Doc has a knack for it. She’ll disappear, off the phone, off FB, off the face of the earth, but every time I’m sick, even if it’s just a sneeze-inducing, brain-addling allergy like I had recently, she turns up. How she does it, is anybody’s guess. Strange as it is, Doc and I have no direct connection, except that we went to the same school. You’d say that’s a connection, but actually, it’s not. She went to the said school the six years that I didn’t and I went there the two years that she didn’t. Basically, we both studied with the same people, at different points in time, and so, have countless mutual friends. I’d met her in passing a couple of times, but knew nothing beyond the fact that she wanted to be a doctor. Then, about two years ago, we were re-introduced. “Happytoberandom writes about babies (I was, at the time, writing for a magazine for parents) and Doc delivers babies (she’d been interning with a gynaecologist),” said The Lazy Housewife. No, we did not bond over the babies at all. But by the end of the evening, Doc and I had decided we were decidedly fond of each other. We had made the fraandships.
No, this is not a post about our fraandships. I just wrote the above para because I felt like it. This post is actually about an interesting point that came out of our conversation, while my brain was still addled and I was sneezing my innards out (Oh, did I just disgust you? Well, I’m not sorry :p). So, apart from showing up when I’m sick and having the ability to make me take meds (how I hate those things), Doc also has a knack for saying some of the most profound things, without quite intending to. Now, I usually don’t go into that area (profundity) in my posts. But that one intended-to-be-funny statement Doc made has had me thinking, and questioning its truism.
So, Doc was trying to sell me the idea of meeting this friend of hers, a boy of course. She used every rationale possible–he’s tall, she thinks he’s good-looking, he’s intelligent, he’s just moved to this city and knows very few people, blah blah blah. I finally conceded. Well, she’d convinced me, but was at a loss as to what was to be done next. Her excuse: “These things weren’t taught in school.” Well, Doc, did we emerge a trifle ill-equipped for life?
Over the last few years, I have found myself in or seen those around me in situations we were never taught to handle. Not in school, at least. Like how to handle the screechy landlady. Or how to survive a dragon boss. Or what to do with the realisation of the fact that you’re hopelessly in love. Or how to get past the incorrigible office gossip. Or what to do with a friend who insists on behaving like an adolescent. Or what to do with a horror of a mother-in-law. Or something as commonplace as running a house. No siree, school does not teach you that. Life does. It’s not the classroom teaching that tells you how to deal with a truant maid or cook for your husband every evening. It’s your instinct and good sense that gets you through these situations. You learn to get around it, or you get past the situation.
Education is what you remember after you’ve forgotten what you’ve learned, my mom, the teacher, said. Well, it’s been a long time since I forgot all about carbon and its compounds, and calculus. But you do somehow manage to figure out the value of X in an equation. Like The Lazy Housewife finally figured out shortcuts to feeding her husband (courtesy yours truly, but nonetheless). Or like The Novice Housewife learned to put her time to good use on her blog (thenovicehousewife.wordpress.com). Or how Morbid Kat decided the only way to get away from the monster MIL was, unfortunately, by ending her marriage. And, like it struck Doc (brilliance at its best! :p) that all she needed to do was give the guy my number. It’s another matter that a week on, he still hasn’t called. Perhaps he’s going through his books to see if they said anything about how to go about a phone call 🙂