Heroes – Chapter 1

So, in the throes of typhoid, I finally decided to write a blog post - a story. I call this 'Chapter 1', although I don't know whether there will ever be a Chapter 2. Anyway, please comment on the outcome of my delirium...

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Hey there. I am Superman. Really, I am. All right, but I do have a couple of superhuman powers – actually, maybe just one. Still don't understand? Well then, let me explain it to you like a six-year old. I have an interesting skill acquired through years of dedication, right from childhood. I measure stuff. Better than anyone you've seen.

It all started when I first learnt about numbers. My mother still remembers fondly, "We taught you the first ten numbers when you were three. And you know what you said – 5 and a half (the average of the first 10 numbers). At that moment, we knew we were onto a blessed child." And boy, did they show me off! We had visitors every weekend – and they always had the same questions for me. "What's the mode of 1-20? Good. Now tell me the temperature of that apple. Well, you must be right. What's your dad's weight? Haha, all right, we won't go there." My parents inculcated another habit in me during my formative years. Every night, I used to drink milk and sleep at 9. Soon, these habits became ingrained. In fact, during the milk rationing, I had a lot of trouble sleeping initially. But wonder of wonders, I soon adapted, and my body soon began to secrete lactose automatically. Maybe I can also alter genes. Note to self – should add that to my roster of superpowers.

Anyway, my life was quite eventful because of my superpower. Please don't nitpick – skill-superpower, potato-potaato, etc. In my tweens, we used to go to our farm in Rayalseema a lot. My father always asked me to tell him the speed of the wind. Then he asked me when rain would come, and the expected rainfall. Initially it was an interesting pastime. But when we saw that my accuracy was remarkable, my dad started taking me to the farm EVERY summer vacation. "You want to go to the travelling circus next month? Let's make a plan! Actually wait, that's in May, during your vacation. We'll be at the farm, creating food for people to eat! Don't feel bad now, I know it's hard. You have a gift, but it's also a curse. Such is your destiny." God, I hated those sentences.

My mother is a hardy Tamilian woman. And nowhere was this more evident than when she went shopping for vegetables and fruits. Sometime in my early teens, she hit upon an idea. She started taking me with her. First she'd bargain the price down. Then, once the vendor gave her a kilogram of apples, she'd have me weigh it with my hands. Of course, to make a margin on the by-now ridiculously low price, the vendor had used faulty weights. During the first few times, bitter battles ensued. So she borrowed authentic weights from a neighbor, till all the vendors in the area were aware and apprehensive of my reputation. She was also fun-loving – so she started telling me to hide behind a tree. And after reducing the price, she'd say, "I'll have to believe you this time. My son is playing cricket. And once he'd smile and give her the fruits – out I'd come from behind the tree!" Many a night was full of mirth about her latest escapade. Of course, cricket I never played – my mom always shopped in the early evenings when the streets came to life. Another blight on my very interesting life.

There was one time I said, "Hang it all. Let me do something really ordinary for a change." I knew that people used to sing and play musical instruments at railway stations for money. Some were really good at singing "Chahoonga main tujhe, saanj savere". But most were hardly up to acceptable standards, to put it mildly. Estimating an opportunity (see what I did there), I started standing around at stations. I'd tell passers-by, "Give me a few coins. Without looking at them, I'll guess their denominations." Unsurprisingly, in retrospect, customers weren't exactly open to seeing the trick after they'd unhanded their money. Then, I started standing at food stalls telling people, "Let me hold your samosa. I'll tell you its weight and temperature." That didn't work either – wonder why. I used to wash my hands everyday – their dubious looks at my hands weren't warranted at all. Soon I accepted defeat and came back to the real world, as it were.

People started coming to me to save a trip to the dentist for a biannual checkup. I'd run a finger over their teeth and say – "Hmm. You have cavities on your pre-molars and your first molar on the left side of your lower jaw. You should get them filled. But the cavities in your upper jaw have all healed – good work! You may need to fill cavities on the right side of your lower jaw, but you still have time for that. Brush well – there's some food stuck between your canines and pre-molars. That's it. Oh, and you have a wisdom tooth coming – maybe you'll be smarter when we meet next. Haha, just kidding!" Soon, I started diagnosing my own teeth as well – my dentist bills were always lower than the mean of my demographic.

There's only one problem. I can't measure my own temperature. I could tell other people's temperatures fine by holding their hands, to the tenth of a degree. But when it came to mine, I just couldn't. When I touched my temple with my index finger, my brain calculated a temperature. Unfortunately, I did not know what my hand's temperature was. I knew scientifically that fingers are usually colder than necks or temples. But therein lies the rub. Regardless of whether I feel hale and hearty or sick as a small boy suffering a relapse of chicken pox (people say you get it only once, but I got it twice!), my hands would always be slightly colder. My friend at Infosys calls it 'recursion', and says it's a very complex structure to create. He clearly doesn't know jack – its well nigh impossible. I tried many tactics. First, I bought an apple and checked its temperature (with my hand). Then I put it to my forehead for two minutes, and then kept it aside for two minutes. Then I lifted it again and estimated the temperature. But that didn't really work either – my hands were measuring the temperature, and I didn't know their temperature! Told the wife "I want to hold your hand", and then held her hand. Then kept it on my forehead for two minutes. After two minutes (you guessed it) held it again. That didn't work either. Bloody recursion!

But wait! I think I've got it. I'll go buy a thermometer and use it to absorb my temperature. Then I'll touch the thermometer with my hand to check its temperature. Yeah I know I don't know the temperature of my hand yet. You're nitpicking again – I'll just check the thermometer's reading to correct for measurement errors. And it's done. Eureka! Harmony restored, at long last, on Planet Krypton. Then I slept.