Sammu

Today, I am half-immersed in what I call pseudo-existential thoughts along with project templates and budgeting issue at work. Quite a spark-free combination – like oil and water. One of the fringe benefits of growing up as an Army man’s daughter was that I was the only kid in my class to receive real postal letters and postcards, apart from those that we were compelled to do as part of home assignments.

 I remember how my father had a God-like influence in my life. Bedtime prayers always ended with a thank you to him. All the values were developed through remote access via these letters. Even today, his mails are no different, except for them being electronic. The underlying thought is always: “Good job! But I am sure you can always be a better person”. There is no pleasing him.

“Sammu, you don’t always have to be so hard on yourself,” mom would insist. She would see me burning out the batteries of emergency lamps during regular power outages, struggling to keep up with exams, studies and a fierce battle for the first rank. I was always competing - not just with others, but with myself. Seldom ever happy with the result.

I would walk down the corridor decked with the most popular students, and almost hear their screaming thoughts - “Sammu is such a bore. Underdog. Underachiever.”

Those were the days I would go home and take slow breast strokes in the ocean of self-pity.