Swami's Grandson

I haven’t posted on this blog since long, and there have been many reasons for this. 

One, I have been busy with my blog, a website I am trying to create, and my feeble attempts at writing a book.

Two, at times, I felt I should write a new post, but one question troubled me: We all hail our school as the best. But doesn’t everyone think the same way? Which led me to think of our school from a third person, neutral standpoint.

Was everything rosy and happy and colourful as I was suggesting in my blog? Certainly not.

When I spoke to a few people about this, they suggested I shouldn’t write about it. They opined that people do not want to remember the bad parts, and that’s why memories are such beautiful things – they document what we want to remember, not what we want to forget.

But I differed. I think we as an audience are mature enough to digest something that is not all happy and colourful. So here goes, this is my first post of dissent.

SWAMI'S GRANDSON:

Our school was no stranger to ‘special boys’. Boys who were given a slight preferential treatment over others. These privileges ranged from an extra vada in breakfast, to the freedom to bunk classes that he was not interested in.

I could perfectly understand foreigners being given a slight preferential treatment when it came to food. It was wrong to expect someone from Europe to devour chitraannam and tomato rasam. I was also fine with some ‘special boys’ who were given special treatment because of their health conditions. Minor benefits like being allowed to bunk marching, sports practice and morning assemblies. Apart from strong envy, I harboured no grudge against these guys.

If there was one group of ‘special boys’ who pissed me off, it was these kids called ‘Swami’s Grandson’.

These guys’ claim to superstardom was the fact that they were born in Swami’s family. Some random chance happening that entitled them to a childhood of special privileges.

We had this guy who was about three years my junior. I won’t reveal his name, but those who studied around the time I did, will have no problems in guessing. This guy was the epitome of what an asshole should be like.

He was stubborn, short tempered, a bully, and was gifted with the brains of a hippopotamus. 

So while we were slogging our asses off under the hot sun for Sports Practice, this guy would be helping himself to snacks and Rasna. And when we would be performing our ‘items’ on the final day, this little clown would go around the stadium on his bicycle, like he was doing a front wheelie on the moon.

This sort of treatment angered me no end. I mean, we were made to believe that we were part of a spiritual, evolved, movement that promised no discrimination and right in front of us was this absolute good for nothing idiot who was being accorded special privileges because he happened to be born into a family.

So why do I have a grudge against this guy? For personal reasons, of course. I once had a fight with the guy, and we both were ‘taken to mam’. I won’t name her, but let it suffice to say that she was one of the more evolved ones, who spoke for hours about god and spirituality in a language that would give Shakespeare a hard-on.

After hearing both our versions of what had happened, she asked me to apologise to the guy. Seeing my shocked expression, this is what she said, “He has done great karma to be born in Swami’s family. What have you done?”

I remember being crestfallen.

But if there was one person the guy couldn’t walk all over, it was my personal hero – Warden Aunty. She hated the guy’s guts. I have seen her shout at him a number of times, and even punch him in his face. A loud, powerful, Warden Aunty special ‘Boom’ on his face. It was satisfying, to say the least.

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Now that I think about it, it wasn't the guy’s fault at all. He was made to believe he was special since his birth. He must have realised quite early in his life that he could get away with anything, and so he behaved like the sun shone out of his ass.

I wonder what he is doing now. In all probability, he is a clumsy, social misfit with no real friends. Or may be he has grown up alright.

Be as that may be, the treatment he received in school quite frankly sickened me.