Mr Bajaj used to assign to us an elegant timing that defined a special breed of clap. “It’s called the scout’s punch clap,” he would say. “When times aren’t in your favour, when you need someone to cover your back, go for punch claps. Remember, if you clap this way, help will arrive in no time.”
On the first bench in class, I wondered what kind of ‘help’ he meant. Still, I clapped. I sang scout songs to the beat. I danced. I coiled ropes. I volunteered. I became a scout. All of us did. Because initially, everyone had been interested in attending his classes. With time, however, the interest waned sharply.
Scouting was funny business. It could be interesting and intimidating, both at the same time. Interesting, because outdoorsy events are always fun to learn. Intimidating and funny, because while Baden Powel had received countless medals of honour, we mostly earned cuts and bruises; one or two proficiency badges at most. Those and a copper woggle to insert the two tips of our rolled scarves in.
And in that duration, I was nearly murdered on a commando bridge. Our instructor had mentioned the rope could carry only one ropewalker at a time. It was tied with reef knots between two trees, and once you were on it, you were 20 feet in the air. When my turn came, Mr Bajaj realised—all of a sudden—that reef knots weren’t reliable at all. He untied the rope first and then tied a thief knot in its place. “You’re next. Be prepared,” he pointed at me.
The moment I put my boots on that rope, the world went kaput. I felt like a turbulent aeroplane in dog fight. The next thing I remember is lying on a hospital bed. They had pierced me with stainless steel needles at so many different points and angles that I felt like pincushion in many ways. A nurse came in every three hours or so to inject vials of pain killers which never relieved any pain. Mr Bajaj’s confusion between the reef knot and the thief knot had left me crippled for two months.
And in that duration, I was nearly murdered on a commando bridge. Our instructor had mentioned the rope could carry only one ropewalker at a time. It was tied with reef knots between two trees, and once you were on it, you were 20 feet in the air. When my turn came, Mr Bajaj realised—all of a sudden—that reef knots weren’t reliable at all. He untied the rope first and then tied a thief knot in its place. “You’re next. Be prepared,” he pointed at me.
The moment I put my boots on that rope, the world went kaput. I felt like a turbulent aeroplane in dog fight. The next thing I remember is lying on a hospital bed. They had pierced me with stainless steel needles at so many different points and angles that I felt like pincushion in many ways. A nurse came in every three hours or so to inject vials of pain killers which never relieved any pain. Mr Bajaj’s confusion between the reef knot and the thief knot had left me crippled for two months.
