Whichever part of the world you live in and wherever you go, you will be familiar with the basic concept of rules. Most children think that they can escape the constrains of rules once they reach adulthood. But, as I see it, following rules only becomes more imperative as you grow older.
Youngsters also feel that rules stop them from having fun, while adults feel that rules stop people from getting hurt or causing harm to others. Who’s right here? This debate could go on forever.
The truth is, no one really likes rules. Not children, nor adults. Adults have other words for rules, like ‘law’ or ‘obligation’, sometimes it’s synonymous with responsibility. Children too have other words for rules, like ‘boring’ and ‘annoying’. This begs the question, if no one likes rules then why on earth do they exist?
I learned the answer not long ago in the form of a ‘thrilling escapade’, as my friend Arsala would say. It was not long after lunch and none of us were much in the mood to play. I sat reading, others drew, some counted the crusted yellow leaves as they fell (it was the beginning of fall).
“Let’s do something fun,” Amir said as he often did. He was responsible for most of our adventures, or misadventures, as the grown-ups called them.
“Something like what?” Rani snapped, groggy from her afternoon nap as usual.
Silence fell and everyone returned to what they had been doing before the outburst. Then, with great determination, Amir got to his feet, “Let’s explore the cave.”
Books thumped to the ground, notepads flew shut, counters seized to make clicking sounds; even the birds seemed to stop chirping! Everyone simply froze.
“You don’t mean Racha?” Racha was the pet name for the cave, since the word “cave” got rather dull and boring with time, just like rules. What is the cave you must wonder?
Well, it was not really a cave per say, it was more like an opening in one of the walls behind the ground that led in like a tunnel. No one knew where it went, and the grown-ups deemed it “off limits.” We weren’t quite sure what they meant, but they seemed quite angry when they said it, so we assumed it meant the cave. Racha, was bad.
“Don’t be daft Amir,” Tia frowned. Tia was the oldest in our group, and always made sure to act it. She made all the grown-up faces and pretended to know all the grown-up words, even though she was only six months older than me. Her so called ‘olderness’ (which isn’t even a real word, she made it up) earned her the title of Tia, Spanish for aunt.
We couldn’t insult our mothers by comparing her to them (our mothers weren’t in the least snobby like her), so we chose the next best thing. And the funny part was she thought Tia was some sort of high and mighty title, so she never realised we were making fun of her.
“I’m not being daft,” Amir mimicked how Tia had said the last word, “I’m merely suggesting we do something not dull for once.”
Wali looked sceptical of the idea, but then Wali was sceptical of everything. Amir pouted, stubborn as always. He threatened to go on his own. Tia gasped dramatically like some heroine in a movie does at a drastic moment. Rani rolled her eyes.
“What do you say?” Wali asked me.
I shrugged. It had been a dull day as Amir had pointed out, and we so rarely had an opportunity to do something of this sort. Besides, I was rather curious about what lay beyond that tunnel. Maybe it was some magical land like in the storybooks auntie sends me. I agreed to the plan.
“What would our parents say?” Tia sounded angry but looked excited. Rani was a bit less disinterested and shrugged when asked to come along. We took that as a yes.
Ten minutes later, we were all peeking into the tunnel’s opening. Everyone was gathered behind me, ready to throw me under the bus if something happened.
“This was Amir’s idea! Why isn’t he up front?” I complained.
They pretended not to hear, urging me to go in. Slowly, I placed my right foot inside the tunnel and then the left. Nothing happened. Wali took a few moments to examine the tunnel before Rani pushed him in.
“It’s dark,” Tia complained.
Luckily, Wali was carrying a torch. The tunnel had a floor made of dirt like the houses in the countryside. Tia was particularly annoyed by it.
It seemed to go on forever before two things happened. First, a furry shadow flew down from the roof of the tunnel and attacked Amir. Second, a chunk of the dirt roof broke off and scattered over our heads. Of course, dirt couldn’t hurt us, but Tia let loose a shrill scream that should have reached all the way to Africa.
“My dress!” she exclaimed and ran back the way we’d come.
Amir was screaming too and ran after her. The rest of us followed, scared. By the time we were outside, everyone was too out of breath to scream. Amir’s attacker jumped off his head and scurried away.
“It was a mouse!” Tia wheezed.
“No. it was a squirrel,” Rani spoke for the first time that day. We all laughed our heads off, tears streaming down our eyes.
Amir blushed, telling us to stop whilst Tia tried to lecture us through her own fit of giggles.
“You screamed like a girl!” Wali pointed at Amir. “And Tia, if a bit of dirt is all it takes to get rid of you then why didn’t you just tell us?”
Naturally, the neighbours came running at the sounds of our screams. Our parents weren’t pleased by our expedition, but the unexpected fun had been worth the telling off. Amir was a bit more respectful of rules after his humiliation at the hands of the miscreant. When the neighbours’ children heard the story, they started calling him ‘The boy who yelled squirrel.’ It didn’t hurt his feelings; in fact, he was rather delighted to learn he was famous.
So, why do rules exist? Maybe it’s to prevent humiliation, maybe to stop us from getting hurt (as the adults say), or maybe some of them are meant to be broken. One thing’s for sure, they are one tough nut to crack!
Published in Dawn, The Business and Finance Weekly, January 5th, 2022
