Gul

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The perfect Gul (Bluff) is an audacious and atrocious mix of fiction with fiction. Requires practice and training (like teaching at IIT KGP).

Summer vacations circa 1990: All the grandkids of the family used to gather at my father's place for a month or so. There were about half a dozen ranging in age from 12 to 3. I was the only 'uncle' available with time hanging heavily on my sultry hands. Mornings and evenings they used to play outdoor games but otherwise they would flock around me for entertainment.

I knew that they were all in English Medium Schools. So I used to engage them to competitively play word games like 'What is the Good Word?' and 'Superghosts' (an invention of Thurber where letters can be 'prefixed' as well as suffixed in 'Word-Building'). I was the compere and the 6 boys and girls save the last (3 years old) used to participate en masse and enjoy competing among themselves; and learning too.

I could guess that this last niece of mine felt left out but never said anything. Such girls belong to the 'Sensitive High IQ' group and I learned from my teaching experience that they should be ignored and left alone till they feel safe that they won't be humiliated. The other end of the girl spectrum is 'Brash High TQ'. These should be encouraged from Day 1 till they feel at home.

This last niece of mine found a time when all others were busy outdoors and came to me for a story:

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Me: How old are you?

She: 3

Me: I was born at 3 and straight went to school after my father slipped the uniform on me

She: You are bluffing

Me: Ask your mom

She: .................I asked and she told you are lying

Me: How does she know? She was born ten years later in front of my eyes at age zero. Because I was born at 3, they recruited me at IIT as a teacher at 21 and all others at 24. Ask your mom

She: ..................My mom says that part is ok. Anyway tell me a story

Me: I will do that if you promise not to interrupt

She: Ok

Me: There was this Pied Piper at Hamelin

She: I know this story. My mom told me

Me: How does it end?

She: The Mayor refuses to pay and the Piper leads all kids to drown in the Sea

Me: Your mom tells scary tales. Actually the Piper lures the Mayor's daughter away from all and marries her. And it turns out that this crying daughter of Mayor realizes that the Piper in truth is a Prince of the neighboring Kingdom. They lived happily forever

She: .............I like your stories; Tell me another.

Me: There is this goose that lays golden eggs

She: ......I know this; but anyway (cheerfully anticipating) go ahead....

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I used to play this trick on students of my Physics Class at IIT KGP. Used to tell them tall tales of the exploits of their famous Seniors who were in my Class. Since the names were rather well-known they couldn't contest. Here is one:

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"..ZC sat grimly alone in the back bench. He never took Notes nor even pulled his pen out of his pocket in my Theory Class. He used to stare piercingly at the blackboard and my back. I knew he was a serious student trying to absorb each word I utter and each step I write. I didn't mind.

When it came to the 4-dimensional Green Function the blackboard had to wiped clean thrice before the pithy end result materialized (SB later told me he never had to read EMT since he mastered this one result from my class). I used to ask the students to dump all the dozen or so intermediate numerical factors like 4, pi, i into a bracket in front of each step and keep track. The other 11 students were busy copying profusely from the blackbaord. At the end I would sit down and ask the students to multiply all the bracketed factors and come out with the right value of the final denominator. Others would take 10 minutes to figure it out the hard way. But ZC would at once announce: (1/4 pi). I smile implying he knew the famous asswer. He would then reel out each bracketed figure one by one from his head and multiply them aloud one after the other.

I would lift my eyebrows and utter in astonishment: "ZC, you are a genius!"

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This story was lapped up by everyone and did the rounds till IM happened to meet ZC and confront him with it. Apparently ZC replied laconically: "True but for the last line".

The other day I blogged a piece called 'My Fair Russian Lady'. It evoked a response from Aniket saying 'pilmony' ought to be 'pelmeny' and giving its funda. I then wrote to him saying the story was like an inverted iceberg with 90% exposed and the last 10% hidden: "She was a KGB agent".

Promptly I got this response:

"...My father, who entertained us with stories at bedtime on a regular basis, always told me that for the purposes of a good narrative, it was never necessary to stick to facts, so I have learnt very early to have utter disregard for facts....."

I was so impressed that I at once chose him to write his famous Foreword for my booklet: 'Woolgathering'.

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