...and ones that simply refuse to get out of your mind...

I feel, in Life there are just three types of incidents.
1. The ones which you never remember
2. The ones which you vaguely remember after racking your brains for a long time
3. And there are ones that simply refuse to get out of your mind; even if you suffered from amnesia.
The incident that I am about to narrate falls in the last category.
Now please accompany me. We are traveling back to 1991, for that is when it happened. Also bear in mind that the protagonist (Don’t blink, it’s me) is an 8 year old guy...or...a kid rather, studying in third standard.
Ready? Here we go…

"How many times should I tell you to get up early in the morning? You jump out of your bed at 7.15 and expect to get ready to catch the school van at 7.30?" shouted my mum from the kitchen. She continued to hurtle more abuses at me, but luckily they got drowned in the first whistle sound of the pressure cooker! Grabbing a towel I dashed inside the bathroom. Two minutes flat. The bathroom door flung open and out came I, scurrying towards my cupboard like a drenched chicken. I looked at the clock. 07:19. Will I make it?
The uniform had to be worn; breakfast had to be sent down the throat; my unruly hair had to be disciplined; dirty shoes had to be worn…but wait; did I brush my teeth?...I gave the benefit of doubt to myself. As the "To Do" list continued to stack one upon the other, I opened my cupboard and got the Shock of my life. My uniform was not pressed!! The other pair had been put to wash.
I went into a flashback to the previous day’s evening. (A flashback inside a flashback!)
"The laundry man has not turned up today. May be he is sick, so don’t forget to get the uniform ironed by the laundry man in the next street and also…." I came back to the present when the pressure cooker whistled for the second time. Now what was I to do? I had comfortably forgotten about the un-ironed uniform and had whiled away the entire evening playing caramboard with Asif and Rizwana. Without losing any more time, I had to think fast and come out with a solution. It was then that my eyes fell upon it. Lying in the bottom of my cupboard, was an Iron box (I think it was a marriage gift for my parents) in a completely desolate state.
Looking around, I quickly took it out and wiped the dust and cobwebs with my bare hands. After wiping it, it looked neat, making me very pleased. But something was missing. It stuck me all of a sudden; the cover of the handle was missing. Red, green and yellow wires were sticking out. Now, that dint quite please me, but I had no other option than to iron out the wrinkles of the shirt and wear it. I had decided not to waste time in ironing the half trouser assuming that the wrinkles won’t be visible in the dark shaded garment (Moreover it was a boys school and hence I dint worry too much about my appearance)!!
But wait; I had to do this without the knowledge of anyone, else I will end up getting thrashed by whoever comes upon me first. So I stealthily plugged in the iron box, switched it on and kept it on the dining table. I looked around carefully, my mother was busy in the kitchen; dad was immersed inside "The Hindu"; elder sister was no where to be seen and elder brother was still asleep. Perfect setting. I looked again at the iron box. Something dint seem quite right about it still. Then I realized that it had to be kept in an upright vertical position and not in the horizontal fashion in which I had laid out. Just as I was about to lift it up, my sister walked in....
She looked at me standing on the dining table chair with the uniform shirt in hand; the bedspread spread on the dining table and the iron box kept on top of it with the power on. Quickly guessing what I had been up to, she glowered at me and shouting that I should not keep the iron box in the horizontal position, she stretched out her hand and grabbed the handle….
The third whistle of the pressure cooker was drowned by the sound of a teenaged girl shouting her lungs off.
My sister was jumping around; jerking her hand but the iron box wouldn’t fall off her hand. As electricity continued to pass into her body, I stood on the chair, watching her like a statue. I was too shocked to shout, but suddenly it erupted out. I still could see myself shouting like an insane idiotic imbecile (!!!), while my sister stood next to me; crying hysterically and trying frantically to get the iron box out of her hand.
When so much action was going around, how can we leave elder brother out? He too joined us pretty soon, the Idiot. My sister was shouting because electricity was passing through her (made perfect sense), I was shouting because I was standing next to her (made some sense), but why the hell would a guy in deep sleep, jump out of his bed throwing his pillow into the fan and start shouting? (It still baffles me, 15 years later!)
By the time my mum and dad dashed into the scene, my sister had managed to bring the Iron box crashing to the ground by a violent jerk of the hand. I heaved a sigh of relief. I looked around. The aunty and uncle, who lived downstairs, were seen standing inside the room asking something to my sister. "Hey! How did they come to know" I wondered.
My mother was busy attending to her daughter and my brother sat on his bed scratching his head, trying to figure out what the commotion was all about. I turned around and saw my father slowly walk towards me, belt in hand…

The horn of the school van at the gate was drowned by the screams of an eight year old kid…