Band-aid

It was  a Monday morning. A Monday morning that borrowed from its Sunday a little hangover.

I was six then and my Sunday had been one of damage, I had toppled down a wall, landed on my cousin, broke her left leg and my right hand. I always made sure I had company in crime.

That was the first time I was bandaged. Officially formally bandaged by a crony doctor and lousy nurses in a 1980's dettol smelling hospital.

There was something about that bandage. It was white, crystal white and had a dignified 'I am a bandage' feel about it.

I remember the way my classmates especially the boys crooned over it fascinated and overwhelmed all at once.

And in fact I felt special since we were all owners of shoes , ties and badges alike but I was the only one with that white bandage. It hung my pudgy right hand in limp dignity like a special right hand.

Alan asked for my sling and so by the end of the first class , his hand lay dignified in that white bandage. By the end of recess, both the vijays took turns wearing it.

The end of the day of course saw me stranded in front of the Principal's office.Yet I felt a sense of almost sportsmanship in having shared my bandage with my team.

Such a warm feeling of shared pain it was that it didn't matter that I was being punished for undignified behaviour on a corridor smelling of forbidden sins and confessions.

A vista of years later, the memory of that spirit helps. I can play  trade on  a hospital bed.