The Story of Spirit

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 We had a class on the Prothalamion by our HOD mam. When I go through the poem, in the first stanza, the third line, the third word striked me with a hilarious incident from my school life. As a Corona all pass batch, I never entered any lab except the computer upto my 11th grade. It was the first time we went to the chemistry lab. We were amazed by the arrangement of all the acids and bases in the lab. My friends used to say that it reminded them of the kitchen. Actually, our chemistry lab holds extraordinary memories due to our curiosity about the chemicals. Our madam explained the procedure, separated us into groups, and asked us to start the experiment. Me and my friends, who were mostly in our own world, didn't concentrated properly on our mam's explanation and it also affected our practical. We were all confused about what should be mixed with what. Do we need to heat it or cool it? We somehow managed it by asking the nearby groups. But at last, we should heat the substance. We tried to do it, but our spirit lamp stopped burning. 

It's actually time to complete the practical and many teams have completed it. We didn't know what to do, so me and my friend asked one of our friends near us. We thought that the spirit lamp was exactly like the kerosene lamp that we used at home during childhood. So one of my friends took it and tried to light it with the help of another spirit lamp. Suddenly, there was a thundering sound. Yeah, it's our chemistry mam's voice. She was in hyper-anger mode. She scolded us because a spirit lamp is not like a kerosene lamp. It's very inflammatory, and we are not supposed to light it up like we used to with kerosene lamps. And even sometimes, when handling H2SO4 (sulphuric acid), we accidentally touched some drops of it, which finally ends in irritation.




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