Why do humans need to be hailed as experts? Why do people want others to take for granted what they state (as a fact) and not question it?
Why, I may be guilty of a lot of personal flaws but such a weakness is not mine. Never was.
Of course there was one time, and I remember this very clearly even if it was many years ago, when I was ten or so and was talking to a boy two years my junior. Our homes were nearby, the boy and I, and we had the same auto rickshaw for going from school to home. For some reason the auto had not shown up that day and we were walking home.
Now the school we went to did not have a good supply of books and whatever we read was at home. Of course there were no public libraries. We Indians doesn't believe in entrusting just anyone with book. We worship knowledge in all forms. Even if there are libraries, such as charitable trusts or school libraries, they are a kind of book storage space where books are kept safe inside locked cupboards, from possible assault by undeserving adults or worse children. But I am digressing from the subject.
So as I was saying we had a large collection of tasteful children's literature at home. Hand picked and select literature in the form of um, comic books and graphic novels. Not only fighting and killing superhero ones but the knowledge enhancing Asterix and Tintin as well. Mad comics are great for improving sense of humor at an early age, and Archie's comics are a preparation for young-adulthood, for avoiding the mistakes teenagers can make. In short, I was well read and exposed and everyone in my class regarded me as a kind of expert on literature. Of course they were not wrong in doing so, even if I did not ever care for such a distinction.
So this boy. I had not spoken much with this boy before, even if we shared the same auto to school and home everyday, since I was many years his elder. So, when perchance we started talking I informed him about my expertise on literature. The boy was sufficiently impressed.
If stereotypes ever work, they did in this one instance. He was completely the 'type' with round glasses, round face, clenching a hand-kerchief and a body stance that felt he was ready to run away in case I tried to bully him. But even as a child I was against stereotypes and I ignored the cues, and went on describing what I had read and thus knew.
He had not heard of any of the books I had read, of course. So I went on to enlighten him for quite some time. At some point he also spoke and mentioned that he also likes reading. Being the gentle soul I am, I encouraged him to speak. He mentioned some books [which I don't remember since I had never heard of them, but I will make up some names for sake of continuity, as I always do] like Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl. But he also mentioned some familiar names such as Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes.
[I felt a slight legwards tug that could dethrone me if I did not do something right then. So I did what I am very good at, I spun a yarn (we did not call it blogging then). My mind raced and reeled to recollect the tit-bits of data I may have come across. And within a few fractions of a second...]
Of course I had read the books he had read. In fact I had read many more books about the detective in question, than he knew existed [or were ever written for that matter] -
He is that detective that smokes pipe isn't he? ...and he has a friend, a doctor. Like Chacha Chowdhary and Sabu*. But the doctor is not strong and big like Sabu, who is from Jupiter of course...
The boy looked at me silently, in awe I was assured.
And his pointed mustaches are so funny. And there was this case when something happens on a train and he has to solve it before the train reaches its destination... Yes a very nice character... I even know how he died. He is fighting with... and falls over this waterfall...
His silence at the end of my discourse sounded familiar to me. [Like a fanfare of bugle, assuring me of a complete victory in retaining my throne. I could command such expertise even when I had never laid an eye on any of the books in question. In fact I had never opened a book which did not have pictures of people with bubbles coming out of their mouths and other anatomical parts where things can come out of.]
I speak only completely objectively, as an experienced educator who has expertise and authority in this matter, when I say, that an eight year old should not be allowed to read books written for adults. It is shameful that his own parents encouraged and/or allowed him to read such books. I am completely and utterly against such shameful and careless parenting.
And they did not teach him any manners either.
He avoided looking into my eyes and spoke too softly to be respectful -
Agatha Christie was a woman, not the kind with pointed mustaches either.
Of course anyone could confuse Agatha Christie, Hercule Poirot, and Sherlock Holmes. His supercilious behaviour was completely uncalled for.
* Indian comic book characters
