth mudra I didn’t bat an eye-lid. “Where is your bag, you fool!” my granny inquired. (Calling me only a fool for such a gallant feat was being very sweet to me, considering the range of thoughtless names people confer me with most times) Managed to bat an eye-lid this time but could not speak a word. I turned around and like a mad bull started running back to my classroom. Dashing and pushing students on the stairs, I reached my classroom and there on the fourth bench – third row, right next to the window was my blue & yellow bag with a smiling joker-face on it. (Yeah, Pokemeons and Beyblades of the world didn’t exist then) I heaved a sigh of relief. Picked that up and trudged down back to my granny, who was growing impatient by the minute. I waved my bag in the air as if I hunted down a bird and was returning with the prized catch. Little did I know these were the initial steps I was taking towards a bright and promising future?
-End of story 1-
Time passed by and over the years, carelessness seemed to restrict itself only to some of my examination answer sheets. Now here is one case when it was not related to the answer sheets but the examination itself. This happened during my final year BMS board exams. It was our third exam – Market Research was the subject. I reached my examination centre on time and went into the examination hall. As soon as the warning bell rang, I pulled out all the stationery required and placed it on the desk. Kept the books in the bag and was trying to pull out my hall ticket. But my hand was only creating crackling noises off the plastic bag; with air filling my grip very time I reached out for the hall ticket. Now I could feel sweat breaking behind my ear as I put my beet colored face into the bag trying to search the god damn hall ticket. My eyes almost popped into the bag trying to trace the hall ticket. It struck me! The moment of truth – I was a fucking empty-headed asshole. I didn’t carry my hall ticket to a board exam.
I rushed to the supervisor and notified her about my foolishness. But, as if she wanted to make me feel like a mere mortal by making a loud and clear statement that ‘you are not the only fool around here’, she tells me to not worry and go and sit on my desk. I was angry, tense, bewildered, amused at her statement. I punched my right fist into the left palm, completely assured that I was doomed. Meanwhile, the answer sheets were distributed and that is when people drew margins, but my shivery hands just couldn’t manage to draw a straight line; even with the help of a scale. The moderator for that examination centre came in to our classroom and that is when the supervisor told her about my heroic feat. The moderator called me, and I was shit-wrecked. She started her conversation with, “How can you be that irresponsible?” And I thought to myself ‘lady only if I knew the answer to this’. She asked me to show my college I-card. And… No, you guys guessed it wrong. I did have my college I-card. She asked other students in that classroom from my college to identify me and a friend of mine sitting in the first bench uttered this, “Rohan Nair, Batch 1, TYBMS, MCC, 1- Mayura Apts, Near Model English School, Pandurangwadi, Dombivli(E)” The moderator raised her hand with an approving smile asking him to stop before he went onto reveal my vital stats. I was allowed to write the exam.
Post-exam I couldn’t less agree with anyone who thought that I was a ‘dumbass’.
I went home and found my hall-ticket lying on my study table and promptly put it in the bag right away. For the next exam I carried it very carefully and gave it a very prominent space on my examination desk. Before the exam, the moderator made an appearance with raised eyebrows along with a questioning smile trying to find out if I had got my hall ticket. I nodded in assurance, and waved the hall ticket to get a resounding smile of approval.
The exam went fairly well and we were discussing about it after the exams on our way back home. One of my friends quipped on my foolish feat I had achieved a day back. Aghast, I cussed myself too. That’s when I said let me just check if I have it with me now. Again the irritating noisy crackles of the plastic bag. The hall ticket disappeared into thin air. Where? When? How? What? Why? I cried out loudly… Along with a friend I rushed back to the examination centre to check if the hall ticket was lying on that very fateful desk. But, the college was shut. The fucking authorities were asking me to go back home and check with them tomorrow. I rushed to my own college to get a bonafide certificate made; just in case if it was needed for next-day’s exam. My course coordinator called up the examination centre moderator and got to know that there was a hall ticket found. I was asked to reach the centre early next day to collect the hall ticket if it was mine or get the board superintendent (1 at every centre) to issue a fresh hall ticket to me.
I reached the centre much early than required and set out searching the staff room. As soon as I reached the staff room, one of the staffs greeted me with, “Ok, so you are Rohan?” He handed over the hall ticket to me with a look that clearly had ‘What a fool’ written all over his face. I had become Popular!
-End of story 2-
Now this happened few months back. The company that I work for visited my Alma matter – Mulund College of Commerce, for campus recruitments. I was tugged along by people from our HR department to give a brief presentation to the students and then also conduct an aptitude test. After the presentation, the HR guys left college leaving me alone to conduct the test. I was supposed to collect the test papers and get it back to office. I did just that and caught a train back to office. I kept the bag carrying the test-papers on the baggage stand provided in local trains and sat down enjoying the strong wind hitting my face. I flicked pages of a magazine that I’d just bought from the railway stand and got engrossed in it with every passing minute.
The smell of raw fish welcomed me to the grand Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus. Rolling the magazine in hand to form a torch I got out of the train. I was passing one soul after another and was reminded of the short film that used to be aired on Doordarshan which had some of India’s finest sporting greats running with a burning torch in their hand passing it onto another great. By the time the entire film replayed in my mind I was out of the station. The scorching rays of the sun helped bringing light to my scatterbrains. The ghost of forgetfulness from the pasts surfaced again.
“Didn’t I have a bag when I left college? Yes you’d. Fuck! How could I forget it in the train? Run asshole, run… run like there is no tomorrow… run like your ass is on fire…How are you going to answer the HR guys for this blip? Boy… you better run harder, as there is a direct/indirect correlation between the speed of every step you take and the careers of a lot of college students. You have no time for this, just run we can decide the nature of correlation once you find the papers. Entering the station, I saw the train still there on the platform; I must say it relieved me a little. As I was nearing the first-class coaches, the mental relief began to have an effect on my running speed. Just for the sake of presenting the facts right, my speed should have come down from the speed of Lance Armstrong’s bi-cycle to the speed of a cart pulled by a three-legged bullock. (That’s just a modest me)
However, barging into the compartment I checked on the stands…found nothing. “What the fuck” I heard someone say and nodded in assertion. How could my bag disappear like that? That’s when my cock-eyed vision found souls of the fairer sex seated all-over. I heard my inner voice saying “wrong compartment” amongst all the other profanities being directed towards me by the respectful women. I quickly got off and this time entered the right compartment. The shiny plastic bag I got from college was right there lying alone on the stand. As I lay my hands on it, heard the crackling noise of the plastic and I thought to myself this crackling sound had never ever sounded sweeter.
-End of story 3-
Couple of week’s back, like every other day I strutted out of home with my knapsack dangling on my back. I was not carrying a bag for the last 10 days and after long I decided to carry lunch. As usual I bought my newspaper and marched onto the platform holding the newspaper close to my chest. I was preparing to leap in to the train and manage to find a position where I can try and read bits of news pieces. By the way, reading a newspaper in a crowded compartment is an art form in itself.
With only two things (News & an opportunity to sit) occupying my mind right from Dombivli to Dadar. The crowded train forced me to take a stance that would have put any professional ballerina to shame. That’s when I could here someone’s radio singing an old song which went something like, ‘Aye janeman, mujhpar tu aisa zulum math kar’ (okay, I must have screwed up the lyrics but it meant something similar) I smiled to myself and that smile grew even wider when a guy pitying me gave away his seat. Tried making most of it by delving further into the newspaper and educating myself on the malfunctioning wardrobes. The bustling noises and the weird smell signaled the arrival of the final destination – CST. Arching my back and wincing I got up and was ready to go. Walking on the platform and towards the exit, I was amazed at the sizable number of people at CST. I ran and got into the BEST bus. Suddenly it struck me that I’d got my bag along today. I jumped off the bus and ran back, reliving my past memories of a similar kind. The only difference then and now was, “It was not peak-hours then.” The train was not there and nor was my bag, it was gone for good.
-End of story 4-
Knowing that the next day was a holiday and the pressing timelines on a report I thought of taking home some data on a CD, to work on it from home. Shyam was cussing me to be quick so that we could be on time to catch the last fast train. To irritate him a little I went into the pantry drank water very slowly and also carried a bottle along for the journey back home. Since I had no bag, he offered to keep it in his bag. I appreciated it. He also offered to keep the CDs but I very stealthily declined. We decided to give the BEST bus a miss and take a taxi so that we can reach CST on time. As our taxi sped past other vehicles on marine drive, I thought of capturing the thrill on Shyam’s new Nokia 6270.
Excited by some of the cool pix that I managed to click, I was sharing the joy with Shyam. He nodded in assertion that some of the pictures were really good but rubbished most. We reached CST, paid the cab driver but that was secondary. What was gripping my mind more was the speeding vehicles at the signal in front of CST and the wonderful opportunities it presented to a budding photographer like me. Shyam still not appreciating this talent of mine urged me to be quick. We got into the train, discussing crap like we always do. With every station passing, the nonsensical value of the discussion also rose. When 90% of the train rises together, it signifies the train reaching Dombivli. While climbing down the foot over bridge, my hands seemed very free, that is when I realized that my grip wasn’t this loose when I left office. It struck me – I had lost the CD’s in the Taxi.
-End of story 5-
