Pongal - washed down blood, washed down emotions, but lingering memories

Pongal. Something longed since much earlier. Right since the start of Half yearly exams. And waiting for Half yearly exams to get over. Typically, the last exam day of any term being a give away in my life. Or atleast I took it that way. Never prepared much for whichever exam that happened to be the 'lucky' last one. Since that was the exam I got least inventive about. Spared it of all Newtonian gravitations. Relieved the teacher from spending too much time on my answer sheet. Both in terms of reading and counting. The last bit, to me, always meant lethargy.

And alas, as the exams got over, it was to be a sense of accomplishment. Crawling over a hurdle and milestone that will not mean anything. Nor hold relevance to life's real hurdles. Then the Half-yearly leave about which I can only remember vague details of the numerous christmas stars hanging around in the street where I lived. I particularly remember the pencils of light and life piercing through red coloured stars. And then the New year eve. Never been anywhere ever on New year's eve. I wished I partied once atleast and got scolded for returning home late. Of course, there was no dearth of being scolded anyway.

And before you wink an eye, the vanishing school holidays. Then the much dreaded return back to school. Distribution of mark sheets...

3 or 4 or 5.

No, not the rank in class. Its the number of subjects I regularly failed. I particularly liked some of the subjects at school. So ensured I would fail in them always. Of course, I never had to do anything special to fail. It almost happened automatically, no matter what I did. I had this amazing consistency. And affinity.

It should have been the Pongal of 1988. I ventured to chop down a sugar cane. Nearly finished the entire length. And only the last bit was to be chopped. Deciding to close my eyes, I used the knife as a pick axe whilst holding the cane with my left hand and gave it a go. It went too. Nearly half a centimetre deep inside my left thumb. The last bit, to me, once again meant lethargy.

22 years gone. And now, as I type this, I could see it so clearly. But neither the scar, nor the memory has left me. And when it bled uncontrollably, I wasn't worried about it. Rather I was scared and worried about the aftermath of my father getting to know about my injury and the resulting after effects. I stayed in the bathroom and kept washing down my wound, hoping it would soon stop the bleeding.

Well, nobody taught me principles of coagulation. It continued to bleed and I continued to wash it until someone eventually had to visit the bathroom and found about my predicament. As Pongal approaches, this reminds me about washed down blood and washed down emotions. But, the memories have not been washed yet. As long as I have a thumb.