A friend recently asked me about my views on crying, which is probably what triggered this memory. That and academic hassles and disappointments.

When in the fifth grade at the school-we-do-not-name, I was Horrible at math. There's horrible and there's Horrible. I was the latter. Consistently flunked because I could not 'get it'. Everything has that 'Aha!' factor where it clicks with you and suddenly it makes sense; it's relevant to your world! Math was far from relevant, hence I was Horrible at it. Moving along, the particular memory was that my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Khan [Khan - the Pakistani equivalent of Smith] was telling me off (as usual) for not having done my math homework and willfully disobeying her attempts to make me catch up by completing the previously incomplete work. That particular day she was greatly peeved, to put it mildly, and was on the process of taking the ruler to me. It was seeing that drastic action was needed, I burst into tears. I recall that at that age, (probably 10 or 11?) it was the absolute height of unfairness that I should be made to do math when I just couldn't. Being a brat back then as well, I could not understand how it was possible to be forced to do something you're obviously terrible at over and over, just so that you can fail over and over again. Out of sheer frustration and desperation (ruler's getting closer!), I cried. Not the bawling kind, mind you. Just the silent tears, which left even the teacher speechless. I was the dheet kid who was probably just stupid as well. And if it wasn't for that essay I'd written that she'd pinned up to the softboard, she probably would have dismissed me as easily as just another stupid kid and been nicer to me. She let me off that day, even comforted me. Oddly, till the seventh grade, I was all but flunking out of school. Instead of repeating the year, as a dumb/dheet kid ought to, my mum put me in a smaller school. Oddly, that first midterm, I finished my math paper first and got it graded right at that moment before me. Ninety-one percent. Not bad for a stupid kid. My theory is that I had a self constructed death wish in the former place and once I was out, I was free to do well, which is why we do not mention that first school's name. The point of the story was that this was the occasion that came to my mind since it was the only occasion where I had ever cried in public.