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Christopher's prosetic challenge: Influence in a flash
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Christopher's prosetic challenge: Influence in a flash |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium 
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Life is a personal story of evolution and changes. At times, one feels the rush, the need to travel back in time and space. One thinks about the past years, the childhood memories, the teenager's indomitable spirit, the foolery, the pranks, the crushes, the pains that several countless moments left on the soul. The slashes on the heart, the caresses on the soul, each such experience stirs memories. It is strange how many things this mind keeps within it, locked, and safe, yet without a key, the door left ajar, always tend to open at the slightest push. I feel the need to go back eighteen years, and see what caused a turmoil into my head then and what the incident had taught me then, that I still so much remember. Why do I go to that point now? Maybe, the answer lies in the CNN news channel that showed some vivid pictures on television a few nights back. Maybe, my mind just tripped on some wire and held on to an end of a thin thread that was in itself held on by this picture that is etched into my memory. Who knows! Does it matter? Influence in a flash - A lesson well learnt, the hard way I was eight summers old then and the season was winter, November 1982. It was festival season - the occasion of deepavli, the festival of lights, a celebration of life. All my friends were wearing new clothes, glittering and shiny as if the stars had deserted the sky and made all of us young ones happy by shining on our clothes. Even now, when I listen to the song Shiny Happy People by R.E.M., I instantly switch to this period of my life. Our house is a bungalow, off the street. On the other side of the house, a beautiful river flows. Then, the road alongside our house was still muddy and dusty. So it appeared to be an extension of the railways-owned field a hundred metres away from our house, which we used as our playground to play cricket and football. Oh! These make for fond memories, imagining the amount of time that we spent on the field playing wanting to be sportsmen of acclaim like our childhood heroes. In fact India won the world cup in cricket the next year, 1983 held in England. Well, like all others, I too adorned a new set of clothes, a nice T-shirt, upon which was written the letters H, A, P, P and Y. I was wearing a new, bluish pair of shorts. Winter, it was yet it is never so cold in November, in my hometown. The enthusiasm and glitter of the season and festivities made us all a bunch of warm children, cuddling around each other, sharing nice childish jokes and playing pranks. Soon, it was around nine in the evening, and the moments we were anxiously waiting had arrived. Time to burst firecrackers and enjoy the surreal beauty of the festival of lights. We had beautiful 'flower-pots', nice 'rockets', little crackers tied together with thin strings and a wick at the end and so many more innovative things to help us enjoy the evening and get drowned in the spirit of the festivities. For us children, there was one good reason to celebrate. Just before these holidays, we had our first-term examinations completed, and this meant no studies for some time and no school either. One of us started the fanfare with a 'rocket' that went whizzing way above into the night sky, sparklers at its tip bursting multiple colours, red, golden, white, yellow, orange, crimson shades too. Soon, all of us started bursting our firecrackers. I started with a cracker like a spinning wheel that kept spinning while throwing around brilliant sparkles round and round, while I looked at it mesmerised and amazed. Then a few small bombs, making sharp sounds. Then a flower pot. A flower-pot is a wonderful firecracker that does not make any sound, but generates a lot of lights that spring upwards towards the heavens, like a flower full in bloom. Even two-year olds can be safe with this one piece of firecracker. So I thought then! So naïve I was, I feel now. But, how smart could an eight-year old be, I ask myself incessantly. Why ask questions? Who knows the answers? Does it really matter? I felt my numb hands, and felt hit by a truck. Blood flowed from my palms. It was my right hand, my writing hand, my stronger hand, and my better hand. I stood stunned, felt no pain. Just could see blood dripping down, then something burning. Couldn't see much clearly, for my eyes felt smoked all of a sudden. Realisation struck me hard. The flesh of my palm was burning, and bleeding was because of the skin that was being shed, like tiny blood drops under blisters. I started to cry, but no sound would care. I started to wail, but could not hear my sound. I feared deafness, and being deaf forever. I knew I was shouting since, my friends gathered and took me home immediately. Soon I was surrounded by my mother, my grandmother and my friends. My dear mother was asking me something, but I did not answer. She started crying for me; not understanding what had happened to me. My calm grandmother, with her old and worried face got a bucket of cold water and forced my arms into it. No other way to go about it, she seemed to be saying, and I shrieked in horror. The hand felt the burning sensations a million times more severe than my face that hurts whenever I apply my old spice after-shave. By that time, my grandma had already made turmeric paste, to apply on my palm. An hour passed, maybe more; I had no idea of the time. I was feeling horrified, petrified, I wanted my right hand to be amputated and got rid of. It was hurting so badly. By then my hearing began getting normal again. Firecrackers were still sounding outside. I could feel other children enjoying themselves. Life just went on normally. I started to realise how selfish I had been thinking about me and myself. Still the pain persisted. Dad came home around that time, asking where I was and why I was not outside enjoying the festivities. Then he saw my mom, and me tears flowing, my grandma sitting perturbed, poignantly thinking. I hadn't uttered a word yet. They probably thought, I had a sense of talking and was shocked beyond limits. It was the time of my father to ask me all the questions, and all I did was cry. I feared his scolding at me doing something wrong and terrible. I was feeling a little guilt at making my mother cry and my grandma worried. Well, I mustered enough courage and said a few words. I said that I was all right and feeling much better then. First aid treatment finished, I was ready to be taken to a hospital. Preliminary amount of bandaging had been done. My father had not even changed from his office dress. He picked me up, in his ever-caring arms, and off we went to a hospital. I always used to wonder why my neighbourhood doctor still worked on holidays and why he doesn't deserve the fun that we all have in our lives. I had the answer now. To serve nut cases like me who destroy the goodness of a wonderful occasion by doing something utterly stupid. Back home after a few hours at the hospital and getting treatment and ordered rest for the whole of next week. I started speaking to my parents about what had gone wrong. All I could say was this. "I don't know why I did it, but I have been a stupid jackass. I have been a fool. I played with fire and am paying for it." I recollected what I had done in the brief moments of excitement. The flower-pots, so very pleasant to watch in full glow, showering petals of light all around, dazzling all onlookers, causing much occasion to celebrate, caused this damage to my hand. What did I do wrong? Stupid! I said to myself. They are supposed to be placed on the ground and lighted on the top with proper care. It was so easy and smooth. What I did was hold one in my hand and lit it with a candle using the other hand. The result, a terrible BOOM and a burnt right hand that to this very day has marks - scars of my stupidity, and lack of simple logic. Now, scientifically more advanced, I understand the working of this amazing flowerpot. When the tip of the flowerpot is lighted, there is a massive surge of energy towards the ground, resulting in a flashy shower of dazzling lights all around towards the sky. Action towards the earth, pressure exerted downwards, reaction towards the sky, energy released in form of sparkles. If the base on which the flowerpot is kept is not strong to withstand the pressure, the energy is released downwards, and an explosion occurs. Now I have grown smarter. I have learnt a lesson in physics and dynamics. I understand one more thing now. Never ever fool around with fire, it really burns you down. I still ask questions. Why don't people understand the power of fire, and its destructive capacity? A few days back, a CNN broadcast struck me and caught me ablaze. A firecracker- storing depot in the Netherlands had caught fire, creating a situation of an air attack by an airforce in battle killing at least 20. How negligent! How stupid! Why ask questions? Who knows the answers? Does it really matter? Well, there are more people like me around. That makes this world a difficult place to live, it seems to me now. Yet now, I am still thinking of the numerous people who were charred to death. So many will have scars all over them, in their body, in their hearts, and this time they did not even do this to themselves like I did. Yet I still enjoy the flashing luminous festival of lights, against which I hold no grudge at all. Please take care my friends, for you must, for you are the only one who can take care of yourself! P.S. For those who don't know about the festival of lights - deepavli: People all over India wait almost a year for this festival, each year, particularly the children. This is a three-day festival, where the god-fearing pray to the Goddess of Wealth, "Lakshmi" for bestowing good luck and happiness upon their families. To welcome the Goddess, small earthern pots that have lamp-wicks dipped in oil, are placed on the entrance to their houses. The aim is to welcome the Goddess with the warmth and glow of the lights. Lots of sweets are prepared (using rice, jaggery, sugar, cream of milk etc.) and are distributed amongst neighbours, friends, family etc. The event is also marked with the bursting of firecrackers (scientifically unhealthy because of smoke, sound, and smell of chemicals, a prime pollution concern for the green peace, perhaps!). Most people also observe a day's fast on the second day. On the third day, everybody who can wears new clothes to mark the occasion. Children usually get new clothes to wear on all the three days. A large section of the Hindu community believes that this signifies the start of the New Year. -------------- Friends, this one I have written in one sitting, I would not have been able to do it otherwise. So many images, not enough words to describe them. So please try and understand, and forgive of cadinal sins of spelling mistakes. Please come ahead with suggetsions, and suggest changes in presentation, if needed... [This message has been edited by Sudhir Iyer (edited 05-20-2000).] |
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WolfsMate Member
since 2000-01-14
Posts 121New York |
I think it's natural curiosity that makes us all do something like that. That and the thought of the forbidden. Luckily most of us learn from our mistakes. Good story here. Well done my friend. "You never have to worry...Never fear for I am near" |
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netswan Senior Member
since 2000-03-28
Posts 1369Washington |
Sudhir, Excellent vivid imagery and writing in this tale -----Oh, your poor hand. I wish we did not have firecrackers on the fourth of July here. It is our national tribute to our country's independence. But, I dread watching the news and the blown off arms and hands of young and older people. It is a very hard lesson in life. And, I wish they had another method of celebrating. Mix that celebration with little kids, matches, lighters, and drunken celebrating adults, someone always gets hurts. Wonderful story, here. I greatly enjoyed it. netswan |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium |
Wolfsmate, netswan, Thank you for your responses. I feel greatly appreciated and I am grateful to both of you for that... Regards, Sudhir. [This message has been edited by Sudhir Iyer (edited 05-20-2000).] |
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Ardonida Member
since 2000-05-18
Posts 76 |
anyone else besides me noticed how you do not even see the mistakes, even if they were printed in bold, and made red, specially when you are reading such a good piece as this?? I only read it now, but I have to say that it kept me on the edge of my seat, and then threw me back to a time when my stepfather had an bad experience with fire crackers as well. I laughed at him though. Could not help it, I was only 6 or so. It was funny seeing a grown man jumping around with a broom in the front garden... long story, maybe later... But to you, I have to say, memories are the one thing you keep even after the scars are healed! A. |
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Alle'cram Senior Member
since 2000-02-28
Posts 1816Texas |
Sudhir, I enjoyed every line of your childhood experience. Very good job recapturing the events. Remember, you were only eight years old, still full of exploration, not yet a rocket scientist, to have known what was to happen. Great story and sounds like a loving family too. Marcy |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Well told it was! I too had an incident as a child, probably about as old as you were, with fireworks. Some children threw a lit firecracker underneath my feet, where it promptly exploded. I went to the hospital as well, but mine wasn't anywhere near as bad. I'm glad to see that you hold no grudge and have accepted that in your life. Thank you for sharing! Chris |
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lorilockheart Member
since 2000-05-06
Posts 206Alabama |
Sudhir, Enjoyed this story. Innocent - that's what you were. Sometimes lessons have to be learned the hard way, and you are right - you were lucky. I'm new to this, but I'd say, Good job. Lori ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean. Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens. Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance. And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance - I hope you dance. song by LeeAnn Womack ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
Sudhir...this is wonderfully done...and for one sitting, quite impressive. These profound experiences shape us in to who we are...hard a tthe time, yet in the end they seem to make us stronger and more aware of the world and our place in it.  K |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium |
Ardonida, Thanks for your great appreciative words. Memories, do linger and keep resounding truimphant returns. It is then upto us, to accept what have done aand what has been done to us, and strive for betterment... Lofty words, but is true, I guess. Thanks again. Marcy, Thank you for reading and also posting what you thought...A loving family it is.... except for my grandma, who is at heaven's abode. Chris, When you say that this was well told, it means a lot. Thank you... Lori, Lots of thanks for the 'Good Job'. Severn, I just read my story again, and I found it nice as well. I seem to have surprisingly not missed out many events form that night. Thanks for reading and getting me to read my own words. Thanks to all of you, once again. Regards, Sudhir. Life is like a painting, That in an art gallery is left hanging, Though many come just to look at it, A very few actually come to enjoy it. |
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