World of worries

I ve never worried, now that is a lie
- Red hot chili peppers, under the bridge.

I was born out of a worry, the worry of an anxious mother to produce a healthy child.
The child was healthy alright, but it had a problem. Of the 46 chromosomes it acquired, it had an extra chromosome, made of worry genes. The function of these genes was to live up to its name. They utilized all the ATP's and proteins leaving me looking anorexic. It was a monstrous genetic dysfunction.

This 47th chromosome sums up my persona. So now you know that worrying comes naturally to me.

As a child, I worried because I called a teacher a “witch”. My friend with concern welling up informed me as a matter of fact that the teacher heard it! My friend also told me that “witch” was a very very bad word. …Bad words....witch…NO! Amma would be very very cross at me for using bad words like that. My friend added this frightening detail about my teacher, she yanked the plaits of little girls. That terrified me!

This piece of information gave me numerous bed wetting nights, mostly because of the incredible line up of night mares which were gory scenes of horror. I was Gretel, and that teacher was the witch waiting for me to become fat and then eat me.

I shrank behind the wooden benches hoping the numerous black heads worn in black ribbons and heads cropped in funny looking porcupine style would give me cover.

I was almost happy when the bell rang. It was like an answer to my fervent prayers.

Then she stood, unfolding herself into a full size horror as she combed through the class. Suddenly her face lit up in glee as a child’s would on seeing its lost teddy bear.My big eyes and her little eyes met. Fear rolled up inside me into a big ball.
“Arundhati! come here” she said.

The voice inside me rang “take her broom and fly out of the class, she won’t be able to catch you”. As I stood there uncertainly, trying to make up my mind whether to bolt out of the class or to reach for the broom resting innocuously in the corner of the class, She came to my desk and took me by her hand.

I felt a heat wave rising inside me; my forehead was lined with beads of perspiration. I was expecting her to shake me hard and curse me to be a stone.

“Arundhati, you have to sing “we shall over come” on the republic day which is on this Saturday. And do wear that red frock that you wore for your birthday.

“I have to give some more instructions so run along and bring your diary, I‘ll write it. Do show it to your mother dear”

My little mind was confused. All questions springing up and crowding my head.

I gave my diary to her, still expecting her to ask me why I used bad words on a teacher.

She handed over the diary to me with a warm smile.A smile was the last thing I expected out of that face! I then stopped and thought why I called her a witch. May be that was just a new word I had learnt.

"Teacher! is witch a bad word?" I asked putting on an innocent look.

laughing softly she replied "no dear, it just means a bad person..why you know any witch?"

I shook my head furiously, till my ribbon slipped down my hair.

She ruffled my hair and asked me to practice the song.

" We shall over come" I sang aloud not realizing the full meaning of it that day.

I skipped happily to my class, a smile cutting through my face for the first time in that hour. I usually smile a lot.


The worry gene has a codon which ensures that I can become unmindful of my worries twice as fast as I get worried.