When I was 12 and studying in this prim and proper (or rather propah) school, I did something horrid – dug into my nose.
This was no ordinary dig. It was executed with precision, a warlike attack on the insides of the nose. Unfortunately at that precise moment when the residue was about to be tasted by the tongue, a teacher passed by.
“Stop it!” she yelled. “Looks like your parents have not taught you basic manners. It reflects poorly on them. Don’t ever do so and if your are caught again you will get six of the best.”
I was taken aback for sure. What was wrong with my actions? I had seen many a good man poke into the beak with immense pleasure. And like any growing kid who checked the mirror every day for a strand on the chin that habit was taken up.
May be it was a man thing. May be it could be done once you cross 18. Whatever it was, I took up the habit with vigour.
Follow the leader was the motto. If he can do it, I will do it.
Now this rebuke from the teacher had to be studied. So I checked with a friend. He gave me the thumbs up. I needed clarification – should I or should I not was the question. The friend said he did it and it felt orgasmic.
It was pointless. I thought I would be better to consult the teacher to get an insight.
So I caught up with the teacher when she was free. She was looking sternly at me as if I had committed a crime or copied during the examinations. However, mustering up the courage I asked her about the archaeology I had been practicing on the body part.
Fortunately she was in a pleasant frame of mind. Somebody must have told her something in her ear which brought about the radiant look. She seemed almost human.
“Gentlemen don’t dig their noses in public. It is an unpleasant habit and looks bad on the person.
“Do you know that people don’t even wash their hands after digging into their noses? I mean, you may have eaten food after digging the nose without washing your hands. That nose stuff must have mingled with the food.
“See how dirty it is. Stop immediately and get hygienic.” I think I got what she meant now. This was a hygiene thing, worthy of pursuing.
However, the imagination went berserk with possibilities. Had the maid dug her nose before cooking? Had she washed her hands after the act? And what about restaurants? All the cooks there must be embellishing the food with the snot or boogers?
No, absolutely NO. I won’t do it again for sure, I told myself, the hands in variably heading southwards towards the backside in the process.
“Stop scratching your behind. You are a spoilt, disgusting creature with filthy habits,” barked the teacher.
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