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| Image Courtesy: clipartpanda.com |
It was summer. Not the one of 69. But 99 and unlike Bryan Adams those
were not the best days of my life. I was in class 9th and my
school principal knew me by name. In those days, even if your class teacher
called you by name and not just a blaring “YOU BOY!!!”, then it mattered a lot.
So when my Principal, Colonel B.R Sharma, knew me by name I had all the reasons
to enjoy envy of my friends.
My brother likened him to Mahatma Gandhi, I likened him to
Hitler.Perceptions can alter even when you have a similar upbringing. After
biting time ideally in his plush chamber and having surpassed all
morality limits in thrashing kids he pacified himself in conducting Moral
Science lectures for young kids. A decree was passed that every student should
buy and carry his own Moral science book during each class. Amid much obese
books of Social Studies, Science and Mathematics, the Moral science book was
like zero size Kareena Kappor among the latest bollywood queens. We carried the
book not only on Fridays when his class was designated but on all days.
Not because of love of Kareena but because of fear of Col. Sharma.
Since those days were not the best days of my life so I forgot the Moral
Science book on a particular Friday. After several rounds of my prayer pleading
God to annihilate the Principal altogether went unheard, I dexterously opted to
conjure the Sanskrit book of similar dimensions as the Moral Science book and
hid behind a wall like structure of a friend.
The Principal after wasting time in roll call threw his most reliable
bait that fetched him an instant prey amongst us.
“Who all have brought their own MS Book?”
The topper lifted his hand midway through the question and like an
epidemic spread all of us held our hands up screaming, “Yes Sir!”.
The next moment he asked me to read loudly a paragraph from my book. I
looked below and found a shloka in Sanskrit which meant –When you are
wounded, The blows fall heavily.
I slyly picked my bench-sharing friend’s book and read a paragraph out
of blue.
There was utter silence in the class like the one before a storm. I knew
I was reading a wrong paragraph but refused to stop in between.
The Principal interjected my monologue in between, asked my name and
then signalled me and my bench-sharing friend to stand in front of the
class.
The next moment we were facing the crowd of spectators eager for
fireworks to begin anytime soon. The principal asked us to open Chapter 3
and read it loudly to whole class. My chapter 3 was in Sanskrit but my friend
jumped the bandwagon and read the topic loudly -HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY. As
he rapidly read the script, I defended sudden blows and slaps from my Principal
as he repeatedly asked “What is the Topic you rascal !!?”.Everytime I meekly
replied “Honesty is the Best Policy sir”. The blows grew heavier as if the fact
that honesty and its best policy status were being nailed down into my head.
Fifteen minutes later I emerged with a swollen face and an idea that
honesty-whatever damn thingy it is-is the best policy.
To me the definition of honesty remained as confusing as Java
programming to a civil engineer who finally settles on his mettle for testing
and leave programming at peace with itself. Several years later as I entered
the professional world I met people who while demystifying honesty
unshackled it from its earlier burden of righteousness,
truthfulness,trustfulness and other illness. This was a lot different from what
I read in MS book several years ago. Honesty had suffered a character
assasination by now. I realised that Honesty can be defined in various ways as
per the subjective needs of a person defining it. In scientific equation
honesty is a variable factor ‘H’ directly or indirectly proportional to
the atmospheric conditions at its defining moment. Theoretically no one is
honest and practically everyone is. One thing common though was that no
one doubted H’s ‘best policy’ status as long as it satisfied their life’s
equation.
Everything was normal till one day a colleague introduced me to a person
as “Dead Honest Person”. I was taken aback by the honour bestowed on him. I was
inquisitive for how can one be dead and honest at the same time. He was alive
and he was allegedly honest, at least under certain atmospheric conditions.
Being honest and then dead is accepted but not being dead and then honest. So
shouldn’t the correct attribution to it be Honest Dead person? But then my
Principal never introduced us to anything called ‘Dead Honesty’. So was Dead
Honesty a forlorn elder brother of Honesty which died during its long struggle
to keep its head high. Or is it only Honesty which is invariably the best
policy. And if it is so why another variable ‘DH’ in this subjectively
defined world.
Whatever it is, I am no Kejri-Man to accord ‘H’ and ‘DH’ status to any.
I hardly know anything about honesty. Neither this post intends to stuff your
mouth with a dose of honesty as the image suggests above. All it intends is to
tell you that it was summer of 99 when my Principal col. B.R Sharma knew me by
name, for reasons already explained above.
Thankyou for reading
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