His Name Reflects the Sun 

From the day he was born, it was startlingly evident that he was one-of-a-kind.

With a personality that shone (is it any wonder  - his name is the name of the sun god), his turn of phrase often took one’s breath away – because one was usually laughing so hard! I still recall his pointing at a passing flatbed truck and exclaiming, “Ooh…..’nanga’ (naked) truck”!!

He joined a playway at the tender age of two. Three short days later, he stepped off the bus and nonchalantly handed a piece of cotton wool to his father. It contained one of his teeth that he had knocked out when he fell off a decorative toadstool that he had determinedly climbed – only to slide off a few seconds later – headfirst!

Allow me the privilege of recounting the annual day show.

I will never know why a rabbit should be a virulent shade of pink, but who are we to question the wisdom and sagacity of a kindergarten teacher? So when the great day dawned, his parents proudly escorted their (virulently) pink rabbit/son to the hall, handed him over to his sagacious guru, and settled comfortably into their appointed seats to witness the magic onstage.

The curtains opened to a fanfare roll of drums, to reveal a wonderland of farmyard animals. I strongly suspect the staff in charge of this event were either colour blind (did I mention the virulent pink rabbit costume?) or rainbow besotted, because what we witnessed put a psychedelic fairy tale to shame. There were green cows, purple dogs, cats in various shades of orange, sunflower yellow bears and, of course, a number of other rabbits in equally rabid rosé! Suffice to say, I wistfully regretted leaving my sunshades in the car.

But I digress.

The curtains slid open and the show began….the Farmyard Dance. The animals swung into action and did their best to follow the prompts of their mentor who was seated on a chair, her back to the audience. They dipped and bowed and hopped and swooped, much to the delight of their maters and paters ensconced in the auditorium.

That is…..until our hero got bored.

Have I mentioned that the protagonist of this narrative is an extremely creative persona? It is also a disturbing law of nature that homo sapiens blessed with this singular trait, are incapable of performing mundane, repetitive chores. Now do keep in mind that the antics on stage had already been repeated ad infinitum, in the name of ‘practice’, prior to its showcasing on the said doomsday. So you, dear reader, can well imagine how fretful our imaginative imp already was when he was unceremoniously marched onto that offending landscape.

Now what happens when a two-year-old bored terrorist is trapped in a strictly structured nightmare? Elementary, dear Watson – he strikes out, determined to make a difference!

Step one – change the step. So there was the entire class timidly responding to their leaders intimations, when suddenly one blushing (I refer to the hue of his outfit) bunny starts ‘sweeping’ the stage. These vigorous mime motions of his led to some startled critters eyeing him uncertainly because his assured actions have left them bewildered…..did this rose hued hare know better? Was their sacred mover and shaker (read ‘teacher’) in the wrong?

Be that as it may, such was the confidence that our magenta cottontail exuded, that a few fellow creatures switched abruptly from a swoop to a swish. Suddenly, to the excitement of the enthralled onlookers, there was an exhilarating dance-off happening! One set of performers were still determinedly emulating their beloved boss, whilst the remnants were, with equal and enviable persistence, quite literally following in the footsteps of their brand-new debutante director!

Now, dear reader, as if this wasn’t a disastrous enough scenario, our Braveheart chose that exact moment to hit yet another passé pause. He’d had enough of sweeping and so stopped what he was doing to look around for another distraction. Whist he was doing that, you can well imagine what the scenario was around him. His forlorn followers, having lost their intrepid leader, were milling around aimlessly, whilst the other faithful few, kept up with their pre-taught antics!

In the midst of all this chaos, our champion’s searching gaze fell upon the biggest lad on the stage that he could find. His eyes lit up with unholy glee and, before anyone could stop him, he charged the hapless victim and, placing a hand on his chest, gave him a mighty push, followed by a bloodcurdling “ha ha” that would have been the envy of any wannabe villain.

It only took a nano second for the victim to miraculously transform from a harmless lilac pooch into a raging bull. Before you could say “Thundering fiddlesticks”, a rose rabbit and an indigo hound were rolling around the stage knocking down everything and everyone that came in their way, so that the scene now closely resembled a bowling alley with the pins/peers flying in every direction!

Oh dear! What a mess! Bedlam on the stage and shrieking staff.

In strong counterpoint to this, was a hushed hall full of mesmerized guardians, not quite certain whether what they were witnessing was pre-ordained or a twist of fate.

Their perplexity was brought to a swift end when a Goliath appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the meddlesome mite and quite literally physically hauled him off the stage!

As for his parents? The curtain closes on 2 adults convulsed with laughter, helplessly leaning on each other and completely delighted that their shining star (did I mention that his name reflects the sun?) had saved the day by introducing a modicum of excitement into an otherwise stultifying performance!!!

                                                    The Golden Rule!

‘Twas the summer of 2013 and all was well with the world…..the school was thriving and the boys full of mischief. (If they weren’t, then something was terribly wrong!)

It happened to be the Sports season. The inter-house matches were being played with great zeal, with every point being  challenged vociferously and conceded grudgingly. After all, even 1 point could be the deciding difference between the Champion House and the Runner-up.

It was in the midst of all this controlled chaos that the new Class 12 suddenly approached the Principal one day with an idea –‘Let’s hold an inter-house Kabaddi Championship’, they said. The Principal thought it over, consulted with her coordinators and finally accorded consent as she secretly quite liked the idea of including an ethnic sport into the curriculum.

Plans were made and executed with great rapidity, rules drawn up, the trophy designed and presented by the outgoing batch as their ‘gift’, and finally the great day dawned. All the Senior Secondary staff assembled on the playground to witness this historic moment. The macho hormones were on full display as the teams swaggered into place, trading insults to the manner born, while the school PE Teacher vainly attempted to call all present, to order.

The whistle blew and the first team launched themselves into the restrained space, desperately avoiding the clutches (whilst simultaneously attempting to pin him down) of the opposing player who kept muttering “kabbadi kabbadi” incessantly till he ran out of breath and had to retreat back over his team’s line. And so it went and all was well with the world, barring the fact that most of the vests were ripped off within the first few minutes thanks to the firm, bulldog grip of the opposition. But it’s an all-boys’ school so no one was particularly disturbed by the hairy chests on full display. The sight was accepted with perfect equanimity as befits a single gender institution.

That is, until disaster struck.

You see, it being the first kabbadi tournament ever played in the school, no one had thought every finer detail through. And ladies and gentleman, let me reiterate…..success lies in the details!

So what exactly did happen? Well…as the offender lunged to grab one of the defenders, he accidently grasped the shorts of the opposing team member. What followed belongs to the infamous Tales of Woe. Before the poor lad could comprehend what was happening, to his absolute horror, his shorts abruptly and rapidly descended, leaving him exposed to the elements in nothing other than…. his solitary undergarment!

Now what would be your first reaction if you were to find yourself having performed an unintentional strip tease in the presence of all your teaching faculty, 90% of which happen to belong to the feminine gender? Wouldn’t you immediately spin and check who had seen what, even while you were desperately hoisting the offending garment with a rapidity that left its descent a slow-motion event in comparison?!

Well, that’s exactly what our young hero did. But to his utmost relief (may the good Lord forever bless the teachers for their adroit presence of mind) he found the staff in its entirety, bar NONE, minutely examining the branches of a nearby tree, whilst a few others were closely observing a hawk spiraling directly overhead!
Not a face was turned in his direction and not a word spoken to indicate that anything untoward had taken place. It was a moment of suspended animation that would have been worthy of an Oscar nomination….the boy blushing furiously and gaping suspiciously, whilst  the staff were the epitome of nonchalance, even going so far as to then turn to each other and comment upon the beauty of the tree/flight of the hawk with perfect seriousness, all the while carefully avoiding eye contact with the said hapless victim.

The rest of the boys? What do you expect? Of course they rose to the occasion. With perfect presence of mind they formed a phalanx around the poor harried one and smoothly moved him off the court. His replacement glided on confidently as if he’d been participating all along, the opposing team raised no objection, and the game continued as if nothing had ever happened. 

The only small difference to be observed was that the defending team were slightly incapacitated as they were seen firmly holding their shorts up with one hand for the rest of the match.

What happened after I cannot claim to know with any certainty, but I have it on good authority that that poor lad earned himself a brand-new nick name, which he answers to, even to this day!

What I do, however, know with absolute certainty was that a new rule was incorporated with an alacrity that well outdid the speed of light. In capitals it read, “NO BOY WILL BE PERMITTED TO PARTICIPATE IN A KABBADI MATCH UNLESS HIS SHORTS ARE HELD UP WITH A NADA/TAPE’!!!!