As told by- The School dress
An old school dress jumped forward enthusiastically on hearing its name called out. It had been waiting impatiently to narrate its favorite incidence involving our common muse.
An old school dress jumped forward enthusiastically on hearing its name called out. It had been waiting impatiently to narrate its favorite incidence involving our common muse.
“Purja was about ten when his father decided to send him on a hiking trip arranged by his school. His son required some basic training in looking after himself away from his dotting mother, was his belief. A random visit to his son’s room had resulted in a shock of a sorts leading to such a decision. Also his elder cousins- Big Boss, Gassy and Bins had registered for the trip after obtaining special permission from the school. His son would be watched over by his elder cousins, was what Purja’s father thought. His facts though right were somewhat jumbled as he did not know his nephews too well. Of course Purja’s excitement was evident as he prepared for the trip, stuffing his rucksack with anything and everything not necessary for a hiking trip e.g. the eraser and the pebble collection. One never knew when one might need a bartering tool to acquire something absolutely essential to, say, build a rocket or a bomb, he thought. It is another matter that his mom kept removing everything she considered non- essential including his nut- bolt collection and used the space for filling up eatables of all sorts. She was worried about her son’s fussy lopsided eating habits. Along with some biscuits, matthis, Besan barfi and the baked beans, she also put a can of condensed milk, her darling’s special favorite. At least, his milk intake for a day would be taken care of, she felt.”
The hiking party left amidst much parental advice, tears of mothers and enthusiastic farewells by cousins and friends. They were to be away for a week, roughing up and polishing their survival techniques. Unaware of any such expectations, Purja planned to do what he normally did, enjoy. Being of overactive athletic disposition, hiking seemed a cakewalk but the food quality did bother him. Being a gourmet of sorts, with absolutely delicate taste buds, he was disillusioned by the cooking abilities of the cooks at the camp. Besan ki Barfi and the matthis did not last long as rest of the camp mates also happened to be the gourmets with same gastronomical sensibilities. Baked beans and the biscuits were devoured next before Purja could even have his fill. He learnt his first survival lesson- Do not advertise your food. Only a can of condensed milk remained now and he hid it between the layers of clothing deep in his rucksack away from the prying greedy eyes. He planned to have it all by himself and in total seclusion.
“Next day he walked much faster than rest of his group to reach the appointed lunch- spot much before time. Finding himself all alone, he delved into his rucksack and brought out the can of condensed milk. He found a nice spot on top of a large rock from where he could see the path clearly hence approaching hoards if any, opened the can and let the sweet nectar roll into his throat. He had just about started enjoying the treat when sound of approaching camp mates reached his ears. He was confused for a second. Reluctantly, he removed the can from his lips and looked for a place to hide it. By now the others were almost reaching his rock and in desperation he hid the open can in his pocket.”
“By jove, you don’t say. What, in the pocket?” Ejaculated an imported Mixer that still maintained its British identity.
“Yes, and we all can guess what happened next. The milk snaked down the leg into the shoe where it sat making squishy noises. Purja walked rest of the way to the camp with one leg plastered in con milk, never getting a chance to check the contents of his pocket. He learnt his second lesson- Never confide in your cousins if you have done something foolish. Gassy and Bins could not stop laughing while Big Boss ordered him to take off his jeans and shoes. His jeans got indigestion with such a mega dose of concentrated milk and kept throwing milky water as Purja washed it in cold spring water near his camp. Meanwhile his teacher scratched her head trying to find solution to a sticky shoe. You see, since every child had to carry all their belongings in a rucksack on their backs so most wore the shoes they needed and Purja did not have another pair. Finally Gassy came to his cousin’s rescue. His extra pair though two sizes bigger than Purja’s, was finally adjusted with layering of couple of extra socks to fit purja’s foot. And the jeans still threw up milky water when washed a week later, at home, by the maid. He had leant his most important survival lesson- Never ever pocket an open can of condensed milk.”
The hiking party left amidst much parental advice, tears of mothers and enthusiastic farewells by cousins and friends. They were to be away for a week, roughing up and polishing their survival techniques. Unaware of any such expectations, Purja planned to do what he normally did, enjoy. Being of overactive athletic disposition, hiking seemed a cakewalk but the food quality did bother him. Being a gourmet of sorts, with absolutely delicate taste buds, he was disillusioned by the cooking abilities of the cooks at the camp. Besan ki Barfi and the matthis did not last long as rest of the camp mates also happened to be the gourmets with same gastronomical sensibilities. Baked beans and the biscuits were devoured next before Purja could even have his fill. He learnt his first survival lesson- Do not advertise your food. Only a can of condensed milk remained now and he hid it between the layers of clothing deep in his rucksack away from the prying greedy eyes. He planned to have it all by himself and in total seclusion.
“Next day he walked much faster than rest of his group to reach the appointed lunch- spot much before time. Finding himself all alone, he delved into his rucksack and brought out the can of condensed milk. He found a nice spot on top of a large rock from where he could see the path clearly hence approaching hoards if any, opened the can and let the sweet nectar roll into his throat. He had just about started enjoying the treat when sound of approaching camp mates reached his ears. He was confused for a second. Reluctantly, he removed the can from his lips and looked for a place to hide it. By now the others were almost reaching his rock and in desperation he hid the open can in his pocket.”
“By jove, you don’t say. What, in the pocket?” Ejaculated an imported Mixer that still maintained its British identity.
“Yes, and we all can guess what happened next. The milk snaked down the leg into the shoe where it sat making squishy noises. Purja walked rest of the way to the camp with one leg plastered in con milk, never getting a chance to check the contents of his pocket. He learnt his second lesson- Never confide in your cousins if you have done something foolish. Gassy and Bins could not stop laughing while Big Boss ordered him to take off his jeans and shoes. His jeans got indigestion with such a mega dose of concentrated milk and kept throwing milky water as Purja washed it in cold spring water near his camp. Meanwhile his teacher scratched her head trying to find solution to a sticky shoe. You see, since every child had to carry all their belongings in a rucksack on their backs so most wore the shoes they needed and Purja did not have another pair. Finally Gassy came to his cousin’s rescue. His extra pair though two sizes bigger than Purja’s, was finally adjusted with layering of couple of extra socks to fit purja’s foot. And the jeans still threw up milky water when washed a week later, at home, by the maid. He had leant his most important survival lesson- Never ever pocket an open can of condensed milk.”
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