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| The incident which led to today’s post. |
The story is completely personal and has nothing to do with the school shown.
“I would like to book an aromatherapy massage. 60 min. My calves are stiff, as is my hip. I need someone really experienced. Should not become worse”
“I would suggest Balinese massage. It works on deep tissue and has stretches and is good for pain.”
“But I have a pain in the hip. Is stretching a good idea?”
“Trust me sir.”
“Who gets stretched.”
“You.”
“Hmmm.”
The lady at the counter of the Thai spa at Hill Road, dressed in a tee and shorts, knew her sh** as kids say. Once done with the session, I messaged K saying, “they suggested Balinese and it turned out to be surprisingly good. I was stretched the way the trainer in the gym used to stretch us. Feeling a lot better. The room and facilities unfortunately not as good as the masseur was.”
Before you get the wrong idea, the gym experience I referred to was from 20 years back. I do not think I have gone to a gym in the last 15 years. Unless the physio clinic I used to go to 5 years back counts. The one where I would sit precariously on a big ball and yet try to look distinguished.
I walked back home from the spa at the end of the session. As I did while going there. Arun sir, director of Sivananda Gurgaon, is a big advocate of both taking in the sun and of walking for good health. Two birds with one stone. It was fairly sunny today.
I waited for the traffic signal to turn red at the crossing before when I heard the following…boom, boom, boom….boom, boom, boom….boom, booooom.
That sounded familiar. I craned my neck and looked through the gate of the school on the opposite side of the road. Yes, I was right. Kids were practising for the march past to the beat of a drum. It’s winter. Annual school sports day season.
That brought back memories. Of school days when come November and the march past practise would start in anticipation of sports day a month later. We did not have a school ground. This would be on the concrete compound which was our play area. Tiffin eating too. At the end of which lay the school gate. I passed it by on my last trip to Kolkata while going to visit my didu and saw students come out at the end of the day. Making a beeline for the kuler achar ala and phuchka wala as we would.
I hated march past. I don’t think I have the temperament to be in the army. Thankfully I was not born in Singapore or Israel where military service is compulsory for all.
Is this because I see myself as an artist? A creative person? A writer?
Hell, no. I am not delusional. Just lazy. The idea of marching in a straight line round and round the compound made no sense to me. Authority and I don’t sit well. Even now I hate it if anyone tries to enforce something on me. Makes me do the opposite. Child is the father of the man.
The lazy are smart. I soon figured out how to get out of this I would follow the herd for the first few days. Occasionally making a mis-step. Not too frequently. It had to be the perfect crime. Just the right amount to make our ‘PT sir,’ a bit of a martinet as members of his species tend to be, realise that I would spoil the sanctity of the parade and am better kept out. And yet not so much that it became obvious.
I would soon be asked to step out and join a bunch of other fellow sloths. It was supposed to be punishment. I belong to a time when school teachers of both genders would hit students of both genders with a ruler to maintain discipline. Or look at humiliating them in some other way. Calling ones parents was considered the ultimate punishment. I can but imagine how parents belonging to my generation would react if their kids were treated so. Rant over.
Anyways the joke was on ‘PT sir’. We would stand in a corner in the shade and chat. Making sure not to look too gleeful. Our classmates went left right, left right, left right. Atten hut, About turn. Stand at ease. Hopefully this helped them in the years that followed!
There you go. Something about me that you did not know.
