It was hard to imagine there being any emotion in a maths textbook! , Photo credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto
Reddywala was at the door. He stayed at each house after the annual school examinations were over. That’s when he earned money by collecting old newspapers and text books. A frantic desire grips you – to throw away anything and everything and bring the house to ruin.
Newspapers were taken out of the attic. A huge cloud of dust rose up which triggered sneezing attacks. Now you sifted through the newspapers and gave them to the scrap dealer.
Old newspapers were irresistible, especially the sports pages with scorecards of matches played on several moons. A picture of Gavaskar caught your attention. Surely this newspaper could not be thrown away. Soon, I had made another pile of newspapers.
My sister asked, “Why are you saving all the newspapers?” “There might be a quiz next year. I have to prepare,” I said. “You didn’t read the newspaper all year. Are you going to read them now,” she asked. “It’s because there was no quiz this year,” I replied. The argument went on in circles and ended in a deadlock.
But there was general agreement on one thing: the previous year’s textbooks were no longer needed. I hurried to the bookshelf and placed the math textbook on top of the stack. I wanted to send it off with a goodbye note that read, “Serves you right!”
My sister got scared. “You’re giving away the math book? You’ll need it!” “How long,” I asked, as if she was doubting my ability to pass the next grade.
He replied, “You’ll need math books for the rest of your life!” It was just too much. I envisioned the prospect of spending the rest of my life solving the same profit-loss problems. It was like having a toothache.
My sister now used a devious line of attack. “How would you feel if you were shipped off with Reddywala, Wouldn’t a math book feel the same way?” Kalpana created a ruckus.
I was filled with images of going with the junk man and sitting in the corner of his shop! Of course, it felt lonely. However, it was hard to imagine any sense in a math textbook. If at all, it was one of the most brutal sadisms to terrify generations of children.
There was a major flaw in Didi’s argument. “If there was emotion in the math textbook, so would other books and newspapers.” I argued. Eventually, we were back to square one. The newspapers were restored to their rightful place in the attic. Suddenly, there was nothing that could be thrown.
Caught in this war of words, the scavenger asked a pertinent question, “How will I earn my livelihood and feed my children?”
In the absence of a coherent answer, sister and I blinked!
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