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| Of Curd, Confidence and Success | | | .K.Vaid, KAS-Retd | 11/27/2011 12:12:11 AM |
| DA spoon of curd in my days of childhood was considered to be exercising an influence on getting through a class or obtaining good grades. Once, I did not take this spoon before sitting for an examination and failed. My mother's faith in curd got
strengthened. Though there were some who had ceremoniously taken their spoon of curd with all their faith in the good omen and failed. But that will not disturb my mother.
They were not my mother's sons and her faith would exercise the magical power on her sons only. She had no daughters; so the magical phrase was the influence of curd on examination taking sons.
She would gently say, 'Don't try to prove me wrong through examples of others. Others have their mothers too and let their mothers find out, whether curd suits them or the honey.
It is not for nothing that different people worship different gods and propitiate them through ways and means which are not similar.'
I had no liking for curd. I did not like milk either. Both to me were as disdainful as ghehia to most of the children. My sibling was always told by my mother that marks scoring in the examination were always directly proportionate to the quantity of ghehia you eat.
More the intake of this veggie, more the marks! My poor brother had a great liking for curd, but was always admonished to have more of the said vegetable, instead. I
was fond of this unobtrusive vegetable, but was cajoled to take curd. My mother, in fact, was a true bureaucrat. All rules had to be interpreted as per her whims.It is from the interpretation of the Rules that the power of the bureaucrats flows. If a rule is as straight as a line drawn between two points, then the skillful civil servantwould almost be redundant. A mother and a bureaucrat both are apt in first allowing some deficiency to develop and then promptly rendering assistance. An easy way to becomeindispensable! The former, however, is loving even in callousness; the latter, unsparingly callous in love too. Exceptions allowed! My second examination came my way after a gap of six months. This time the holy curd was spooned down my throat with religious fervour amid humming of hymns.
Unfortunate for my scientific conviction against things unscientific; I passed through the examination. My scoring was, however, not up to the mark and was attributed to my lack of faith in curd.
My faith in eating ghehia could not rescue me, despite my vehement efforts to remind my mother of her propounded theory of ghehia and marks. She will buy no argument from a kid of thirteen. Her beautiful curly black hair with streaks of white in them, were not only respected for grace; they had earned the epithet of being most experienced too. Nobody need cross swords with her; much less her small kids. Interestingly, these sons always remained small for her. Even when they were married off and had their own baggage to look after!
Much later, when I came to possess my own baggage, I was amusingly astounded to discover that my wife who was now mother of two, turned out to be a great lover of 'the curd theory.' The truth came home to me on the day when my son was to take his first examination of life. He was to go to for his admission test in a so called prestigious school. His mother was trying to coax him to take paratha with curd, instead of his usual fare.
The little boy, through a strange combination of slow and fast, had always relished breakfasting on deep brown paratha and fluffy omelet. He, incidentally, like me; had no love for curd. Unlike my times, the young cadet did not only refuse to take the curd, but wiped the bowl off the table with such a peculiar flourish that his freshly ironed shirt cuff did never get a smear. His mother's face, however, turned as white as ash. The boy was doomed; destined not to be in that prestigious school; she thought, ruefully. The boy, however, did not think so and was confident of remembering by rote, all the silly replies I had taught him in the last couple of days. He was declared to be topping the list of the selected! His top merit in the admission test saved me a couple of thousand bucks, to be shelled out otherwise by way of capitation fees. The 'c' of confidence of a small boy had taken on the 'c' of curd. The beaming face of my son brought a proud smile on the wrinkled face of my mother. She affectionately hugged the small kid and said softly, 'The times have certainly changed. The curd may have lost its magic.' My wife had learnt her lesson. 'How could I be so silly?' she muttered.\ Since then the status of curd has changed in my house. It is a mere item on the breakfast table, like any other breakfast item.
Be it a day of my new presentation in a business conference, or children's test day; curd in my family has its rating as per its nutrition value only and not as an omen of success. Success rides only one horse; the horse of hard work. Omens, good or bad and the curd, sweet or sour; have never been able to waylay the wayward brunette called success. Perspiration, perseverance and pep are dearer to 'her'.
A spoonM of curd may keep your mouth cool and fresh, but it surely is no passport to success. Accomplishment and achievement came through action, not omen. (The Columnist with his pen name as Darshan Darshi is a renowned Dogri writer and a Sahitya Akademi Awardee; besides former Director School Education) |
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