For Mel, or someone like her ...

There are good times, and then there are worse ones. There have been times when I have been lonely, forgotten, sad, desperate and depressed. There have been times when I have lost the will to do anything. There have been times when I have just let life slip past me.

And yet I am still here.

I am still here, because of a certain way I have been made. That tells me something about me. That tells me something about what I am capable of achieving, about what I am capable of doing but not realizing it just as yet. That tells me, I am.

But still, am I really all that I am? No. Because even in this higher sense of existence, I can feel that there is a spark that keeps me alive. There is a ray that shines through even the darkest of troubles, the deepest of chasms, and keeps me willing. Willing to breathe, willing to be. This spark, this ray doesn’t come from within. It comes from without.

It’s you.

It’s you, or maybe it’s just what I believe you are. It’s a concept that’s you. Or maybe it’s a concept which has your face. I wonder if it matters, but still it is your face I see. That tells me something. About me, about you. For now, I would like to believe it’s really you. I’d like to believe, because that’s how I live. We all live for a belief. And this, is my belief.

In The Arithmetic of Love ...

Henry and Melinda - Prologue

"... one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing."

This is a quote by Mignon McLaughlin, and this is the pure essence of Henry and Melinda. More chapters to come along!

The Walk

HENRY AND MELINDA - Chapter (Minus) Five

The market in old town was an old one, as anyone would guess. It had huge, Roman pillars and a covered space in front of the shops, much akin to Victorian architecture. Legend has it that the town designer had a inclination to include elements of architecture from major world cities in our town, and the municipal corporation five years back had gone on a record digging spree to identify these and utilise this information in adding to the town’s tourist value. As we had entered the central sidewalk of the market, a sign read, in Municipal-speak, “Welcome to Connaught Place, New Delhi, India.” I could not hold a smile back every time I saw one of these boards. It was like travelling to a new city every time I went out to town. We had a Times Square, a Colloseum and even a Sydney Harbour amongst so many others, all in this sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. However, that was beyond the point. We were here, now, going around in circles of the Connaught Circus, the three of us, while the whole world seemed to be moving against us, and she was angry. Yes, we were literally going around in circles for the past half an hour now, without ever reaching an end, or a beginning.

* * * * *

“Don’t you use that tone with me!” she hissed as we walked on. I kept up pace, trying to avoid bumping into someone, “What tone? WHAT TONE?! I am just talking to you. Where did you hear a tone? Oh and by the way, did you listen to what I was saying, or were you just too much worried about the tone?” She was getting angry by the minute, and I couldn’t make out if it was the quick walk or her anger that was making her breath so short. Her anger was still short on the fuse though, “Yeah yeah, I did listen to all that crap. You are an idiot Henry Paige. Billy, tell him he is an idiot and I don’t wanna talk to him.” Billy looked at me, gave me a smirk and said, “Henry, you are an idiot. She aint talking to you. You get that?” “Yea,” I smiled a wry one, just avoiding a protrusion jutting out from the railing along the sidewalk on which all three of us were, umm, walking. Well, no, you couldn’t call it walking; it was more like rushing, although we did not know to where or why. “Tell her I aint wanna talk to her either!” Billy found it very amusing, “Oh you guys! What am I doing here? Don’t drag me into this.” And then Billy saw me winking at him to keep playing on for her sake, so he said in a mechanical tone, “Okay Mel, he doesn’t wanna talk to you either.” He grazed past a burly man who gave him the eye and Billy was like “Oops, sorry!” I thought it was meant for the fatso, but it could also have been for Melinda who was eyeing him with equally bloodshot eyes. She was really angry, and only the Gods above know what I had done to earn that ire from her.

* * * * *

When I had woken up that morning, she was angry, and after a not-so-lovely Sunday breakfast she had called up Billy to “help us out”, and an hour later here we were, in a busy market in a crazy city of this screwball world, walking-on along the sidewalk, at the peak of Sunday, out in the sun, hustling and bustling across this sea of humanity which comes out on a holiday to do exactly the same thing. Walking, frantically trying to keep pace with each other, talking to each other and jostling with the crowd coming from upfront, avoiding as well as revelling in the sights and sounds of this world, and at the same time, discussing something which was so personal to just the two of us. The irony of it all was just too much to come to terms with all of a sudden. But yes, there I was, in the rush of things, sorting out a domestic problem in a place where I could least expect to walk straight, leave alone thinking likewise. My life couldn’t have been more dramatic or more extreme.

And this entire time one thing seemed peculiar. We were walking and it suddenly occurred to me as though all the people were only coming from the front, and it seemed odd. It was as if the three of us had been the only people headed in our direction, with the whole wide world walking to an entirely another tune. Moreover, this sea of humanity that was headed in our direction for the entire last half an hour we had been walking seemed to be surging and fading with time. It had a character of its own, the human wave I mean. It had its heaves and its bows, just like the emotional ups and downs, the pitches of her voice, the gyrations of Billy’s lanky figure to avoid bumping someone and the pace of my crazy walk. There seemed to be some sort of a synchronised dance of nature going on, and the three of us, our emotional states, even the proverbial sea of humanity all seemed to be dancing to it.

* * * * *

Why and how would Billy “help us out” I could not figure that. Billy was “my” friend and as he met Mel and time passed, he became “her” best friend. So much so, that sometimes I felt that she could keep things from me and tell him. Did this disturb me? I would honestly say yes. I am a man, programmed on an 8052 processor or its equivalent, which basically means I am very primitive and laidback. To have someone who is like your soul mate, to confide in your friend rather than yourself is a hard fact to accept. Women call it jealousy. I call it insecurity. Plain, simple and dead honest. It’s insecurity. It tells me, “Dude, she cannot tell you everything. She would choose someone else to open up to.” It makes me feel insecure, and I don’t like it. It doesn’t matter for me whom she chooses, but as long as it is not me, I am worried. Sometimes, I would wonder, how something like this could be explained, but I suppose I had attributed this to the enigmatic nature of ‘woman’kind and the old-fashioned attitude of ‘man’kind, and let that be that. (For women, I believe, have been the products of a CRAY or its computer sibling) So, Mel told me she wanted Billy to come and sort it out for us. Although outlandish the idea seemed to me, I humoured her, knowing perfectly well that Billy knew Mel enough to play on with her little game. And Billy and I knew each other too well. Nothing could disrupt that understanding between me and him.

Billy came and Mel prepared some coffee for him. I was in the other room watching a stand-up comedy show while they chatted in the kitchen. Sometimes, over the sounds of the television I could hear something from her, like a rise of her voice as Mel generally does when she gets too excited, or too angry about something, but I figured that as long as Billy is there, I don’t need to worry about my Mel. If there was anything troubling her, I had gotten her “her best friend” to sort it out for her. I needn’t do anything more. She did not tell me whatever was troubling her anyways. So the only thing I could do to help her out was to give her some space and put Billy on the job. I could watch my TV and forget about the whole episode. She had her medicine, I had mine, I figured. Then a few minutes later Billy came upto me and winked, “Let’s go out Hen'y. We are goin' shoppin'.” Without thinking twice, I put in my overcoat and walked out the door. Mel emerged a little short of two minutes after I had come out, escorted by Billy. I saw her and I lost my heart for the millionth time to the same woman. Oh my, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever known, even when she was in her worst mood. Something told me she was extremely sad, but I did not know what or why. I chose to play the game as she wanted, give her the time she needed, the stuff she needed, and keep a distance from her, near enough to make her feel safe and far enough to have her own space.

* * * * *

Soon, it had started raining, we were still pacing around the merry-go-round of life, with my better half been literally steaming now that she was wet too, and Billy and me keeping pace and shouting at top of our voices to make her hear. But no, Melinda Parker wouldn’t listen. She wasn’t one to listen. She kept ranting on, “Billy he is this …”, “Billy, he is that …”, “Billy, he doesn’t …” and “Billy, he always …”. Billy was as sympathetic as a friend would be, he kept comforting her all along, but no, she did not need comforting. Finally, I could handle it no more. I still don’t know if it was because I was hearing so much of “Billy”, or that I was tired of this game, or that I just had been fed up with all the idioticity, but something tugged at my spine and I spoke up. I spoke up, with such a start that I surprised even myself, while Billy just had to stop a minute and gave me a look of extreme puzzlement. He was like, “No! Henry! Don’t!” But it was too late. My gates had been opened, and they weren’t going to close till I had let it out. A lot of it had been stored away for long and over time it had coagulated and gotten thick. Today it had to come out.

“Billy, am I the only one who is wrong every time? Yes, I am the man around here, and so everything is my responsibility, and I take responsibility for everything Billy, but in the same breath I would daresay that that does not mean it is my fault Billy, let Her Highness know this.” Ah! The irony of Love. I knew perfectly well, and so did she, that we were both comfortably hearing each other, yet neither of us had any reservations about pulling poor Billy in. But I guess, he is her best friend, and if it is her who wants to involve him in this, then I have no qualms about it. I am speaking my mind out, and an audience of two makes no more difference to me than an audience of one. Moreover, a best friend is supposed to help her out, ain’t it so? Billy, heh heh, no running away from it now, I thought.

“Yes, Billy it is indeed his fault. He is such an idiot. God knows what he keeps thinking! He just thinks something up and sticks to it like an adamant kid.” At this, I smiled, and said, “Yes Billy, you see, I am the one being adamant here, and I am the one not letting go of weird notions. I am the one who is being close minded and all that. I am the one who is running around the market seething at Henry Paige for the last forty five minutes without even telling him what my problem is! Yes Billy I am the one who is an idiot!”

Mel's pace quickened, as though she wanted to get away from it all now. The crowd was relentless though. I still had to look over a couple of heads to locate where she was. I caught a glimpse of my angry angel’s face. Her cheeks were wet. It could have been due to the rain. It could have been due to the crying. The sight, and before that, thought that she was crying, stung me out of my anger. I felt an intense hate for myself. No matter what happened, no matter WHATEVER happened, I had told myself long back, those eyes will never cry. They were crying now, and it was my fault, this much I knew. The why hardly mattered over the what. I will not speak any more now, I had decided.

The rain was coming down heavily now and she had lowered her head a bit. I pushed across a few people to be walking just to the left of her as she came out with one final backlash. “Billy,” she continued, “he wouldn’t listen to me even after I have told him the same thing over and over. It’s for his own good, but he doesn’t understand, Billy.” Yes, I knew now what she was talking about. She was worried about me! All along! And yet it had been left up to me to figure this out all along! My, my, my, strange is the logic of Love. Mel’s been furious with me, for me, and it’s me who is the last person to figure it out. Beautiful. “He doesn’t work Billy. He doesn’t work to realise his potential. He gets into needless arguments, weird explanations and funny stories, but doesn’t ever work.” She was so emotional and worked up right now that she did not even realise that Billy wasn’t here with us anymore. He had long been swept away by the crowd. Must have ‘bumped into’ one of his former girlfriends I suppose, heh heh, but yeah it was just me and her and the crowd now.

She went on talking to Billy nevertheless, as I could only feel emotion welling up in me, “Billy why doesn’t he understand, he’s got to work, he’s got to succeed, he means so much to me and still he can’t do that one thing that would make him happy.” I just kept listening and walking along with her. Slowly the thick crowd seemed to dissolve. It was getting thinner and thinner as she poured her heart out. Her volume had gone down, maybe talking so much had tired her out, or maybe she had gotten more relaxed just by letting those emotions out in the open. I kept walking, listening and taking in this beautiful sight of her. Only I knew right now that there was no Billy there, and no crowd left between us. We were alone in the market. The shops were closing early because of the heavy downpour and the marketplace visitors were going back to their homes.

And then, I realised how strangely parallel it was to what we had been experiencing. After all, it was just me and her. No one else mattered. Just me, and her. Billy could only have gone a few hours with us, but after that it was me, and her. The crowd was totally external to the both of us, just me and her. No crowd, no Billy. Me and Her. And she was still walking, talking and I was still walking alongside, looking at the only woman I had ever loved and the only woman I would ever love. She was there, and she was sad, and she was slowing down, and she stopped. All that I had just realised was probably dawning in on her too. She turned around and looked at me. I was right beside her shoulder, the two of us alone, in the market, the rain coming down on us. There was no world to find fault in, no Billy to be used as a stupid excuse to talk to each other. It was just me and her in our silence, and the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

I opened my overcoat. “Melinda, you are soaking, come here.” She looked at me. I was standing there like a lovesick idiot, totally drenched myself, calling out to my beloved, the lapels of my coat opened up for her, just as my heart was at that exact moment. I was looking at her lovely face. No sight of heaven could have been more comforting than what my eyes beheld that moment in the old market of the old town we lived in. “Come, honey, let’s just go home. I am sorry.” At that, Melinda Parker, the love of my life, silently came into my overcoat and took me in an embrace. Her wet cheek touched my collar, a little to the left, and I could feel its warmth reach deep up to my heart.

* * * * *

What went wrong?

HENRY AND MELINDA - Chapter Zero.

Henry had lunch in the district court premises itself. As he was climbing down the steps of the old, Victorian building, having just been legally declared single again by a piece of paper and an old, tight lipped man who knew nothing about who he was, who "they" had been or what had gone wrong, he saw her wave to him from a tree shade near the parking lot.

Why now?, he thought. Why NOW? Isn't it over? Why now? It hasn't even been an hour! She still wants to talk? What is left to talk about after all this? He had avoided looking at her all through the proceedings, as she had avoided looking at him, they had let their lawyers take up their cases and strangle out whatever little life must have been left of their bond. He was still thinking all this, when instinctively his hand waved back at her. If this was not enough, his lips betrayed him into a smirk. She smiled back warmly.

As he stepped down the last step, she had crossed the lot and was there in front of him. She opened her arms and they hugged, and he could already feel an alienness in her, she was not his anymore. He felt awkward at touching her, hugging her, even looking at her. She is now a stranger to me, he reasoned and accepted his quirky behaviour thus.

She looked deep into his eyes and asked, "What went wrong Henry?" He just gazed at her, astounded that she could even ask him this question, amazed at her naivette and enraged at her neglect. Doesn't she know? Or maybe she genuinely didn't. Oh well, if she doesn't know, then maybe she doesn't deserve to know as well. He just gazed at her for as long as he could remember. She could gather that Henry would not be answering her question. They both wandered into each others eyes for what seemed like eternity, each hoping to get a glimpse of the other's soul. He, inquiring the nature of the query as a genuine one or a mockery of what they had just ended; She, trying to get an answer to her question and in the absence of it, a reason for the same.

Henry dropped his bag to break the silence. They were back into the world. He bent down, hoping to catch a glimpse of her pink sandals for one last time that he wanted to, collected his papers, stood up, looked at her curtly for one last time and said, "See you Melinda. Goodbye." And he walked up to his car and drove away. Melinda, looked at the cloud of dust of the departing car, sighed, and muttered to herself, "You should have answered that Henry, if not for me, then for yourself. You should have answered that."

That night Melinda got a note delivered to her house. It said not much, but she knew from the handwriting that it was from him. It went something like this ... "You know when I went away this afternoon, I thought, I should have answered that question. If not for you, then at least for myself I should have answered that question." Melinda smiled to herself, remembering what she had said that afternoon when Henry had gone away. Yes, little, unimportant, human, social differences will never ever change the fact that she and Henry were as close as it came to soul mates. Nothing could change how similar they would think or react to situations. It was reacting to one another, though. where they surprised themselves. Anyhow, she continued to read ... "Yes Melinda, something went wrong. I was seeing it all along, and maybe it was my mistake that I took it as another of your childish idiosyncracies and ignored it. I did have it in my mind for a long time and yes, I DID tell you on multiple occasions, but maybe you were not listening properly or I was not telling it right. You wanna know what went wrong, Melinda? I know what went wrong. It was honesty. Honesty went wrong. I was more honest than I should have been, and you were just not. Honesty went grossly wrong with us Melinda. I was bad for too much of it, and you were worse for too little. That is all.
-Love(?), Henry."

Child's Play

"This should do it. Another couple of cupfuls of sand and this would be complete." He had marked the boundaries of his castle with shells he had come across his strolls on the beach. The castle itself had been made by his little hands, decorated with all the things he had loved. Everyday he had brought along one of his favourite things and given it a place in the castle. He himself imagined moving into his 'home' very soon. Not that he did not realise it was very small for him. But still, when he slept at night, he could see himself living in that home, with all his favourite things around him. All his toys, his books, his playthings. He was building a home for himself in the sand. Life would be so wonderful in that house. Such were his thoughts!

He lifted up his eyes and saw that the sun was setting, its golden rays bouncing off the silent waves of the ocean and tickling his vision. "Time to go home." His mom's voice rang in his head. He pulled out the big cardboard box which read in all the English he could scribble. "Varun's hause. Pleze do not distrub" and covered the castle with it. Inside his mother had made cookies. Munching the fresh and hot confectionery, he switched on the television and watched Popeye beat up Bluto. His father came back from office soon, and then he spent the evening chatting to him about the new factory that he was setting up. Not that he understood a lot, or at all, of what his father used to say, but he liked talking to him that way. After all, he was grown up. Very soon he will be 10 years into the world. He was definitely a grown up now.

The next evening, he lifted the box to resume the castle work. It was just a few days away from completion. Today, he was going to put in his most cherished toy in the castle. He opened his bag and pulled out his little red ferrari. He placed it at the entrance gate. To him, it never seemed illogical as to what a ferrari would be doing in front of a castle. But all the same, it was his house, and this was his car.

That day before leaving, he saw the skies turning red. It occurred to him to raise the fence. He had ample shells with him. It would have taken him only half an hour to scatter them all around the castle, safeguarding it from the waves. It could get stormy in some days, he had thought. Deciding to do the reinforcement the next day, he ran back to his mother, who was waiting for him with snacks.

That night, the storm hit the sea. Giant waves made their way to the house. He saw from his window how badly it was raining. The winds blew away the cardboard cover. The castle was all at the mercy of the wind and the water. He wanted to run out to the courtyard and protect his "home". His mother had forbidden him to do that, fearing he would catch a cold. He had shouted out to his father to cover the castle as he drove in after work, but he couldn't listen to the boy's voice above the thunderclaps.

He saw from the window as the "fence" crumbled. "I should have raised the fence," he thought. The castle's top was blown off the next. And then to his horror, a large wave approached the castle, menacingly as though it was determined to crush out all his dreams tonight. He ran downstairs, pleading to his mother to let him out in the courtyard. She didn't know why he was so desperate and crying. His father took him inside to the television and switched on the cartoons. They didn't interest him anymore. All he could think of right now, was the castle. A giant splash at their doorstep made him rush frantically to the window.

The castle was gone.

So were the books, the GI joes, his ferrari. Everything.

His mother called out to his father to take care of the porch. He heard him talking, "Its nothing, it'll soon be over. Don't worry. It was in the weather report today. Just a minor tropical disturbance, it'll be over by the morning."

He was sent to sleep. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't believe it was gone. He went to his mother. Climbed alongside her in the bed. She could see the tears going down his cheeks.
"What happened beta?"
"Mamma, the house is gone. MY house is gone."
"Don't worry beta, it was really very bad weather. It could not have survived."
"No mamma, I should have raised the fence"
"It was only a castle made of sand. Raising the fence would not have helped. It had that fate."
"No mamma, it was my house!" She just couldn't understand!
"Arrey beta, it was only a week that you have been building it. Tomorrow, we'll start again, OK? Now sleep."
Only a week? It was 7 days of his work. Full seven days! The mother could not understand the difference of the duration which she had perceived and what it meant to her little boy.
We'll build it again? But what will I put inside the new one? My GI Joes, my ferrari all went away with this one. What will we put in the new one, mamma?

He knew he could not make her understand all this. He sulked back into his room.

The next morning, he woke up and rushed out. The place was flat. No signs of the castle, or its inhabitants. No ferrari, none of the books, no toys. He suddenly felt a rage. At himself, for not raising the fence, at the weather for being so ugly, at his mother, for talking as if it was just another sand castle. He just felt very angry.

When you are 10, and very angry, you cry. He ran towards the ocean, screaming that he had taken away his house, tears running down his cheeks, his hands trembling with anger, his feet working up a sprint and then tiring themselves on the sand. He kept shouting and cursing the ocean. His mother looked at his father. "Child's play," they nodded to each other in affirmation.

The ocean just moved to and fro, smiling at the little kid.

Figure o' Eight

A Story that I'll call "The Figure of Eight".

Once there was a boy who lived near the sea. Everyday he would run up to the sea and watch the ships as they docked and undocked from the port. He would do it regularly without fail, rising at daybreakwith the foghorn, rushing up to the dyke and observe the giant vessels coming in and going by. And he used to think of the places they had been to, and then he wished that one day he would be going exploring the world on one of these ships.

The boy's name was Sumer, and his father was a great seafarer of his time, and as any good father, he wanted his son to follow his footsteps in becoming a sailor. He had stocked a good amount of money for the boy's future, but he hadn't told the boy this, because he wanted the boy to try it out in the world on his own. The boy had been enrolled in the best school of the city that had produced the best of the sailors, ship captains, navy admirals even! "This boy is going to make it big someday" the father reflected to himself whenever he saw the boy looking eagerly at the blue blue sea and the mighty ships.

Sumer had always wanted to explore the world on his own. He did not like the things they taught him at school. "All they teach me are stupid things, like reading maps and making knots. Who'll need a map when one is going into uncharted territory?" he would think, "and why do I need to learn how to tie knots?" He knew his father wanted him to be a sailor, but he had always wanted to be an explorer instead. He'd heard about the new continent that had just been discovered just beyond the southern end of the sea. He had heard from people in taverns about the large desert there, and the ferocious animals around, and he was fascinated by these stories, he wished that someday he would sit around in an old inn with dozens of people crowding around him as he told stories of his daring.

He wanted to see new places, but a sailor's life is not what he wanted. It was a thin line that separated what his father wanted him to do and what he wanted himself, sailors and explorers are not THAT far apart as professions you see, but then to him it meant his life, and so he sometimes worried about it, hoping to tell his father someday. Yes, someday he'll tell his old man that he's just going to go out on one of these ships, and not as a sailor, but as an explorer bravely edging his way across the new continent.

The knots were what bothered him, he was never good at knots. His father said, "Son, knots are life savers, a sailor must know how to tie knots." And he could not knot. He was very bad at it. Whenever he saw someone tying a knot, he would feel sorry for himself, then think, maybe they are good at this, but they cannot read the directions from the stars as well as I do. Maybe they won't survive in the desert because they don't know about the harsh life and the scarce water. Yes, he knew what he wanted to do, yes he knew all about it, he knew he had to go on someday exploring the new continent, and he was preparing himself for it.

But he just could not tie knots.

Not that he could not because he lacked the ability to, but he did lack the motivation. He thought it useless for an explorer to tie knots the way they taught him at school. He knew to tie the "Double Stopper" which was a good strong knot and very very versatile knot as well. He thought it was eough for an explorer to know one knot, just in case, and he knew that one knot well.

He knew that one knot, the "Double Stopper" well.

That day at school, they had the knot test, and all his friends had memorised all the 50 odd knots that were there in their course. The teacher arrived and gave each one of them a pair of ropes. Now Sumer had spent the day before reading up a traveller's account of the Desert, so by the time he'd finished with the diary, it was already dark. He did not want to stay up late, so he went to his room, practised his one good knot and said his prayers before snuggling into bed.

The teacher came upto him, "Figure o' Eight" he said, and Sumer didn't know what that meant. He just looked at the teacher. An old, wrinkly man. Had been a very strict teacher. Sumer stood there with the rope in hand, and meekly said, "Sir, I know only the Double Stopper, and I can make that well." The teacher did not seem to like the idea. He repeated, "are you showing me the Figure o' Eight or not?" Sumer wasn't one of those who would just try and guess, so he said, "Sorry Sir, I don't know the Figure o' Eight. I guess I should fail the test and learn it sometime." The teacher was understanding this time. He said, "Okay Sumer, I'll meet you tomorrow by which time you should be able to learn the Figure o' Eight. Now go."

And Sumer returned that day, thinking about the "Figure o' Eight"

That was the longest night of his life. He kept thinking, kept admonishing himself, kept wondering what the Figure o' Eight would be. He was ashamed to ask anybody, to him this Figure o' Eight had suddenly become a self evaluation test. He wanted to see if he could really make himself perform that feat. He wanted to show to the teacher that he was a good student, a good learner. A simple knot had suddenly rose to becoming a means to tell himself that he would do good in life, whatever he would do, and it was not necessarily becoming a sailor or an explorer, but doing things well. But it all depended on the Figure o' Eight.

Alas! Where should he find out what the knot means. To him all the knots looked same. It was a Double Stopper that he had tied on his practice rope right now and he was fiddling with it, when it suddenly dawned on him. He looked carefully at the knot now, slightly loosened up so that the contours of the knot were clearly visible. He could make out a distinct shape, a distinct figure.

It was a Figure of the number 8!!!

Sumer couldn't believe his eyes. It was the Figure o' Eight knot. He had had it all along with him, thinking that it was something else, he had just not realised that the "Double Stopper" could also have another name, another stupid silly name like the "Figure o' Eight". He realised he was smiling to himself now, no actually laughing. How in a minute all his self doubts had melted away. How a few moments ago, this stupid silly knot was an all-out bechmark for his success or failure in life, and how in a second, it had ben reduced to a mere "Double Stopper"!

But he had learnt something.

He had seen that the Figure o' Eight was not a prize. It was him who had made it as one. It was just a stupid silly knot. And it was something that he already had with him, he already knew how to reach that "Figure o' Eight". Only he had not realised that he knew. Just knowing that he knew made all the difference. Given a situation, he would have tied the very same knot as a Double Stopper, and the teacher would have judged it as the Figure o' Eight.

He realised, that sometimes you have to give the world what it wants in its own terms, not yours.

He realised that it is important to know, but it is also important to know that you know, and to know that you know it well.

He realised that if you don't know something, its maybe something that you have not discovered yet, but that is no reason you should muse about it and raise it to the importance a performance marker.

Sumer had realised this, smiled to himself and made a "Double Stopper" again. "This is my Figure o' Eight," he said, and slowly fell into a quiet peaceful slumber, thinking of the teacher and the test the next day.

In the misty ocean, the foghorn sounded, and a ship had found its way home.