From zero to a hero. Now don’t get me wrong… there’s nothing wrong with zero and I’m not saying a hero is better than zero. But, in the secular world, we live in, there are a few preconceived ideas of zero when it is placed next to hero, so from that perspective, I want to narrate for you one such happening in my life when I transitioned from zero to a hero.

I was seven years old. I had these beautiful pearly milk teeth. My skin was smooth, and my hair was thick and black. I did not know it then, but I guess I was anorexic! I could easily throw up at the sight of food if I wanted. However, since I wasn’t aware of that condition, I didn’t play that card. I instead spent hours toying with the food in front of me. My elder siblings used to be mesmerised by the way I ate my food. I’ll leave it them tell you firsthand.

Then one day I fell sick. In 1968 one could fall sick for many reasons. When I fell sick or my little brother fell sick, we shared the joy. We were sick from measles, chicken pox, mumps, food, studies, uniforms… the list is quite long really.

My parents would pack us off to my Aunt Jimmy’s house whenever we fell sick.

Aunt Jimmy nursed us back to health. Aunt Jimmy was a doctor. Her name had a whole string of degrees behind it. One was DGO, I know now that it’s a Diploma in Gynaecology and Obstetrics, but back then, I used to wonder if it was spelt incorrectly. Anyway, when it was clear that all the infection had passed, Aunt Jimmy asked me, very nicely, if I wanted to stay back and complete my school year. My little brother, Philip, would head back to our parent’s home. Philip is three years younger to me. Being the risk taker that I am, I agreed to stay back.

At this period in time, I was in Year 3, and the average age for my class. In the classroom, I used to sit in the ‘safe zone’ – I felt comfortable sitting there – and dream. Much like Sir Isaac Newton before me, and that other bloke with frizzy hair – the one who wasn’t allowed near The Manhattan Project.  My report in the first term marked me as 37^th in a class of 42 students. A few red highlights for the subjects that went over my head, and the teacher’s off-hand comments that, “Presley is a dreamer, must work harder, blah, blah, blah…”.

At Aunt Jimmy’s home, I slept in this most luxuriously soft bed. Often dreaming the dream. However, when my Aunt Jimmy used to wake me, I’m a hundred percent certain that it was dark outside because the lights were turned on in my bedroom. I was chaperoned into the bathroom. Aunt Jimmy never failed to assist me if I dared to dream.

Continuing half dreaming, I usually sat at the dining table and drank my Bourn Vita or milk or whatever… I honestly cannot recall what it is I drank. Keep in mind, I lived with this undiagnosed condition. It was a beautiful dining table though, nothing like what we were used to at home. The cup I drank from was as big as my face! It came with a beautiful matching saucer. King Solomon would have loved this cup. One can still get these things in France… I think.

Dining table to study table. Still dark outside. Lights were switched on in the house. Oh, let me tell you about this house.

It was a huge British colonial style bungalow with a tall gate on each of its two drives. The house itself was built in the centre with a porch where Doctor Krishna (Aunt Jimmy’s friend / partner) parked her car. The front room from the porch lead to the huge living room, dining room, kitchen, and back yard. The right wing with a massive bedroom was where my Aunt Jimmy and Doctor K slept (on separate beds). The left wing had a huge study and bedroom where I dwelt. Bathrooms on each wing. The car garage was a separate build with living quarters for the domestic help. The house was immaculately maintained in white paint with blue borders and cornices. Some of the rooms like the study were carpeted. Other main rooms had tessellated floors with individual tile patterns and borders.

Continuing – dining table to study table – the routine was pencil in hand I wrote what was dictated. My spelling was repeated to perfection. My punctuation could have put scholars to shame!

Let me tell you about my Pencil … it was long. It had an eraser at the end that didn’t fall off and it worked beautifully. It had this hypnotic metallic green colour, not very different from Aunt Jimmy’s Austin Cambridge car. Both from England.  

I achieved wonders with that pencil. My second term report was boring. It didn’t have the red decorative underlines. My teacher’s comments were less perceptive. I lost my status as dreamer with the greats. I also lost my ‘safe zone’ sanctuary in the classroom. I found myself sitting on the second line of desks next to my classmate Kalavathi.

My birthday came around and Aunt Jimmy went to town. I took chocolates for the whole class, and from this day I carried my books in an aluminium suitcase. My green pencil was safe within, in a protective pouch attached to the lid of the suitcase. I had asked Aunt Jimmy earlier, and she gave me brand new shiny green pencil, which I presented to Kalavathi.

Every silver lining comes with a dark cloud. My life was “Full” – my every waking moment was accounted – but I think I got used to it!

Third and final term. I stood third in the class! Yes, I was pleased. My Aunt Jimmy was pleased. My teacher was pleased.

My little brother Philip came over with my parents at the end of term and we both played in the drive. I think my parents were proud of me. One never knows with parents; they were probably wanting me back with them. Imagine living with only four of your five children!

Aunt Jimmy asked me to consider another school year with her. It was a good partnership, but I did miss my home. I think my parents missed me as well.

When I hear people say that someone is ‘talented’ or ‘gifted’, I always think back to my time in Year 3 when Aunt Jimmy helped my transition from being zero to hero. My logical mind tells me ‘Gifted’ or ‘Talented’ folk probably work hard, and have a single-minded focus on their dreams.  Aunt Jimmy knew how to bring that out in me.

Thank you, Aunt Jimmy.

Presley Peter