Whenever I have a business function where I need to kick off the event with some simple but epic story comprised of some struggling youth, destined to make it big despite having to tackle status oriented barriers - destined to "rise above" and make something honorable of his or her self - I always think of this one instance from my childhood from when I was in 8th grade. The year was 1975. We needed to build a projector, and the standard procedure consisted of utilizing two lenses.
But, I could only afford one.
Growing up, I had two shirts, one pair of pants, two underwear, and a pair of shoes. My small, dilapidated flat in Kanpur housed my parents, as well as me and my little brother. It suited us well. We were never the type to complain. We had what we needed, and we rarely wanted anything we did not have. You hear about so much social pressure these days - this 90210 bullshit - to look a certain way, to emulate certain personalities, even when it doesn't resonate with who you truly are. Looking back on it, I had the important things in life.
I couldn't afford to buy any yo-yos or basketballs, occasionally resulting in scorn from the town bullies, but that was nothing new. I had learned to cope with all of it. My most sacred tool was my ability to make school my getaway. Whatever boredom, anger, or despair I felt, I was somehow able to transform it into the fuel I needed to work effectively and discipline myself. Whenever I needed an escape, I could turn my back on the world and focus all my energy on my studies. I was among the sharper tools in the shed.
So, using my impeccable mathematical skills, I configured a formula that would allow for the construction of my project using one lens. I knew I would be able to successfully make my projector operational; the hard part would be convincing my teacher it was possible.
I had prepared a half-hour long disclaimer I was to recite to my stubborn teacher which consisted of how passionate and determined I was in regard to our assignment, how I admired his outstanding teaching abilities, his conviction in challenging his students to live up to their full potential, etc. He wasn't moved in the slightest. Not that I expected him to be. He merely basked in his enormous ego. As I expected him to.
Finally, I arrived at the part where I was proposing to complete my experiment with one magnifying lens, only to be shot down instantaneously with an adamant "No! It cannot be done."
It was as subtle as a sawed-off shotgun.
However, after what seemed like an eternity, I had convinced him it was indeed possible. In addition to possessing academic excellence, I was quite the persuader.
I went with my mother to the appliance shop where there were wiring materials, computer parts, lenses, bulbs, and old men who should have croaked decades ago lounging around smoking hookah.
I assembled my project as soon as I got home. I needed a metal ring to encase the lens, which I sneakily acquired from the broom lying in the kitchen. (It was the metal binding that held the straw together.) I went to the recycling to find a cardboard tube - all that remained from what used to be a roll of paper towels, and I used this for my project, too. I meticulously inserted the lens into the tube, and then reached for some tape to secure it ----
I made the mistake of working over a concrete floor.
Within an instant the lens had fallen through the tubing and onto the ground, shattering into dozens of pieces, the edges of which were lined with sharp, serrated shock and guilt. The shrill sound of the glass hitting the floor hasn't escaped me to this day. It's one of those things you play over a million times in your head, wishing you had faster reflexes for your hand to swoop in and catch the falling object, like the hero in all those Bollywood movies magically appears and catches the beautiful girl. You play it over a million times in your head and ask yourself why you didn't hold the bottom of the tube, "तेरा दमाग खराब है*?"
My mother came in and slapped me. There were tears all around, and I felt so fucking guilty. My mother reluctantly brought me to the store, again, as I couldn't stop sobbing.
We ended up having to buy that second lens after all. I had replayed the argument with my teacher in my head countless times, thinking to myself that if I was just going to end up buying two lenses, I would have passed on the unpleasant encounter with Mr. Sharma. Most of all, I felt awful for wasting my parents' money.
I got my project in on time, successfully using one lens, as planned. I remember writing my mother an apology letter, and she still has it to this day. I wrote her that letter 38 years ago. I had no idea she kept it until recently when we ended up reminiscing about the incident, among other memories during my last trip to India. I asked her if she had kept my math notes and immaculate schematic in preparation for the project, when she admitted that she had sold it decades ago along with all my other papers and books for recycling money. It just made me realize how far we've come since then. You can really go places when you set your mind to it.
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*Punjabi saying for "are you stupid?" Literally translates to "is your head cracked?"
