I’ve just started breathing again. Not that I had stopped breathing altogether. It’s just that with the pressure and stress and the pollution generated daily from the chief minister’s convoy of 370 cars (all unnecessary), my breathing has been affected quite drastically. By day I sounded like an adolescent Darth Vader, by night my voice and breathing, I’m told, was a direct match to Lady Gaga, who despite all reports to the contrary, might just actually be a lady.
Now all this breathing conundrum started early last month, when I got a letter from a school stating my daughter’s interview was to be later that month. The letter, from what I could tell, was written in the early Egyptian language and had a disclaimer. It stated that the interview was not really an interview. That’s akin to being invited to watch a striptease only to be told later that it’s not really a striptease but instead a “fully clothed tease”. Although, why a house of education would want to put up a striptease or for that matter a “fully-clothed tease”, boggles the already fragile mind.
Now, the real problem with the letter after I had it translated and summarised three times, was the date of the interview which was not really an interview. The date was 27th of November or, as I like to call it, two days after my mother’s birthday or, as she herself would put it, two days after my father forgot it was my mother’s birthday. However, the real problem with the date was that my wife and daughter (who were both required for the interview that’s not an interview) were in America witnessing the birth of my brother-in-law’s son. Which while not quite in the league of the Baby Jesus’ birth, was in its own small way a rather big event for the immediate family. The letter also stated that my daughter’s presence would be compulsory, accompanied, of course, by one parent or, at least, a life-sized statue of one of the parents, which in Latin cultures is normally know as the husband.
I immediately consulted an ex-student of the school who also doubles up as the local oracle. Her name is Danish, and from the outset let me tell you she’s not a leg-spinner from Pakistan whose name has recently been linked to match-fixing reports. Danish, with her positive supportive personality, gave me a sermon containing four words: “You are finished mate.” (Keep in mind she had visited Australia in 1986.) The point was that “no show up, no seat in school”. Danish always likes to talk like a native American to emphasise a point. This is where the breathing altered for the first time. I desperately called up the airline to prepone the return. However, the airline was closed for renovation.
“Besides it was Thanksgiving week.” A week where Americans travel the length and breadth of the country giving thanks that they don’t have to live with their parents any longer.
As the tickets failed to show up, the oracle tried to boost my self-esteem. “Better apply to other schools”, she assuringly reminded. My breathing had now been reduced to twice a week. My thoughts had become a deep yellow hazy sort of colour and I started fainting with alarming regularity after every 15 minutes.
Meanwhile, my wife who is the bull to my cow, emailed the school requesting another date which, wonder of wonders, was granted.
By now my breathing almost stopped completely. Forget the interview that’s not an interview, but my wife would return and blame me for not being able to resolve the issue in our favour. This would be followed by both a tongue and physical lashing. I wanted to choke the oracle. Unfortunately, Danish was much stronger than me.
But now let’s come to the end of the story — my wife and daughter returned.
They attended the interview that’s not an interview and yesterday we got the acceptance letter. Maya will start her new school in April. Oh! Wonderful world! Monkey off a father’s back, I breathe again. Oh! Beautiful beautiful breath of almost fresh air! At this point I noticed an innocuous white paper attached to the admission form. It was the school fees that had to be paid on admission.
Oh my God. Sorry folks, can’t breathe there goes the fresh air, got that choked feeling again... I need some air.