Tag Archives: torture

My Namesis

Maths was one subject which I hated. But determination, and hard work paid off, and I ended up getting higher marks in Senior Classes. No subject other than Maths gets you full marks when the answers are correct.

There was another subject which I hated more than Maths was Urdu. You couldn’t ditch it, cause it was compulsory. I never got marks in the ninety range in Urdu. The highest I ever got in it were sixty eight. It was a dismal score. It pulled down my over all report card at the end of the year. There I would be standing first in class, but a look at Urdu marks made me want to hide my face, when I presented my report card for father to sign.

Another thing I hated about it was memorizing hundreds of poets’ biographies. There were three centuries of Urdu poets we students had to remember. We had to paraphrase the stanzas that was a real headache. The hidden depth we had to delve into was sheer torture. I would often think, if no Urdu poets had existed, my life would have been easy.

When I got to college, the first thing I did was to get Easy Urdu (an option I got). Finally I could breathe a sigh of relief.


Land of Confusion

Which subject in school did you find impossible to master? Did math give you hives? Did English make you scream? Do tell!

All Over Again

Daily Prompt: Zoltar’s Revenge
In a reversal of Big, the Tom Hanks classic from the 80’s, your adult self is suddenly locked in the body of a 12- year old kid. How do you survive your first day back in school?


I don’t want to face the dreaded Maths in Grade 7th again, and back to Miss Bano ………… No way. I don’t like torturing myself even thinking about it.

Here is an account of my first day at school. I am sure that many among you must have written “First day at school” many times over.

Father was busy. He told my elder brother Lala to take me to school. Lala filled the school forms. I wasn’t aware that he was going to leave me behind. He took me in front of my class room. When he tried to leave I started crying. I clung to him, and refused to let him go. Meanwhile he kept trying to get himself disengaged from me.

A Sister came, and held me. I kept on crying while my brother left. Those children who were veterans (of school) by now gathered round me to make fun, and laugh at my crying.

I don’t remember how the rest of the day passed. One memory is drawing rabbits and cats. The other one is of a teacher teaching me 1-10 on seeds.


Life of Sheen

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