ADHAA

It was the year 1996. Another warm summer’s day. The curtains had been drawn so that a faded shade of yellow coloured the otherwise bland room. I sat there gazing dully at my father, a string of thoughts slowly engulfing my mind. -Would I ever make it to the tenth standard? -If I persistently remained dim-witted for the next five years (i.e. from 6th to 10th std.), failing in my tenth boards was of course one thing-but it was more, the forced association with maths for that long a time that frightened me. I gulped. Between living a nightmare, and choosing death, I wasn’t left with much option. My brother was to blame for my newly discovered tenth standard phobia .Watching him pace across the room with a book in his hand every day and every night with a “board-exams-can-kill” attitude, it was, but natural, to treat tenth standard as the ultimate crucible and something against which I could measure all scales of progress, to and fro. (Maths which I considered as a separate entity altoge