Speaking to the Gallery

Nehru's birthday yesterday and V and I were reminiscing about the school days. I don't remember a year from first to seventh grade, when I didn't speak about Nehru. Not that I was particularly fond of him. But Pappa was and he was my speech writer. All I had to do was to mug it up overnight and reproduce it on the stage the next day. Mugging was no problem. But when you have a stage fright, it's no easy task to modulate your voice. All you know is that your legs are shaking and you wonder if your voice is shaking too. I did it every year nevertheless. There was a prize to be won but I guess more than that it was an opportunity for me to be seen by M. I wasn't sure if he knew or cared that I existed otherwise but when I was up there, I knew he would be somewhere in the audience, watching or at least hearing me. It was quite an incentive.

Anyway, I doubt if Pappa likes Nehru so much anymore but after all those speeches, I ended up a an admirer.