IDENTIFICATION MARK...

You know, I think I was always this really mad person. Everyone knows that the contemporary KP is nuttier than absolute nuts – but what if I told you that I am a marked improvement on I?
And yes, I do have a story to corroborate my claim.
It was the summer of 1992, I think. Kindergarten, Carmel Convent School, Chandigarh.
It was a hundred meters straight and a turn from my bus-stop to my house, and I was all a-jump, a-bounce, a-skip and a-frisk as I made my way down it, our family helper carrying my school bag. Nothing special about that day – I was just one of those perpetually skippy bouncy kids, who are always in their own world, and simply thrilled to be there.

Now, let me explain the situation a bit. Our house, like all other houses has a gate. The gate has two ‘wings’ (I guess you could call them that, I can think of no better word right now), that latch together in the middle. And there is a wall on the side of each wing – so it can swing a max of 90° open inwards (and a 90° open outwards too).

And the gate was (and still is) about as high as I was at that time.

I hope you get the picture.

So there I was, all spring and jump – and I guess this kind of enthusiasm is infectious.
Our helper unlatched the gate; I pushed hard at one of the ‘wings’ – and they swung open in grand style.

Struck the wall.

BOUNCED. FRISKED.

And then – just as grandly – swung back.

WHACK.

Now a disclaimer – this is what I have deduced would have happened. From our helper’s statement and some basic physics.
All I really really remember is the gate swinging open. And then our helper yelling for help. And then my father running out of the house barefoot, yelling even louder.
And then myself being instructed to not touch my forehead. And then my wound being washed and dressed.
While all this time, I was absolutely clueless as to what exactly the whole fuss over my forehead was about.
And then Papa told me to change into a dress because we had to go to a hospital.

Pay heed, this is the second-most-bonkers part of my tale.

Regardless of the fact that I had a gaping wound on my forehead, that needed 6stitches later – what to say of regard, I had no knowledge of its existence – the uppermost thought in my mind as I gleefully pulled on my favourite white frock, with coloured balloons on its frills, was – ‘Mama would kill me if she saw me wear this fancy frock to PGI – thank God she’s not home!’

Wait. Don’t react in exasperation just yet.

For the most-bonkers bit is yet to come.

I somehow contrived to tie the belt behind my back, and then stood on the bed to be able to appreciate myself full length in the mirror. And the first notion to hit me as I saw my face, framed by shoulder length hair, with a white bandage circling my head at forehead level, myself clad in a white dress??

‘Wow! I look like an angel!’

Ref: Bandage = halo.

That is how crazy I used to be. And how totally awesome at seeing the silver lining in every thing.
Never quite in the ‘world’ frame of reference. Always thinking, imagining, extrapolating – to say it in style, ‘a born thinker’.
And to be more precise – ‘supremely silly, to the extremes of being a safety hazard’.

Of course, I survived that wound with just a midline scar abutting my hairline - which I continue to cite, till date, as my identification mark in all ID documents.
And I also managed to survive twenty round trips around the Sun.
Despite the perpetual absence of my mind.

God’s too kind?

I’m living on a freaky hourglass with the last bits of sand aberrantly stuck in the narrow bit, waiting to empty any moment?

The world needs one of each type?

Whatever. I don’t know.

p.s. This was not written with any amount of regret or shame regarding such amazing points-of-view as possess all (atleast I would like to believe) children. Maybe it is just a bit of self-defence, that perhaps the reason I’m such a renowned nut is that I am still a kid.