The First Time I ...

Am I ready to blog about the theme for this week? The theme is “My First Time.”

 It is similar to that of the childhood experiences which we did not like. This is a positive version of that post and this brings in a lot of memories. The theme was announced yesterday and many first-time experiences have been circling through my mind ever since, even during my sleep, I guess.

My first time writing, as a teenager, was for the Financial Express about a dance production group from the USSR about 28 years ago. I was very excited to see my first review in print, which was edited by my uncle to give it a professional touch. That period also marked the first time I spoke at a prestigious dance conference about dance and dance critics, which was very exciting.

Recalling my experience of my first-time public speaking at the age of ten during the felicitation of a celebrated music director of the Telugu and Tamil film industries made me feel so nice. I remember sitting along with my uncle on the dais when he informed the organisers that I would also say a few words during the felicitation function. Being the youngest, I was asked to talk first. I had prepared my speech and had mugged it. I vividly remember what I was wearing – a safari suit. As I was reciting it, somebody came up and garlanded me and I promptly forgot how to continue from thereon. I reached into my pocket, took out the speech I had prepared, referred to it, put it back in my pocket and continued, leaving hundreds of people in laughter.

The first time I went to teach in a classroom, I remember being nervous about facing students. My first time invigilation of correspondence education examinations where the students were bringing out bits and pieces of papers from nowhere was astounding. I collected a plastic bag full of bits in the hall and took it to the staff room, about 25 years ago. The first experiences of being a Principal were exciting and definitely had me on my toes.

I realise now that there are so many first-time experiences I cannot remember. For instance, I don’t remember when I started playing cricket though I remember watching the 1973 test match between India and New Zealand in Chepauk, Chennai along with my father. I remember distinctly getting the prize for reciting Florence Nightingale’s story in a school competition and don’t distinctly remember the occasions when I missed out on prizes in that year when we were in the Fifth standard.

And any regrets? There has never been poetry writing till now. I won’t be surprised if the administrators of the 52-Week group will make me do that shortly. But whether I can is a different matter altogether.

Thanks to when my soup came alive, recalling these first-time experiences will leave me feeling happy for a couple of days thinking about these and many more events which I have not written about.