In good form

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, writes Satish K Sharma.

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.

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“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.

“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?