Excerpts from my life, Uncategorized

It Requires Less Than a Sorry

Today’s prompt is “The Humble Pie”. I have to write about an incident where I realised I was wrong and had to gulp the humble pie. I am sure when we are posed with such questions, most of us will instantly remember at least one incident that struck our conscience. For me, I had three in my mind instantly on reading the topic. But. . . they are too embarrassing for me to post here. So I sat digging my past, thinking about my humble pie days. Oh boy! it did take me a while to circle upon the one I am going to write about. Here we go.



We are the sum of our experiences. The mistakes we do, the lessons we take and every time we strive for the right path- each moment frames us into what we are today. Am I serving an explanation for what I am going to tell you? Well, yes!

This incident dates back to 2002. I was 11 and in class five. My school organised an annual picnic for every class. Like any classroom, we were also divided into sub-class, species or genus. I mean, our batch of 60 was divided into smaller groups. The rule of the picnic was simple-

  1. Date was fixed
  2. We would be taken to some random location. For class five, it was usually some silly playground with a rink. The rink served more as a spot to sit and relax rather than to skate.
  3. We were to get our own games and meals. Tradionally, it was the potluck in every group. Girls decided who would get what and it was a grand affair!


The day did come. Needless to say, we were ecstatic. Everyone got everything as planned. Things were perfect and we could not wait. Finally our class-teacher, Sheila Ma’am (who also happened to be my mom’s friend) enters.

After the prayer session and being given the guidelines, we were soon geared to move. We stuck to our friends and started forming a queue. But, there popped an issue.

-“Amrita, who is with you?”

Silence. Suddenly the focus of the entire class shifted to that one girl sitting in the cornermost seat.

Amrita. I still do not know what was wrong with her. Perhaps she was dyslexic, spastic or something else that I don’t know. All I know is that she flunked to join us when we were in class four. I know she had flunked a year before that too. I know she was quiet, with spittle dripping from her mouth, two messy plaits and she couldn’t eat her own meal properly.

She was bigger than us, she was huge and different. I know nobody wanted to sit with her and I was one of them. In the three years that she was with us, I heard her speak only once. That is how I know how she sounded and I still remember her voice so clearly.

-“No”, she said. Her voice was heavy, a bit coarse too. Was it sad? I don’t know. I didn’t care.

-“Who is going to take Amrita with them?”, our teacher asked.

No points for guessing. Not me! Not anybody. Were we a ruthless class? Maybe.

Maybe we were too young. Maybe we were uncomfortable with her.

Nobody spoke a word. Shame.

-“if nobody volunteers, I will assign her to a group.”, she re-announced

Yes. A human had to be assigned.

Complete silence. The excitement had died. All the groups were praying hard that it isn’t us. Who wanted to take up a liability on a fun day? She had to be taken care of! Who would do that?

Just as I was praying hard, trying to look away from Sheila Ma’am, the inevitable happened. I caught her staring at me.

NO. My eyes told her. N – O.

So much for being your friend’s daughter!

Yes. Amrita was assigned to be with us. The other groups were relieved and the commotion restored. However, there was chaos in ours. We tried giving petty excuses.

-“We have exactly 22 chocolates for 22 girls ma’am. How will we give her?”

-“Share”, came the answer

I think Spriha gave up her chocolate that day. I didn’t. To make it worse, I was asked to accompany Amrita and make sure she hangs along with us. We were not allowed to leave her tagging behind.


We finally gave up. We took her along. Reluctantly shared our food. Did not play with her. She kept sitting alone at a corner of our bedsheet and perhaps guarding our belongings. We mind our own business. I don’t remember being nice to her. Once the picnic was over, we didn’t care anymore.

Yes, it pains now to think about it. Children are harsh sometimes. At this moment, I wonder where she is. I wonder how she thinks about her childhood. We weren’t bullies, but I don’t know what we should be termed as.

Guilty? very.

Amrita made it to class six with us but not after that. She flunked again after that. I don’t know when I started thinking the other way round. I don’t know when my approach to the special ones changed.

From class six until the tenth, I was always elected the class monitor. We had four more girls in class seven who were different and had flunked to be with us- Ritu, Vanessa, Arunima and Varsha. As far as my memory goes, I loved them and they loved me. With one, I am still in touch. Other three flunked eventually and left school.

Was being kind to them a part of my role as the class head? Don’t know. I bumped into Vanessa once a few years ago and it was nothing less than warm. She remembered me and I remembered her. I look more like a girl now, she said.

I think I did change. I don’t know when. I think I am sorry but sometimes you don’t have the one around to make up. Maybe I never thought about her until today. Am I again explaining myself? Yes.


“Children aren’t coloring books. You don’t get to fill them with your favorite colors.” 

― Khaled Hosseini


Did you ever have your moment when you had to swallow the humble pie? Share with me below 🙂


Humble Pie

Excerpts from my life, Uncategorized

The Luckiest People

I want to start writing again. But, as my dear friend Shefs says, that writing is a habit and you have to write for at least ten minutes everyday to be in the flow. How right! It has been pretty long since I last wrote, and to merely give myself a push, I decided to take up The Daily Post‘s Daily Prompt. Today’s prompt is “The Luckiest People” and I have to write about the person I first encountered today.

If I had to talk about the word ‘encounter’ in the literal sense, it means I must write about someone I ‘met’ first today morning. Living at home means I meet my mom first everyday and then my dad. I guess writing about my mom would require more time and emotional investment, which is not now. So I would simply moderate the topic a bit, and speak about this girl with whom I first spoke to (after my mom) in the morning on WhatsApp.

Let us call her Gushra. I guess the only three people who are up at that hour of the day is Gushra, Shefs and me! So very often she is my brush buddy. She sends me creepy pics of her’s while brushing. Who does that?

So Tushra is Alhamdulillah one friend very close to my heart. This morning the star topic was her dad. He is my new hero. She told me that her dad is black belt in Karate and can kill any man in 30 seconds! Whoaaaaaaaa…. There was this one time when someone abused her grandfather before her dad. What followed was her dad went down, flung the person and knocked him down within 15 seconds. All this to a man half his age! I couldn’t stop laughing. Amazing!

No wonder his kids are so fit, including Mushra. She looks petite of only 45kgs at 5’3″ but is strong enough to floor a man down. Thats my girl.

There are few things common in all my close friends. I guess these are pretty much the criteria for me to allow anyone close to me. As follows:

  1. They have an amazing sense of humour. They witty and intelligent. It is impossible that someone reads our convos or hears us talking and she won’t laugh hard for minutes together
  2. They are sportive. Okay, no ego and no drama allowed. We never have someone crying over their sorrows and other sympathising. Perhaps they know too well that if they speak for more than 5 lines about how sad their life is, others might make her the butt of joke. Additionally, they can laugh at themselves!
  3. They are girls. I don’t know why, I have always had a thing for girls.


Pushra excels in these! Especially the third criteria. She does take a while to get some stuffs, because of which I call her dimwit 😛 She has the mental age of 14, but that is okay. She is getting better each day.

It is so hard to write a good paragraph about your own friend, I have a feeling of writing an essay on “My Best Friend” In kindergarten. Especially when you know Lushra will be reading it… and then my dad will be reading it. Then he is going to come and ask me who Rushra is and every detail about her. Perhaps object to being friends with her anymore.

So Zushra, be prepared. When you miss me next, open this post and cry your eyes out. I wrote about you!!






PS- to all those who are worried about the man her dad knocked down, he didn’t die. He was only smashed and bled a little. Very much alive now.


The Luckiest People