A small acknowledgment...

As you grow older, you start becoming more independent. You are treated differently. You can now do the things that you weren't allowed to. And you love it.

But this liberty, comes with a price. Of responsibility.

I remember the way my studies used to be taken during my school days. Dad had charge of History,Civics, Geography and Social Science. Mom had Science-I, Science -2 and Maths. I really didn't require too much help for English, Hindi and Marathi.

Mom was the classical teacher, she would sit right next to me on the study table, teaching me proper sitting posture, urging me to write in my best handwriting.

Dad was cool. He would give me time-bound tasks... half an hour for a small topic, an hour for a bigger one. At the end of which, he would take the book in his hand. I was free to stand, sit, lie down, walk around, stand on my head... he didn't care, as long as I gave the correct answers. it was a verbal volley, no boring writing for him. I would have this green faded tennis ball in my hand, which we would throw to each other during this session. Depending on how many times we could drop it, we could keep score. I would get creamed most of the times.

He would frame his own questions... they would go backwards from the end of the chapter. and then suddenly ask me something from the middle !! Some of them would be trick questions.. But I used to scrape through somehow.. he would just tell me one thing.

" Rohit, ALWAYS study first, and then play. Never do the opposite. You want to see a movie, first study, then go for it. You want to see a cricket match, first study, then go ahead and enjoy it. Dont say... Let me watch the match, then I promise ill study .That never works."

Dad was officially relieved of my study responsibility after I passed my 10th. I remember Dad and Mom calculating from my marklist, who had "won". Dad's role then was limited to giving me pep talks, bringing me back to reality, curbing my free time hours, restricting my TV, etc etc. Of course I had joined a whole bunch of tuition classes. When there were just a few months to go for my 12th, he took me aside one day.

" This is it Rohit. This is the exam that counts. I'm only worried about you for this one. After you join a professional course, I'm never going to tell you to study. You'll manage it fine on your own."

Yeah right, I thought. Good job , Daddy-O, but I'm not buying that one. Not tell me to study ??? Ha ha. Incredible.

But he was true to his word. As BDS started, my parents suddenly took their hands off my studies. They claimed I was old enough now, to know whats good for me. I could plan my own study schedule.

Suddenly, I could decide when I wanted to start studying. One month before the exam, one week, one day. I could decide how many hours I wanted to study in a day. 5,8,10,3,1, zero.....I could decide everything. Not that I didn't get a few glares from them when they saw me fooling around. But never was a harsh word said.

And then strangely, I developed an emotion, or rather, discovered one that had been alien to me so far as far as studies were concerned. Pride.
Pride in doing well in exams. Pride in topping a paper. Pride in telling them I had done well.It was a very significant phase of my life. A phase that moulded the way I approached every exam, every test from then on.

Ill never forget Dad putting on a very matter-of-fact: "Yes, so what! You have to do well, its expected of you", demanour in front of me, but be so clearly transparent in his joy.

My Mom's face breaking out in a huuuuuuge smile every time I told her my marks. And was that a moist eye, or a trick of the light? I could never be sure. And I never had the courage to ask.

But on record, I want to say that I find it tough studying on my own. Especially now. When I have near constant access to the internet, my mobile phone, TV and a million other distractions. I would rather be shouted at, have my phone taken away, net disconnected, TV locked up and have my study schedule decided by my parents. Anytime. They could even share the subjects.

And I really miss the tossing the ball to Dad.

And for some strange unexplainable reason, this 26 year old dentist just cant bring himself to ask his 60 year old dad whether he wants to toss the ball around again.

If he agrees, I'll be more than happy to lose. What the heck, I'll drop every ball.