The Seeds of Hatred

I still remember those days, when my mom would make me do my math home work. She would teach me how to write numbers. She would say, O…N…E ONNE…and simultaneously hold my hand to draw that straight line which was never straight, till date. Then she would watch me mechanically fill the rest of the page with ones literally shouting OOOO… EEENNN… EEEE…. ONNNE. Even if I stop to take a breather, or to swallow the saliva that would have accumulated under my tongue, she would immediately point her index finger on to the note book, pointing at a ONE and say O…N…E…ONNNE. A timing so perfect, many musicians would vie for it. For her, the louder I shout, the better I learn. When I get set into a shout-write-shout-write mode, my decibel level would keep on increasing until my voice breaks. In spite of all the effort(!) that we put in, my ONEs seemed more like a comma (extra large size). Now I being a perfectionist want that one to be as perfect (a comma) as possible. So I would stop in between to correct my not-so- perfect one, using my eraser on the notebook, erasing it so hard, that either I tear the page or smoke comes out of the notebook. I really enjoyed seeing the remnants of the friction between the notebook and the eraser. What I enjoyed more is sweeping of the entire stuff from the notebook in a single sweep. I liked the way those things (i.e. remnants – I don’t know what are they called) roll under my palm. After this entire ordeal, finally I would be done. A page full of ONEs. O….N…E. That’s a Bonus. I also learnt to spell it. I triumphantly would look up after some half an hour and forty five min of hard work, and smile at my mom. My mom would look at the ones that I have written, and would say hmmm. Wow! What a wonderful hmmm that was. The best hmmm I have ever heard till date. An hmmm for which I waited for so long. An hmmm that communicates success, triumph, completion, happiness, and not to forget freedom. Hmmm what a lovely word/sound that is. Something that has hundred meanings attached to it but still has not found its place in the dictionary. My mom would hand over the note book to me and say turn to the next page. She would bring her chin forward slightly and withdraw it in a second while saying that as if she is trying to point at the page with her chin. I would do so obediently to find a number written on the next page. “2”. My mom would start off. T…W…O TWO. Gosh! The whole world would go still for me. I would not know how many numbers lie ahead of me to be conquered, but conquered they have to be. Off I start TEEEE... DOUBLEUUUU... OOOOO (WW!) TWOOOOOO (boo hoo!!!); TEEE…. AAIICH…. AAARRR…. EEEEE…. EEEEE... THREEEEEEE etc. Trust me. Those were the most difficult days of my school life. Every day was a conquest. I particularly remember one incident where one day I was writing the number 4, the most difficult number to write in the entire number system. The number I learnt to write after a humungous effort. To think of it, differential equations of the third order was comparatively easier to learn than learning to write 4. My mom was hand holding me to write the number. It was so boring that the moment my mom held my hand I would loosen the grip of my back chewed pencil. So my mom had to hold my hand, the pencil and go about writing. AAIFFFF…OOOO…UUUU…AAARR FOOOOUUR. Suddenly the phone (my savior, thank you Mr. Bell and who ever called that day) rang and mom went to attend the call. As soon as she left the place, I stopped writing. Not because I was tired, but I forgot how four would look. All these and more… sowed the seeds of hatred towards Mathematics at that tender an age. It’s a different story that I went on to do my Engineering but I still hate math.

Note: I have deliberately censored the spankings I recieved in the process. I don't want to spread violence through my blog ;-)