Help me with these, papa,” my daughter said, handing me some forms. They were for admission to half a dozen national law schools. Just when I was looking forward to some anxiety-free days, after her Class XII exams, came this new trouble. Trouble, because I have a phobia of forms. I wonder if the dictionary has a word for it, but writing neatly and cramming those details in the given spaces is a struggle for me.
“Aren’t you supposed to fill these?” I asked. “Not all schools insist on that,” she said. So, I got on with the task. It took me two days to complete them, write down addresses on the envelopes and assemble the attachments. I did a recheck to ensure that the documents had been put together correctly. I was rewarded for my caution — I had mixed up the demand drafts. Ergo, unstapled the forms. They obliged, but not without tasting a bit of my flesh. Thus, battle-bruised, I tried to fold and squeeze these into the envelopes. But no matter how much I tried, the photos came in the way. Using more imagination than force, I folded each document differently. But the bunches became too thick and just would not fit in the envelopes. So, I ordered bigger envelopes and rewrote all the addresses. At last, when the packets were ready, I heaved a sigh of relief and had them dispatched.
A couple of hours later, when the orderly gave me the receipts, a new terror gripped me. Darn, I had forgotten to recheck if the forms had been placed in correct envelopes! But nothing could be done. Considering that the due date was near, I had sent them by the Speed Post. I did not tell this to my daughter and was anxiety-ridden till I found out that all forms had reached the correct destinations. When she got selected to one school, I let out a sigh and said, “All’s well that ends well!”
“But I was confident about it, Papa,” daughter said. “Despite your clumsy father?” I was about to ask but did not. How could I shake her confidence in me?