How I disappointed my mother

I know the title gives you the feel that I am going to embark on a voyage down memory lane narrating some dramatic, emotional incident that caused a great deal of discomfort, displeasure, disappointment and distress to my mom. Well, some of these, she must have felt. But to know the extent to which she got affected, read along.

            I have disappointed my mother on 2 occasions (too less, I know). I can understand how much that affected her from the fact that she goes on relating and re-relating those incidents at every possible opportunity. So much, that hardly a fortnight passes without her thinking, and hence speaking, of one of these and that one naturally leads to the other.

            Before I tell you about these incidents, let me give you a background picture. I have never been an obedient, well-mannered, bright, calm kid that my mom wanted me to be. Of course, this is her opinion. My version is that she had been spoilt rot by my elder sister who was always an easy kid with pleasing behaviour, heeding every word that my mom said (frankly, I have often wondered if this species called “elder sisters” was created to set “bad” standards for the younger ones. I mean, why do they have to be so good?).

          

   I, on the other hand, was free-spirited (my mom calls that disobedience), assertive (stubborn, according to her), and carefree (dumb). In other words, I was a normal kid and did not behave as if I was 25 at 5.

            The first event took place when I was in Std III. All I did was stating in a Social Studies test that there are gold mines in Vishakapattanam and ship-building yards in Kolar(a normal thing for any 8-year old-kid to do). But, my very intelligent mom was devasted by this, thinking how a daughter of hers could be so obtuse. Especially so, since she had spent time with me the previous evening (clearly, assuming that I was studying), even explaining about a distant relative of hers who had once worked in the Kolar gold mines. I kept nodding. Obviously, I was misleading her, because she apparently thought that I was registering facts. Unbeknownst to her, I was just giving exercise to my neck muscles without (unnecessarily) troubling my brain. My mind was with my sister and her friend playing outside as their exams had got over a day earlier than mine.

            The second incident occurred when I was in Std V. The scenario is exam again. In one of our Malayalam lessons, there was reference to a quote which says that one tree is equivalent to ten sons(or some other quote about planting trees, I don't remember exactly) . On the eve of the exam, when my mom asked me to write down the name of the person who said this, I couldn’t (again, normal for a 10-year old-kid). I knew the name of course. It was a saint named Sharangadhara who said that. But I didn’t know to write that in Malayalam (have made no progress to date). I felt it was a rather complicated name to write. But she made me write it 10 times (or even more) until I got it correct.

            You can guess the rest of the story. The next day, this question was asked in the exam. The thought of writing that name irritated me (no offense for the great man, only don’t ask me to write his name). I tried writing though, but quit after the first 2 letters, thinking why go through so much trouble for half a mark, when the ultimate goal of education is not scoring in exams, but acquiring knowledge (which I have done) and all-round development of the personality. And no one can argue that, in my case, if not the personality, the person is developed “all round”. Needless to say, my mom was heart-broken at my mal-performance(pun intended).

            These 2 incidents have left my mom emotionally crippled for life. Well, not entirely, only in the domain of emotions connected to “me and exams”. But there is also a lighter or brighter side to it. For the last 20 years, these episodes have been narrated countless times in and out of my house much to the deep contentment of my mom. Whenever there is some remote reference to some ship or gold mine or tree, in some part of the universe, the story unfolds.  At the end of the story, she is invariably elated and amused.

            I myself am so happy and proud of my remarkable performance. With those blunders, I have presented a lifetime-amusement-scheme for my mom. Had I got those answers correct, I would have deprived her of all that mirth and laughter in the years to come. Perfection, I feel, is rather boring. It is the errors that add charm to life. Hence, no first ranks or “10 on 10” s for me, they are too insipid (I hope my sister reads this).

            Now, I may as well modify the title and call it “How I continue to amuse my mother”!