Do you know how I got these scars?

Last night, a friend and I were discussing some disastrous things that happened to us and those around us. And not unlike the Joker, I began telling stories that started with "Do you know how I got these scars?". I thought I should share those stories (yes, plural). This will be really helpful for parents who don't know what horror stories to tell their children about kids who don't listen to their parents. Also, Game of Thrones is over so I'm trying to keep the violence content on the internet up and about. Do not continue reading if

  • Seemingly humorous accounts of injuries are not your thing.
  • You don't like Javagal Srinath.
  • You hate me.

Steve Jobs had three stories to tell in his Stanford commencement address of 2005. I am one-upping him because I have not three, but four stories to tell.

Strike 1:

It was one summer back in the early 90s. I had just graduated from Pre.KG and was moving into LKG. I was at the doctor's place for a routine check up and we were sitting in the waiting hall. I was quite active as a kid and since it was known that I liked to play with the syringe, I was given one to play with so that I wouldn't traumatize the other kids who were waiting. I was running around with the syringe in hand imagining myself to be a superhero doctor who went around and saved lives. At one point of time, I had dropped the syringe between two rows of chairs. Now, the chairs were made of metal and were connected using rods in sets of four or five. Like any responsible kid, I did not call my parents for help but decided to go on all fours searching for the syringe and I found it without going through any trouble. But the tragic moment occurred when in the spur of victory, I got up without realizing that I was under the chair. I incurred quite a bit of damage in the middle of my head, resulting in stitches. I was the boy who lived.

Strike 2:

I used to watch a lot of cricket back when there was no IPL. After IPL, I stopped watching cricket because IPL keeps me busy enough. I was a huge fan of the previous generation Indian cricket team. When it came to pace bowling, one had to pick between Javagal Srinath and Venkatesh Prasad. I picked Javagal Srinath because whenever Venkatesh Prasad was bowling I was distracted by his watch. I used to wonder whether it would fall off his wrists so I never really noticed his bowling. I was a big fan of Srinath and used to try and imitate his bowling action. One fine day when a match was going on, I was simultaneously bowling inside the house, trying to imitate Javagal Srinath. I kept throwing the ball against the wall and diving on the cot to catch it. At one point, the ball was going to land quite far from me but I did not deter. I jumped to take the catch and I did take it, but I crashed chin first on the steel cot. I rolled down and continued playing till a couple of minutes later my dad who was in the hall noticed that I was bleeding. I still have the stitch marks on my chin, so whenever I am rubbing my chin thinking about a particular situation, it would seem like I am asking myself, "What would Javagal Srinath do?".

Strike 3:

WWE was the cool thing back then. Rebellious kids used to religiously follow WWE because some parents did not allow them to watch it. One evening while I, along with a bunch of kids, was playing hide and seek it turned into an argument about how we are grown ups now and we shouldn't play silly games like hide and seek. So we ended up playing WWE. We slotted ourselves into pairs and started fighting. I was a feather weight wrestler and was at least three times lighter than anyone around. One of them guys took it too seriously and we ended up playing the first ever 'first blood' match of our lifetime. (For those who are not familiar, 'first blood' matches are those in which the person to bleed first loses). I had injured my right indicator, just above my eye. Such was life in Madipakkam.

Strike 4:

This is my most favorite of all. When I was in class eight I was taking the final exam of the Hindi exam series which every kid back then used to write because there was nothing else to do in the evenings but to attend Hindi class. If you were a girl you went to paatu class in addition to that. If you were a boy with an unbearable voice, you could spend more time watching cartoons. I digress.

So, I had to bunk school for revision purposes as the exam was on the next day. I had come home early from Hindi class and nobody was home. I didn't have the key to the house so I resorted to roaming around my own apartment. That was when I was going through growth spurts and I prided my ability to climb walls. Every evening I used to climb the wall and walk a few feet on the wall just to see if my mother loved me enough, turns out she did as she would start yelling 20 seconds before I could even think of climbing the wall.

Since nobody was home I was free to do some wall-walking so I decided to navigate around my apartment but all the while walking on the wall. I kept walking and after a few rounds I pulled off a Humpty Dumpty (I fell off the wall).  Nature loves symmetry, and my left indicator got damaged as well.

It has been 9 years since I walked on a wall.