It is in my early college days this story is set. Towards the goal of encouraging us to improve our English, father used to ask us to read Hindu regularly. He truly believed that this would help.

To me, that was the single most unbearable thing out of his many commandments. Me and my elder sister who were subjected to this order, never used to touch the paper even as an accident. We were so averse to it. We used to either hold it in hand for ten long minutes so as to answer him "we red", or we used to lie outright.

Sometimes he would find out our lies and false stories. His benchmark was often the advertisers leaflet left inside the paper, which, if we red the paper, would have been removed or at least repositioned. Whenever he forced me and scolded me over the matter, I hated him for doing so, because back then I never understood the point in reading Hindu. The truth is, during my childhood, I never understood the point in learning anything.

Me and my sister found a solution to meeting his benchmark by unfolding the paper before father comes in the afternoon for lunch. Unfolding the paper was never to read it in any earnestness; rather it was to make sure that there is no advertisers leaflet left inside. He would invariably ask whether we red the paper. We used to frequently lie to him with guilt.

Sometimes our answer used to be an outright lie. I used to agonize over the fact that I am not only failing to read Hindu but also lie to him. Sometimes he used to catch us red-handed due to the previously mentioned advertisers leaflet in the yet folded paper. He used to scold me all day and say "you can never be corrected". However he persisted in his effort to correct me (sister was gradually excused from being questioned).

Later on, sometime into this father-son scuffle over the paper, and faced with his relentless pursuit, I had begun a half hearted effort to make out something from the newspaper. However I continued to fail in discerning anything.

Next : Persistent in his effort, untiring in his optimism: