How to build your vocabulary
Few kids in our neighbourhood used to spend evenings at our home for tuition, we used to have regular power cuts and my mom used to give us a break during the power cut, make us a little tiffin. And that is when these kids used to teach me life skills, like how to make boomer tattoos last longer, stack cards, make dolls by folding kerchief and lot more. On that particular day my mom left to make dosas, only me and an older guy were remaining to get our share of dosas, he decided to show off his skills. He boasted that he could touch settee from the chair he was sitting on the other end.
I decided to take it to another level by saying I could do it standing on the chair effectively proving I was better at it. The only thing I didn’t take into account was that he was a 4ft 10yr old and I was a 2 ft 3yr old. As I tried to stretch my hands to reach the settee I realised I was too short for it so I decided to jump to cover the remaining distance. Everything that goes up has to come down and I came down crashing, but I did manage to reach the settee with just one minor deviation from my actual plan. Rather than touching it with my hands, my forehead kissed the corner of the wooden settee leaving a deep cut. I tried to stay calm but he called out for my mom, I could hear my mom furiously ask “Ipo enna pannineenga?” (what did you all just do?) and heard her footsteps getting closer. I didn’t feel any pain but I panicked that I’m going to be scolded, particularly because she warned us to stay put and not run around in the dark.
I used the classic technique to wade of problems, cry. My mom entered the room, seeing me on the floor she gasped and didn’t spend a second more she quickly wrapped her arms around me lifted and yelled “akka veetla pasanga irukkanga pathukonga (leaving the kids at home keep an eye) ” to my neighbour next door. The nearest dispensary was closed but everyone lived nearby, a knock at the attenders door and he brought in the doctor and nurse.
We waited for them to arrive as I sat in my moms lap, who was now teary eyed as I sat there wrapped in her arms. I felt much better now knowing that she isn’t going to scold. I was pretty calm at the point in fact wanted to laugh seeing the doctor in his hawaii style pink lungi. He was examining and my mom asked “Blood varala so prechanai illa la? (She didn’t bleed so it’s a good sign isn’t it?)” and he replied “ilama see the grey area that is her bone, stitch podanum” (No, I would need a few stitches).
That is the exact moment when panic returned, this time 10 folds higher. I knew what stitches were, my mom tailors and her machine had “USHA Easy Stitches” written all over it. I imagined them putting my head through a sewing machine to sew up the split in my forehead and I dreaded the idea of going through the machine like a piece of cloth. What was worse is that my mom agreed to them; the one person whom I trust. I resorted to crying.
The nurse suggests she should do it and asks “ethana thaiyal podanum” (how many stitches). I always knew nurses were angels in disguise I was relieved she suggested “thaiyal” and not stitches. I knew what “thaiyal” is, my mom embroiders so I knew “thaiyal” meant sewing with hands, which felt more reassuring than putting my head through the machine. And I started crying repeating “Amma stitches vendam thaiyal pothum (Mommy don’t stitch just sew)” I kept repeating it non stop until the nurse assured she will not do stitches and will only do “thaiyal”, that was a relief. She completed the “thaiyal” and later the doctor prescribed some medicines.
He also went on to say that if I felt nauseous then it needs to be given serious attention particularly because the cut was too deep exposing my bones. Until then I didn’t feel nauseous but the moment he mentioned nausea I wanted to wretch. But because I thought that meant another round of treatment and was worried they might ask me to get stitches instead of “thaiyal” I kept quiet.
Years later while at school we had music competition and the participants of the choir were all packed into a classroom and asked to practice. Our teacher in-charge left the classroom for a short while. Like any normal elementary schooler we started running around and playing, while playing I fell. My parents were smart enough to buy fibre glass spectacle for a child but weren’t smart enough to buy frames that didn’t break, so one arm of the frame broke and pierced through my eyebrows into my forehead. This time a school prefect near by instantly lifted me to office as I left a trail of blood, so based on my experience I thought if there is blood then I’m fine.
We had a hospital nearby which was just 5 minutes walk but it’s part of the school protocol to take the student accompanied by a teacher, in a school bus. And we reached in just 20 mins. Again they said I needed stitches, but I was grown up, if my friends knew I made a fuss over getting stitched I’d be trolled so I said “fine”. Though I was not fine at all, I looked around to get a glimpse of the machine but I couldn’t find any signs of it. And my dad arrived having him besides me the confidence to go ahead, the nurse took me to a room, and she came with needles and thread in her hand. I softly ask her about the machine. She smiled and said “ithukku ellam innum machine kandu pidikala” (There are no machines that do this). What so all these years they lied to me saying they didn’t do stitches but actually did stitches?
That is when I removed stitches from my vocabulary list and added it as a synonym. And that is how you learn a language from your mistakes.
