Considering the overflow of reminiscing in the last day or two, I thought I might well give my penny’s worth and go with the flow.
On a cold Saturday morning at 6:20 am, I pooped my head to say hello to life, albeit with much difficulty. At 6:22 am, I was confirmed alive (so claims my birth certificate). With my first gasps for air in this godforsaken planet, the surname “Nehru” was attached to my lapel and I was “destined for greatness”.
However, destiny would have to wait, because right now, I was struggling with something far more important – life! I spent 40 days in intensive care, with a week on the incubator. Apparently, I was one of the freakish ones, the premature good for nothings who cannot stay put until their turn comes. I had been naughty, very naughty. I wasn’t supposed to see the world outside for a month and half. I popped out after only 7 and a half months and the family “jyotish” (astrologist) confirmed our fears – if I were to live, it would be a miracle and surpassing all expectation but if were to die, then I would only fulfill expectations. From a very early age, I learned to set my own standards; I had beaten death the day I arrived on this earth – check mate! It was my destiny. What could go wrong??
From my very early days, I was a very well behaved and quiet child. My grandmother noticed that I didn’t ‘kick my legs’ (or move any limb for that matter) even though I was nearing 18 months. I would just lie there on my bed in silence, paralysed, as if someone had stunned me with a taser.
Time for another Limca moment - (“zor ka jhatka dheere se lage”/hard kick in the backside with subtlety). I was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. The doctor at the hospital had misfired his tools during the C-section. He had pressed too hard on my skull which had damaged parts of my cerebellum. This had reduced my capability of motor skills. In other words, I was rendered physically useless. It would be a miracle if I were to reach a stature of Stephen Hawking, let alone walk. Once again, I was set up to defy destiny. Seriously, I was getting bored. I thought destiny would take a hint and move on. All this business of creating miracles was getting tedious and hard-pressed. I was up against myself to prove to the world that I was good enough for myself – go figure!
Once again, it came as no surprise that I came out on top again. Now it was official – if I wasn’t destined for greatness then SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH ME!!! I started walking ‘properly’ when I was six years old. Some people called me a “late bloomer”. If I knew it then, I would have showed them the finger. Alas! It would be a long time before I would realise the potential of demeaning gestures that deflate egos in an instant. I always tried to be ‘normal’ and do ‘normal’ things. And I would be shown my rightful place… normally.
Time for the final blow. All through this time, there was one saving grace – my name! I was a Nehru. I was destined for greatness. Imagine my disappointment when I came upon the conclusion that I wasn’t one of “the Nehrus”. How many Nehrus are there?? I was getting one bloody benefit, and now that too would have to go.
Now that I sit back, I think it wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse. I am a teenager who has heightened powers of observation, has read all of Shakespeare’s original plays; can make any crap appear interesting by just putting random words together and has a penchant for philosophy (mainly an aesthetic, cathartic soft corner for existentialism). Not too bad for a person who popped in a wee bit soon, not too bad at all.
After all, I am destined for greatness… and that’s not me talking, that’s destiny!
