The Quirks of Stubbing a Toe

 One of the most amusing things of being a human is to observe the strange reactions of our fellow-beings, to the most ordinary things. Take, for example, the brushing of a tree-bough against a low window-sill at night. Only a handful of people will recognize the sound for what it actually is. Others may leap up and scream, thinking that it is a ghost, covered in a bloody, white sheet who has passed by their house. Some, especially the more paranoid beings who have something to hide, will have their bread-knives and saucepans and what-not, ready in their hands to beat the brains out of their biggest fear in life - a burglar.

                                                  Err...'scuse me, I seemed to have lost me way...

However, I find that a very ordinary situation, the kind that happens at home all the time and yet draws the most bizarre, albeit hilarious reactions from people, is the stubbing of one's big toe. Now, I know what you’re thinking ‘Oh yeah, that happens all the time, but I’ve never noticed anyone pulling off a weird reaction - it’s mostly just screaming out an obscene oath and biting one's lips.’ But last week, I, in a manner that would please my Science teacher enormously, decided to conduct a research on the type of response people gave to the stubbing of the big toe. And here it is.

It began on a Saturday, a quiet evening, an evening when usually, after sleeping and not doing homework, I’d flop on the sofa and watch reruns of Rules of Engagement. However, on this evening, I opened a notebook, and nibbling the end of my pencil, kept vigil at the table near the door. My first subject, and the one I relished watching the most, was my annoying nincompoop of a brother. He was watching TV, a very intense (and incredibly boring) episode of Kick Buttowski, and was walking backwards, all his attention on the pixelated screen. Suddenly, as he turned, he slammed his big toe into the door. He stopped, stared at the offended toe for a second. Then, without warning, he screamed so loudly that I jumped, and he ran (or hopped) to the kitchen to my mum, with tears streaming down his face, which, incidentally, had taken the color of a rotten tomato, all pulpy and gooey with mucus and tears. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I recorded this first piece of my findings in my notebook.



This is pretty much what my brother's face looked like. Ew.



The second subject was, surprisingly, my mum, because she’s usually watchful of her surroundings, not like me. In my case, I see a table, chair and an armchair in front of me, and I still manage to bump into all three on my way.  Going back to my research, this happened on a Friday morning. I’d kept watch for over a week now, and nothing had happened as yet. I was nodding over my notebook, when my mum’s sharp voice suddenly jolted me back to reality. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she asked, eyeing the blank page suspiciously. Hastily, I covered the page with my hand and said in a fake, jaunty voice that made me cringe. ‘Nothing, Mum! Just…uh…some Economics homework.’ She narrowed her eyes and turned away. Sighing, I decided to give it up for the day, and just as I was closing the book, an abrupt hissing noise startled me. At first, assuming it was the pressure cooker from next door, I resumed putting my things back together, but as it sounded again, I realized it was Mum. Suddenly delighted, I turned to the door, and there she was, clutching her toe in one hand and hissing most venomously at the offending door. Biting down a chuckle, I ran to my room and proceeded to record my observation with glee. Then, as Mum swore loudly, I ran to the first-aid kit. It was either some soothing lotion, or my life.

                                                            



My mum and me. Notice our manner of spending 'quality time'.



But it was my dad who won an Oscar for the best performance. This time, it began with a huge family row between my dad and me. We were arguing about my lazy manner regarding the cleanliness of my room. I yelled that it was a teenager’s birthright to keep the room as messy as possible, and he just wasn’t buying it. Still shouting, he moved and jammed his toe into the poor door, which had received more than its share of hits these past two weeks. An ominous silence descended, and we all held our breath. My dad stood still, his eyes closed. Then, as though in great consternation, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed very deeply for a minute. Looking up, he gave me a most scornful glare, before turning on his heel and stalking to the main bedroom. It was very beautifully done, a lovely, subtle performance. I almost felt like giving him a resounding round of applause.



And the Oscar goes to...



Thus, based on my research and findings, I quickly wrote down my conclusions, that firstly, human beings had a tendency to stub their toes, and stub them badly when they were either too absorbed in something else, or were too filled with emotion to see where they were going, and secondly, they had the most peculiar reactions in such circumstances. Smirking at the results, I was satisfied, and convinced that, with these conclusions, I was surely a lot wiser and would definitely look carefully before moving anywhere. Very pleased with my cleverness, I walked out of the room, my head high and my back straight with pride. That is, until I rammed my toe into the door which almost groaned in exasperation now. OUCH!

I think He was trying to tell me something.

-Just a lil' something I'd written for Friendship Day, way back. Ah, but who doesn't need a little get-me-back-on-track every now and then? Love, Kai :)

Dear Friend,

I remember how we met. It was at the practice for Sports Day, and a mutual girl friend and I were arguing about the hotness of Cristiano Ronaldo. You stepped in to say that it didn’t matter how hot he was, according to you, he was simply the worst footballer ever (strange how everything you say contradicts me, huh?). That got us arguing, and in a bizarre way, the grounds for our friendship had been established.

A week later, you saw me in my worst state. My hair was unwashed, my clothes rumpled and there was a distinct stench of loneliness around me. Unlike my other friends, you didn’t rush over and demand an explanation. You didn’t put an arm around my shoulders and console me. No, all you did was to simply give me a big, cozy bear hug which made me feel better straightaway. You also helped me get over my depression by offering me a shoulder to cry on, and treating me to the largest chocolate sundae I’d ever seen. What more could define a good friend, than someone who’d bought me ice-cream as the cure for helping me out of my rut? You practically read my mind there.

After that, we had a wonderful friendship. We hung out practically everyday, competing for high-score positions in video games, royally making fools of each other during April Fools’ Day, fighting over the capability of various football players, arguing over the silliest of things and generally having a humungous load of fun with each other.

Of course, in between, you were there for me when I got incredibly nervous for a speech contest, a 1500 m race and while putting forward a new proposition for the school to the vice-principal. You wiped the sweat off my brow, clapped me (albeit painfully) on my shoulder and whispered encouraging words. Self-confidence was gradually added in my dictionary, thanks to you, because you almost always teased me out of my apprehension and worry.

And one day, I got to repay everything you had done for me. That was the first time I’d seen you without your easy smile. You’d just been dumped by your vamp of a girlfriend, your parents had given you a hard time for something you hadn’t done on purpose and your position on the football team had gone down from star player to benchwarmer.

I did the same thing you first did for me: I gave you a comforting hug. I listened to you, I helped to you see things clearly and I felt so happy for you when you returned to life’s train which always moved on. I helped you remember all the lessons you thought me, the most important of which was that every blistering day has a chance of being cool and cloudy with a hint of refreshing rain.

I guess that with Friendship Day just around the corner, I just want to thank you for being such an awesome pal. Thank you for reminding me that life’s always worth living, that ice-cream and a hug from your best friend can always make you find every problem’s solution, and last, but most definitely not the least, thank you for letting me know that if I ever have kidney failure, there’s always someone around to personally find someone else to donate one for me.

Yours forever,

Me.

Shore Love

Shore Love

What is it about the beach that makes life seem so simple, yet so breathtakingly beautiful all at once? Perhaps it’s the very first step you take there, the moment you sink your feet into the soft granules of sand that makes you feel peaceful immediately, its warm, earthy texture assuring you that you are well-grounded, you are home. Or maybe it’s the aquamarine vastness of the sea and sky, both so far apart, and yet so similar in their other worldliness, that suddenly seems to make all your problems disappear into thin air.

When you take a whiff of the strong, crisp salty air, you find yourself slowly letting your breath out, easing all the sore kinks in your body. It’s Nature’s best form of aromatherapy, immediately relaxing and rejuvenating you. It works best with your eyes shut. When you open your eyes, make sure you register the entire vista of the beach.

For beaches have parallel lines of color on each side, a rich, heart-warming gold on one side, the hue of Mum’s freshly baked cake, and, a deep, mysterious turquoise on the other, full of intriguing, unexplained secrets, the waves swirling invitingly.

Look down, and the sand is spotted with an infinite number of things- pink-and-white speckled shells, slimy green seaweed cruising in with each passing wave, the occasional starfish lazing in the snowy foam, its arms nonchalantly waving in the air, driftwood, crabs, you name it. The sand is just as mystifying as the sea on the other side, its layers providing shelter for those who wish to keep to themselves, away from the glare of the sun.

The wet, sticky sand receives the waves rushing in. It’s perfect for building sand sculptures, castles, pits, dams, you name it. To let go of all your principles of hygiene, to dig in with your fingers and feel the gooey moistness collect in your hands is to let go completely of any stress, anything that causes you to hold back. And then, of course, is the sea itself.

All you have to do is to wade in the water, and the waves do the rest, beckoning you, pulling you in to taste the sharp tang of the salty water. When you duck your head in the water, and open your eyes, you literally experience a whole, new (although somewhat blurry) world.

You are immersed in ever-changing shades of blue; you enjoy solitude of a different kind. All round you, everything is silent, and yet life exists here. Brightly colored fish gently wave their fins, as though welcoming you into their world. Here and there, in the ocean bed, if you can just manage to spot them, are the spiky black sea-urchins, happily nestled in the sand. Rocks, when lifted, disclose aquatic plants, so different from the ones on land, fleshy and weird, all dressed in exotic apparel. The sea world fascinates you with its ‘live and let live’ policy, of minding its own business in the midst of busy surroundings world, something that you wish would be followed back where you live, too.

Pop your head out of the water, lest you die with too much to see and too little to breathe. Right now, you can do anything you like, float lazily with the waves, with an I-don’t-care smirk on your face, or you could swim back and indulge in some delicious Popsicles, kick butt at beach football and have Frisbee fun with your dog. The beach is your hideaway, your zone, where you bring out the vibrant person in you. Lean back, and enjoy.