Memories....

It was when I was in my 7th class/standard that I participated in an ICSE recitation competition. God knows how I chose the poem, or what I was thinking - but I chose a comic poem.

All I remember of the day is this: I went on stage in supreme confidence and was reeling off the poem (enacting it actually) till about 80% into it, I completely froze - the mind went blank, I couldnt remember the next word......and was reduced to staring at the audience, searching for breath. The silence in the audience was broken by a rising murmur - of shock, of amusement, of excitement.....some of the judges were given me looks of earnest encouragement.....but nothing was working.....and then, just like that, even as I was contemplating bursting into tears, out of nowhere, the words suddenly came back - I completed the poem and left the stage, head down embarrassed and face down..knowing that while honor may have just about been saved, clearly the prize was lost. But I was given the second prize, with the judge mentioning that I might have even won the first, if not for the mishap....a proud, proud moment for me.

Now imagine my surprise when, almost 29 years after that, someone gets in touch and in the intro email writes the first two lines of THAT poem.....I was too stunned for words - and then it all came back in a rush - being in a zone, then the embarrassment, the resurrection and finally jubilation....wow - thanks Sudheendhra, for bringing back those lovely memories.

Heres the poem I chose:

The Muddle head from Petushkee

I knew a man from Petushkee
As muddleheaded as could be.

He always got mixed up with clothes;
He wore his mittens on his toes,
Forgot his collar in his haste,
And tied his tie around his waist.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

They told him as he went about:
“You’ve got u’r coat on inside out!”
And when they saw his hat, they said:
“You’ve put a saucepan on your head!”

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

At lunch he scratched a piece of bread,
And spread some butter on his head.
He put his walking stick to bed,
And he stood in the rack instead.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He walked upto a tram one day
And climbed in very sprightly;
Conductor thought that he would pay,
Instead he said politely:

“Parding your beggon,
Kister Monductor,
I’m off for a week’s vacation;
I stop you to beg your cramway tar
As soon as we reach the station.”
Conductor got a fright
And didn’t sleep that nite.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He rushed into the first café:
“A railway ticket please, One way.”
And at the ticket office said:
“A slice of tea and a cup of bread.”

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He passed the man collecting the fares,
And entered a carriage awaiting repairs,
That stood on a siding, all by itself.
Half of his luggage, he put on a shelf,
The rest on the floor, his coat on his lap
And settled himself for a bit of a nap.

All at once he raised his head,
“I must have been asleep”- he said.
“Hey, what stop is this?” he cried
“Petushkee,” a voice replied.

Once again he closed his eyes
And dreamt he was in Paradise.
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and leaned out.

“I’ve seen this place before, I believe,
Is it Kharkov or is it Kiev?
Tell me where I am,” he cried.
“In Petushkee”, a voice replied.

And so again he settled down
And dreamt the world was upside down
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and looked out.

“I seem to know this station too,
Is it Nalchik or Baku?
Tell me what its called,” he cried.
“Petushkee’ a voice replied.

Up he jumped: “It’s a crime!
I’ve been riding all this time,
And here I am where I began!
That’s no way to treat a man!’

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!