There’s a word that is being heard more often, in these days of television and movie watching. It is, of course, the term ‘prequel’. Which, as we all know now is the opposite of ‘sequel’, and related to ‘midquel’ and ‘threequel’. Fans of particular television shows apparently grow so fond of certain lead characters that they thirst to know what those characters were like in an earlier time — when they were growing up, say.
Sometimes, fans like to know the ‘back story’ — what events took place in a character’s life that brought them to a particular situation in the present; or, what helped shape them as individuals.
“It also shows that viewers these days are showing a greater interest in psychology,” said my prankster mate, Barney, recently when, over a cup of coffee, I mentioned this recent interest in ‘prequels’.
Barney — true to form and at his instructive best — went on to inform me (without first inquiring if I knew it already) where the word ‘prequel’ hailed from — the word’s origin, in other words.
It is the nature of some people to assume that they are the only possessors of information, or specialised knowledge, and it is, therefore, incumbent upon them to impart the said information to all others, as a generous bequest.
Anyhow, it fell to me to remind Barney that prequels were not all that new a phenomenon as was being made out, and that we as people have been interested in the ‘prequel’ since time immemorial, to use a somewhat used and worn phrase.
Whenever two people meet, particularly for the first time, there is a great likelihood that each will end up inquiring about the other’s past. With the Anglo-Indian community, of which I am a member, because we have been ‘scattered far and wide’, it is not uncommon for two of us, when we meet, to ask after the past. We are, in some cases, perpetually looking for a connectedness.
Early life story
But sometimes, as was the case only recently, one sits and observes somebody else — someone elderly, in this instance — and wonders what their early life story must be. Especially if the said person is confined to a wheelchair and is trying to be a part of a queue to buy a sandwich, but a few others are pretending they don’t notice. Perhaps they feel their hunger is greater. They are, after all, young ‘tradies’, workmen in workmen’s orange uniform, possibly on a limited lunch break. They slip past the elder in the wheelchair and place their orders. The older man’s demeanour shows no sign of impatience, or anger. If anything, his face wears a tolerant, half-smiling expression.
Anyhow, he is just about to reach the counter when one final young tradesman, a straggler belonging to the group that already roughly pushed past the man, glides past the wheelchair. It is at that instant that a shout rings out across the food court. A young woman, seated at a table with a packet of crisps before her, wags a finger.
“Let the man order first,” she shouts, “He was in line before you.”
With others in the food court watching, the young tradesman turns red-faced and, with a slightly sarcastic, dramatic sweep of his arm invites the old man in the wheelchair to go before him. But the elderly man will have none of it ... he waves the young man forward. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly strong for one who looks so frail.
“It’s only a food line, mate,” he says, “Go on, go ahead. This is not the battle front. I’ve been there. Now there’s one place I wouldn’t have allowed you to go ahead of me.”
His words offer a tantalising, but very abbreviated view into his past, a ‘prequel’ the details of which are sadly left to my imagination. It is not so hard to guess, though, how he may have incurred the injury that cost him his mobility. Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.
