I hate math. And I really, really hate numbers. I am getting to see a lot of them lately. And I am being forced to remember them. That’s worse.

When I was born, I must have been Baby # 28, W-1.8 Kgs, Bed # 4, Ward # D1

Born 8.58 am, 18-12-1952. As per the hospital records. Makes it easier for the Docs and the nurses. I guess. At least it is easy for the billing clerk.

Well, during that phase in life all I wanted was milk and didn’t care two burps about numbers. Ignorance was truly bliss.

My problems started in early school days. Pre-KG. The time when you barely toddle, forget math. The phase where you can barely walk straight and not look like a drunkard, they pack you off to school.

A-B-C was fun. 1-2-3 was OK. Coming to think of it, that phase was when I started learning the most important lessons in life. The sweet Nun used to give me sweets every-time I did something good- even passably good. I learnt then that to get anything done, you can use bribes. And that I do like sweets.

My days were numbered when I went to a boarding school. My socks, my underpants, my vests, my box and everything I possessed were numbered too. I was number 386. Three-ate-six.

For many, many years I passed off as three-ate-six.

When I went to high school, my number progressed to 786. More Powerful. New and Improved. Later on I realized why computers started getting numbered.

I saw examples everywhere. I started looking around. Our good old Ambassador had progressed from Mark 1 to Mark 1V. And it was actually getting better.

I applied that principle to my rank. I progressed from a measly 2 to 22. I still remember the heat in my ear when my principal held it between his thumb and forefinger and applied the squeeze!

I hate Math!!!! The fundamentals are all wrong!!!! Just when you feel you have figured it all out, they come with a new formula. A tougher one.

In college too, numbers meant bad news. This time it was in the form of minimum attendance. You needed at least 120 days of attendance. (You know I don’t care enough for numbers to keep remembering them). What-ever.

Falling short of that number meant, Vada-Chai for the peon in the college canteen. And some pocket money for covering his risk. And easing his conscience.

Then running to a friendly family Doctor and falling at his feet. The only hitch is that at 19, weighing 75 kgs and sporting a build like Mercury makes the job pretty tough for him. Doling out a prescription for say liver cirrhosis or acute myocardial infarction induced by the stress of impending exams would be completely out of the question.

A fever or a common cold is passable. But getting admitted in the hospital for a week is ruled out!

After much begging and pleading and cajoling, I did manage to get sick for 46 days.

46 problems done with and certified. Now I had only a bigger number like 63 to deal with.

The major number problems in my adulthood were with Banks. Bankers just love numbers more that I hate them. They play around with them all day. You are just a token. Who has to wait for his number to appear. And one blink, it is gone.

You have your account number which you must keep safe. All your checks and balances are numbered. Even your money is numbered. It is a world of numbers there.

Credit card, Debit card, Password(again a number), PIN, PAN, SHAN, WAN, LAN, RAN!

All these are numbers! Scary!!!! And dangerous buggers! If you forget them for one minute, you had it!!!!

Now I believe the latest plot is to make you one single number. So that there is no hassle of remembering all these myriad ones. One single number, One world, One government.

Hail Hitler!