This was a very tough question that was asked in one of the final exams, when we were in class 7 or 8. Honestly speaking, if someone were to ask me the same question today, I would probably say as long as fire is hot enough to light my cigarette, I don't care (obviously hiding the fact that I still don't know a convincing answer to this question and yeah I'm just too lazy to look it up on the world wide web). After all these years, when I think about this question, I wonder about the unique role that fire has had in my life.
All through my childhood I've constantly heard the phrase "Fire! Get some water! Quick!", and this phrase was the signal for me to split and disappear somewhere, someplace where no one could see me (with a wicked smile on my face). I've always had a liking towards this hot wavy thing that is produced when we light a match just like how the common housefly would race towards the dustbin or an open drain. I have no words to explain this love-love relationship.
Act 1- Some time in 1987-88, when the entire household was asleep after a big fat south Indian lunch (served on banana leaves).
Cast - Balaji, cheetah fight brand match box, rag used to clean the scooters and motorbikes (was dipped in engine oil or petrol and left to dry naturally), the hut (used to protect the vehicles from the elements), the TNEB (tamilnadu electricity board) main panel (this is where electricity is distributed to every room in the building - the hut was built to protect this too)
What happened? - Taking a nap after lunch was something that I've never done. So when the family was asleep, I had the entire house to myself. We had a hut constructed near the drive way, all the vehicles were parked under the hut. The hut also protects (protected) the main electrical panel which is connected to the mainline that distributes power to the entire locality. On that particular day, there was this piece of cloth that was hanging out from the hut, apparently it was one of the many uncles I have who had done this after cleaning his motor bike. The piece of cloth was dipped in petrol. It was much later in life, I learnt that petrol protects metal components from rusting. It was about half a meter in area, extremely dirty and swaying gently in air like a flag and I can swear that the cloth was actually calling me :). I thought hard and with 4 years of experience behind me, I decided to test if the cloth would actually catch fire. I silently went into the kitchen and stole a matchbox-cheetah fight. Only when I walked into the hut again did I realize that the cloth was actually too high to reach. Using all the trigonometry I had learnt in my hitherto uneventful 4 years of life on this planet, I managed to reach the cloth (i just climbed on my dad's scooter). Every time I tried touching the piece of cloth, the breeze used to take it away from me, it was very pissing off. Then finally the world stood still :p. I lit a match and threw it on the piece of cloth, and the cloth caught fire. When my experiment turned successful, I decided to end it. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't reach the cloth, the damn fire had eaten up portions of the cloth that I was previously able to reach. Sudden panic, a lot of sweating, I dint know what to do. I got off the scooter, walked in and hid under the bed. That was the first time in my life I heard "Fire! Get some water! Quick!". My uncle had gone out for a smoke, and he saw the fire. By the time they could get water, the fire had started burning the electrical cables, that was when the sight of my father made me shit bricks. After about a million buckets of water and with the help of the entire street, the 17th street fire fighters got the fire under control. We were without electricity for a couple of days. That was one time when my father dint bother to beat the daylights out of me, the family wanted to do it, and my father happily obliged.
Learning from the incident - Don't light a fire when the household is asleep, light a fire when no one is home.

Act 2 - Diwali, some time in 1990
Cast - manohar (my bum pal), balaji, atom bomb (standard fireworks), post box, local police constable
What happened? - Diwali was fast becoming the best days of my life, and the worst for the family. I wouldn't blame them. All the pain that I put the family through during diwali is a part of the family legend. The family speaks about the stories every year, passing it on to all newcomers. This particular diwali was one of the most exciting ones i've ever celebrated. Usually diwali is like - early morning-have a head bath-wear new clothes-go to the temple- play with fireworks-eat a huge brunch with lot of sweets-watch some new movie on TV-meet relatives-play with some fireworks- dinner-sleep. This is what a normal human being clelbrating diwali does. My routine is a just a little different, play with fireworks-play with fireworks-trouble the family-play with fireworks-play with fireworks-trouble the family-play with fireworks-eat-play with fireworks-play with fireworks-trouble the family-eat-play with fireworks-play with fireworks-eat-play with fireworks-play with fireworks-trouble the family-sleep. That morning, manohar and me were trying new and innovative methods to play with the atom bomb. We used to light the bomb, cover it with a coconut shell and see how high the shell flies. We tried this a few times and then got bored. That is when "god" showed us the post box at the corner of our street. It was love at first sight. We lit one atom bomb each and threw it inside the post box. I just wanted to prove the fact that apart from empty vessels, even half empty post boxes make a lot of noise. I was right, the noise was earsplitting. Instead of "Fire! Get some water! Quick!", I heard someone whistling, and I saw a local police constable running towards us. Again the habitual feeling of panic, lots of sweating, but this time I knew what to do. I ran. I ran home. The cop ran after me, not after manohar, but after me. My dad and the cop had a heated discussion and before I could understand what happened, my dad was running after me. 17th street saw a boy running and his father chasing him with a very nasty look on his face.
Learning(s) from the incident - I can run faster than my dad. The postal department does not deliver letters that are half burnt.

Act 3 - Sometime, a little after diwali 1993-94
Cast - balaji, old lorry next door, color rocket (standard fireworks), the nosyiest neighbour in the universe
What happened? - It was a very uneventful and silent diwali. I was feeling very wierd and restless. There was still some fire crackers leftover, amongst the leftovers was my all time favourite - the color rocket. This was my favourite because, i used to ignite this thing and throw it in the direction i wanted it to go or aim it at people who were not nice to me. On that particular day i was way off mark everytime i took aim. I was very disappointed. So I decided to do it the usual way, just throw it up aiming at the sky and watch it go. I was way off target yet again. This time the rocket flew directly towards the unused old lorry next door. The neighbours next door actually used the lorry, if not for transporting goods, they used it for storing stuff. The stuff that they were storing at that time was hay for the cattle they bred. I dint know that, i swear! Initially I thought that no damage was done, but 20-25 seconds later, I knew that this time i had struck a gold mine. I looked around, I dint see anyone and I thought I had escaped undetected. Again that magic phrase "Fire! Get some water! Quick!". But this time, no panic and no sweating. Slowly but surely there was this massive crowd trying to put the fire out. The famed 17th street fire fighters couldn't do this. In came the specialists, I saw a fire engine for the first time in my life. After a long fight, they succeeded in putting the fire off. I was really happy that no fingers were pointed towards me. But somehow I had a feeling that my dad knew the root cause. Then I saw my father talking with the guy living across the street, and I also saw the vein on my father's head popping out slowly (panic and a lot of sweating). I really dont want to say what happened after that, all that I can say is that I still have the marks.
Learning(s) from the incident - The guy across the street can speak tamil and fire engines are red in color.

I still haven't answered or tried answering the question 'Why is fire hot', and I have no intentions to do so. Probably sometime in future, I will have a satisfying answer to the question. I cant even remember why i started writing this blog. These are just some of the incidents that fire and me have in common, there are a lot more, and as someone once adviced me, I'll take the fifth here and remain silent. cheers!