Kuttikkuppaayam (The Small Shirt)

Kuttikkuppaayam 

(The Small Shirt)

'We all need memories to remind ourselves who we are.'

-                                                                    - Memento (2000)

6^th February, 2003

I stood at the gate, teary-eyed and fuming.

“I’m telling you for the last time, do it!” papa said. I just stared at him. He glanced at mummy, revved his Vespa and sped away.

I was shocked. My calculations had gone wrong. I had expected him to give in.

“Why are you so arrogant? Shut the door and come inside,” mummy said, as she went into the house.

 

29^th April, 2020

“… from concrete to representation to abstract – the CRA approach. Rote learning abstract concepts, rules, and facts don’t lead to understanding; it burdens the child…” All were in agreement to what Karthi said. “A good example is,” he continued, “the multiplication tables…”

We were discussing in our work group, the pedagogy of early Math teaching. My stream of thought took a detour and time-travelled to 2003.

 

5^th February, 2003

I winked at it. It stared at me for a few seconds and looked away. I shook the branches of the tree, on which I stood, in a bid to win back its attention. It stared at me again. I smiled. After a few seconds, it turned its head the other way. I waited. 5 seconds. 10 seconds. 15 seconds. Ah yes, it threw a quick glance at me to check whether I was still pursuing it. Success! I had gotten into its head.

I was perhaps ‘the psycho kid’ in the world of the dogs in my area. Leaning on the branch of the tree that stood by the boundary wall, I would play such mind games with the dogs in the vicinity. It was one of my favourite pastimes.

“Where are you kid? Come inside; take your Math textbook and learn the tables up to 5. I’ll give you half an hour’s time. Quick!” It was mummy sounding the siren.

I waved at the dog, jumped off the tree, and dragged myself towards the study table.

The lunch box was still inside the bag. I took it to the kitchen. The sugar jar smiled at me. I opened it and took a spoonful. The sound of approaching footsteps had me fly back to the study table.

“Three into two is equal to six. Three into two iseequal to six. Three into three seeqal to nine….” The recitation went on.

There was a two rupee coin lying on the table. I started to trace it in my rough note book. “Three into five is equal to fifteen. Threento six is equal to seventeen. Threento six is equal to seventeen….”

After the stipulated 30 minutes and a grace period of another ten, mummy walked into the room.

“Hand over the book and start reciting.”

“One into one is equal to one.”

“Start with two’s table.”

I managed the two’s table with the repeated addition strategy – adding two to the previous number, which did not take much time. However, things fell apart when it came to the three’s table. Of course, three into six wasn’t seventeen!

“I’ll give you another 15 minutes. Up to five’s table - any mistake, and that’s it for you.”

“Three into three is equal tooo…”

***

Ten minutes had gone by and I hadn’t made much progress.

The newly bought sketch pens were lying on the table. A bulb flickered in my head. I wrote down the three’s table on my left leg, the four’s on my right and the five’s on my left palm. I still had the right palm free and so took the luxury of writing down the two’s table as well.

I placed myself in the little space between the television and the window. When mummy walked in, I asked her to sit on the chair in front of me.

“Begin with the three’s table.”

“Three into one is equal to three; three into two is equal to six; three into three is equal to nine; three into four is equal to, is equal to, threeee into four is eeequal toooo…”

I slyly referred my notes.

“Fast…” she was getting impatient.

“Three into four is equal to sixteen.”

“What!”

I referred again and realized that I was looking at the right leg instead of the left. Before I could rectify my mistake, I saw a shadow looming over me.

***

My ears were burning. She had almost pulled them out. I had to rub off the tables from my body and etch them on my brain in another fifteen minutes.

“Three into five iseequal to fifteen… three into five is equal to…”

The State Bank of India calendar, hanging against the wall, oscillated in the breeze.  The bulb flickered yet again. I wrote down the tables on the calendar. I then positioned myself on a chair, facing the calendar.

“Ah start… make it fast.” Mummy walked in. She came and stood right in front of the calendar, blocking my view.

“Please sit down.” I requested.

“Make it fast.” She did not move.

After ‘three into five is equal to fifteen’, I leaned my head sideways to catch a glimpse of the calendar.

She turned back and looked at the calendar.

As mummy stormed out of the room, I knew what was coming. She would go out and get a stick from the tree near the boundary wall, and in a matter of a few seconds my feast would begin. I prepared myself for it.

***

“Let papa get home. I can’t wait to tell him what you called me.” I said, wiping away the amalgamation of liquids that flowed from my eyes and nose, before they entered my mouth.

The ball was in my court now. During the treatment with the stick, an unparliamentary word had slipped out of her mouth. And I seized the opportunity.  She threw the stick away and walked out of the room. The momentum shifted my way. I followed her to the kitchen.

“Let papa come home and I will teach you a lesson.”

“Ah, let us see who is going to learn the lesson.”

***

I knew that papa would favour me. Of course, that was the larger scheme of things. Mummy was the antagonist of my study time episodes and papa my savior. The roles reversed when it came to eating food. For instance, I would hesitate to drink the mandatory glass of milk before leaving for school and papa would lose his temper, before mummy came to my rescue. At the end of the day, the house revolved around me and I knew that very well.

***

There were red patches on my hand. A few numerals were also visible. Vengeance boiled inside me. I walked into the bedroom, opened the cupboard and took out her eyeliner. I had gifted it to her on her birthday.

“I hate you. I am taking this back.”

She laughed. “I am not craving for your love. Do what you want. Also, it is a very bad habit to take back what you gifted someone.”

“Fine, I am bad.”

***

I heard the honking of our vespa. Papa was home. I ran outside to narrate the events of the evening.

“Ah ha… did she do like that! Come, I’ll ask her. We’ll settle it right away.”

I had a smirk on my face as we walked into the house.

“Why did you beat him? And he says that you used a particular word as well.”

“Did he not tell you why he got the beating? And the shameless guy has also taken away the eyeliner that he gifted me.”

***

The panchayat was settled by papa. It was decided that I wouldn’t be asked to recite the tables for another three weeks. He would write it on a chart with colour pencils and hang it in front of my study table. He assured me that I would pick up the tables on my own after a few days. All I had to do was to look at the chart once in a while, and refer to it while doing sums.

 

'Kuttikkuppaayam'

(Illustrated by Baby Parvathy*)

6^th February, 2003

It was their wedding anniversary. Both papa and mummy were in the kitchen as I got out of bed. I wished papa.

“No wishes for me?”

I did not respond. My vengeance was not over yet.

I got ready for school. The smell of biriyani entered my nostrils and I knew that it was one of those rare days when I would be waiting for the lunch break.

“Give mummy a kiss and come fast.” Papa had already started the scooter.

I walked towards the scooter.

“Go and give her a kiss. Don’t be so grumpy.”

“No, I will not kiss her.”

“It’s getting late. Let it go. I don’t want his kiss,” mummy said from the door.

“You are not going to school without giving her a kiss,” papa’s mood was changing.

I stood my ground. Tears started flowing down my cheeks.

“I’m telling you for the last time, do it,” papa said. I just stared at him. He glanced at mummy, revved his Vespa and sped away.

The larger scheme of things was a little different from what I had understood it to be.

                                      ***

(The story is based on memories from different points of time in my childhood. They have been woven together into a single piece – colourful little pieces from my childhood, stitched together into a kuttikkuppaayam. 😊 )

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*About the illustrator: Baby Parvathy is a lawyer by profession and an artist by passion. Her artistic concentration lies in addressing issues of social relevance and appreciating the little things in life. Here’s the link to Babie’s world of art.