This was long before i had discovered my propensity with numbers. Maths was all Greek and Latin to me. Adding to my misery, was our maths teacher who took vile pleasure in making us trawl through mounds of hideous sums. Mother, being the english exponent, was no help. My banker father, the number crunching man, was my last resort. Mind you, fathers of yore, were not like the hands-on fathers of today. A perfect setting had to be plotted, before you ventured in bravely, for father's booming albeit sagely advice.
So I got down to the business of taking my family into confidence. Kinetically hyper-charged brother's silence, was bought over with promise of a chocolate. His good behavior meant that father wouldn't be losing his temper, soon. Mother kindly promised to pitch in, by making father's favorite savories. The stage was all set….
Father came home in the evening, minus his huge official bundle. A big positive sign! After the mandatory bath , and the 7pm bulletin on AIR, while gorging on his tasty tiffin and piping cup of filter coffee, he almost seemed benign, approachable. All was well with the world.
Before i could set forth in gingerly, brother went screeching, "father, sister needs your help". Father waved across to me, expansively, beckoning me with palpable warmth. In I went for my inquisition!
After a friendly scolding, on the general dilapidated state of my maths text book , he benevolently attacked the problems at hand. Few squiggles, Lo, behold it was done! After squinting real hard,"But father this is not what my teacher has told us" i butted in rather recklessly. After educating me on the questionable antecedents of the teacher in discussion, rather eloquently, few more squiggles were dished out in my direction. "Did you understand?" he bellowed "yes father !" i meekly submitted. "What ?'" Never to bother you again with my problems"…
Needless to say that my ears were ringing for a real long long time, for the verbal tongue lashing they received….