Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Letter for a Student to a Father
Epistles, in the 21st century, are few, if any at all. The wrinkled parchment that our parents get misty-eyed about has been conveniently replaced by a useful invention of Antonio Meucci (not Graham Bell) and by that great gift to mankind- e-mail. However, the advent of epistles addressed to you, provided they’re not from FIITJEE, never fails to pique you. The latest letter that I received (technically speaking, my father received), was piquant to the core, though not in the sense I would have liked it to have been.
It was during the holi break when this cataclysmic event happened. I had returned from day 1 of the IITD Parliamentary Debate (read earlier post for details of the same), sanguine about the team’s chances. It was then that the biblical fattening of the calf started. Mouth watering Mutton Biryani had been deliciously prepared. The Pakistani Shaan biryani masala had been used, giving the succulent mutton incredible taste. Hunger, the wise say, is the best sauce and my rumbling stomach found that sauce divine. I devoured piece after piece of the tenderly cooked mutton, savoured slice after slice of the spiced eggs and had helping after helping of the sumptuous biryani. Half and hour and a tighter waistband later, I was prepared to lie down on the comfy bed, feeling well-disposed to my fellow humans. God was in his heaven and all was right with the world, I thought. It turned out to be the lull before the storm. The calf had been fed, let the slaughter begin.
The pillory started with an innocuous remark from me mum- “Son, there was a letter from college today…” Never before had I fully appreciated the meaning of the phrase “his heart stopped” or “his spine chilled”. Lefty had received an epistle, not from the well-meaning apostles, but from the draconian administration of R. The evil parchment was couched in highly inimical terms:
“Dear Lefty’s Dad. Your son is a worthless nincompoop and has not been attending classes. His attendance is below the required 75% (73% I ask you!). If this chain of events continues, he will be barred from sitting for the end-semester exams.”
Couldn’t the same have been- “Dear Lefty’s Dad. Nothing to worry about, but your son’s attendance is a tad below borderline- 73% instead of 75. We’re sure this is only a temporary situation, if not a mistake on our part, and he’ll soon attend that extra class. Just thought we’d let you know.”?
I was soon interrogated on this lackadaisical attitude. Shamefacedly I explained how my stubborn refusal to part from my blanket at the crack of wintry dawn was the root cause of the unpleasant situation. My mother had guessed as much and the remarks conveying her disappointment accrued. The 73-75 difference was dismissed (“You’re in a residential hostel, your attendance should be 100%. When I was a student…”). In the end, my rapidly diminishing silhouette turned out to be my bulwark. Mamma, always one to lament at the quality of the mess food, began to think that all was not as should be with my metabolism and a blood-test might be a good idea. It was my turn to be dismissive now. I pleaded guilty, blamed my sleeping habits, and promised to remove all further A’s from the various attendance registers.
This last paragraph is a shameless example of Lefty blowing his own trumpet. It is basically intended for me mum. From that historic day, I have missed just one class (clap clap). That too was by accident. And till the semester ends, I shall continue to be a regular student (it’s true, my dear skeptics). Fingers are crossed and a hope expressed that this epistle was the first and last. Amen.
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