Manas Garg Speaks

Sharing a childhood memory after a long time — to show how sensitive a child’s mind is.

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When I was small, we, like most middle class families at that time did not have a phone. (Cell phones were yet to be invented). Thus, the telephone instrument used to fascinate me a lot.

So this one time, me and my mom were at my aunt’s place (who had a phone!). My dad was at my grandparents’ place, and my mom was speaking with my dad over the phone. I was jumping around my phone, obviously curious. I was touching and playing with the green phone, even while my mom was using it.

Then suddenly the phone got cut.

My mom told my aunt that the phone had gotten disconnected. My aunt told my mom - ‘Manas was doing something with the phone dial- that’s why it must have got cut’.

Wham! I got a tight slap on my cheek from my mom.

The next moment, my dad called back to tell that my little naughty cousin had disconnected the phone on his side. 

No one said sorry to me.

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I still remember this incident - even after so many years. And I’ve never really liked that aunt of mine after that incident. A child’s mind is very sensitive - small things affect it a lot. Don’t be unfair to a child - you might create a childhood memory by doing that.

Let me share another childhood memory with you - a funny one this time.

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When I was a kid, before my voice cracked, I had a very thin voice. In simpler terms, I had a voice that sounded very much like a girl’s. I was teased a lot, and I used to wait for the day when my voice would crack.

People used to think I was my dad’s daughter if I happened to pick up the phone - they just assumed it hearing my voice. It was embarrassing. Imagine me explaining - “Uncle, I’m not his daughter. I’m his son.” Sometimes I used to correct people, most of the times I did not - just used to give the phone to my dad and wait for the day when my voice would crack.

Once it got ugly. Some guy started started blank calling our home phone thinking that there was a girl in the house! This when I am the only child of my parents and I was in class IV and I was a guy.

I used to tell that guy ‘Dude, I’m not a girl. I’m a guy. You’re wasting your time and money.’ But that dude never believed me. I used to laugh my head off when that unknown guy used to call and go like ‘Madam, please talk to me. Please give me a pappi (Hindi slang for a kiss)’.  

Finally, after years of wait, my voice cracked and I started sounding like a man. Thank god! :)

I’m going to share a few of my childhood memories. Some of them pleasant, some of them unpleasant. I’ve hardly shared some of them with anyone else - because I’ve been so embarrassed about them. But here I am making them public.

Here goes the first one - and I think the one which affected me the most.

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 This happened (or started rather) when I was in III standard.  I was pretty bright and other kids and teachers held me in good regard. There was this guy in my class, named Musharib. A typical naughty and trouble making fellow. Fine with me. However, our class-teacher was quite concerned about him (Her name was Tanvi S Khan, if I remember correctly) and as you’d expect, changed his seat in class and made him sit next to me - hoping that he’d pick up a good quality or two from me. Fine with me.

This guy, happened to have a friend in class - her name was Diana, and both were good friends. Like kids in III standard are. Then I made that mistake.

One fine morning, I still vividly remember - it was the first period, Musharib had a chalk piece, and told me that he wanted to write ‘Musharib and Diana are friends’ on the desk. Of course, he said that to me in Hindi, as kids generally did not have great command over English. And that is why he wanted my help to write that in English.

Too mature for my age, my brain came up with a mischief - instead of writing ‘Diana and Musharib are friends’, I wrote ‘Diana weds Musharib’. I don’t know why.

Kids around asked me what it meant. So I told them. I just remember Musharib going ‘Hawwww’ and erasing what was written on the desk. And so began the most painful time of my childhood life.

Musharib was smart. Smarter then I could have imagined him to be. He did not go and complain to the teacher immediately, however, he asked me if he should go and complain. I could not believe it - he was blackmailing me!

He did tell the maths teacher and I was punished - made to stand in front of the class with my hands held straight up. However, I was scared that my parents would be very disappointed to know what a hideous crime their only child had committed.

Meanwhile, Musharib kept me in constant fear of telling my parents - I don’t remember him making me do or get anything for him, but he kept me in constant fear - that he would go ahead tell my parents.

Little did I know that the ‘crime’ I had committed was not really a crime - and that maybe my parents would just have laughed it off  - for me, it was the worst kind of crime that I had committed, and was too scared to even imagine what would my parents do if they found out.

Musharib scared me for a few months, and then the thing was old. But I had still not told my parents, and whenever Musharib asked me - “Manas, should I…”, my heart would skip a beat.

It ended when my dad got transferred and we moved to a new city. I was so relieved. I still havent told my parents.. It doesn’t matter now.

However, the thing to notice is, that a child’s mind is so innocent, that he can easily be scared, and even when my parents were the most understanding parents in the world, the fear of disappointing them made me hide something, which did not really mean anything.

I wish Musharib had gone ahead and told my parents on the first day itself - at least I would not have spent those months in constant fear.

I have hated him ever since - but now I realize - even if he was enjoying having the brightest kid in the class in constant fear, the real fault was mine - I wanted to hide my mistake. Since then, I make it a point to accept my faults out in the open - it makes you feel very light.

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry Musharib, for what I did. (Diana did not speak with him for a long long time after what I had said about the two).

Peace.