Inadequate writer

  One vague afternoon in my LKG, my teacher called me and canned me as fuck. I remember what I did to get the shit beaten out of me. I was resting my right arm on the desk behind me that may have questioned the authority of Meera miss who was otherwise a 'nice lady'. She seldom threw judgy looks at my mom who was briefly going through a separation and poverty, the looks worked and my mom enrolled me for tuitions with her- the 'tuition' used to happen within my school hours and within the classroom. I don't remember she did shit about my tuition. One evening, I went home and told my mom that Meera and Ambuja were bitching about her and it happened right in front of me. My poor mother came and told about her separation to that unremorseful piece of shit. These teachers knew whom to fuck around with and they treaded carefully with well dressed English speaking parents.  Also, I very  much remember Kamala Kasturi miss and Rukmini miss  filling me in on how they hated me...

  It was a fine evening when Asha akka was handing out invitations to everyone for her sister Shalini’s wedding, I got a card too, my name was written on the card with a glitter pen, these pens were new and in trend. The wedding was held at St. John’s auditorium, Coles Park. I, for unknown reasons, believed that it was important to belong to those social circles during my school days and I tried hard to belong there. But we could not go to the wedding because we did not know the venue and taking an auto was a luxury, I was furious and threw tantrums at my mother. This is one of the memories that refuse to go away from my head. My dad worked in far distances, he had to travel either on foot or take the BTS buses which later became BMTC to the site he worked at, the daily passes were common sights at home, it had a silvery sticker that turned colour when tilted in the light. He skipped most weddings and birthday ‘functions’ due to his work. Most of the times, I have not seen him fo...

  The Shitty “road” to School. One side of the road was a stone compound wall for almost half a kilometer along the road while the other side was a wide opened ditch. There was another way to school, a main road, I was too shy to go by that road with a torn school bag and a pair of torn shoes that exposed my great toe and the little toe in each shoe. But always covered up telling – ‘I am sacred of traffic’. Being embarrassed of the state being was strictly prohibited then and even now. I didn’t complain much about it, since it changed nothing. The white canvas was always a trouble on Saturdays to begin with and later even on Wednesdays, when the school decided to see us clad in white pants and a coloured House shirts, mine was green at first and then yellow. It was more of a luxury to have a separate pair of shoes and white pants for 2 days a week. Having them washed or rubbing them with white chalk was one trouble while, protecting it from the bullies who would stamp on it w...