Parveen Akhtar

Mom was yet to arrive. In a family as big as ours it was easy for a 9 year old to get lost. Everybody loved me but no one seemed to notice my pain. There was only Laluda who understood my predicament.

Each morning he reminded me that I had to go to school. Each day I cried. I just could not get out of it. Each day Maa'm would call me at her desk and console me. That was the only time of the day I felt good. The rest of the day would be spent in acute depression and waiting for the next round of mollycoddle.

All this continued till Ms. Akhtar's patience snapped. She took her ruler and gave me a royal spanking, her plaits lashing around my face. It was only at Laluda's insistence I was back to school the next day.

"Kaushik Som!" She called out. I refused to say yes. She looked at me and put her tick. Later that day she called me to the staff room during lunch hours. She explained and explained. And she wrapped me around her. The smell of starch is still so fresh. That made it.

Next day she changed my place. Two days later my mom returned with my 4 year old bro. And my life was getting normal. And each day I carried a flower from my father's rose blooms. He didnt mind. He liked flaunting them and they were getting good publicity.

However it is when I knocked off this flower to take it to Maa'm that my dad was furious. It bloomed once in 12 years and rarely does so in a pot. He had managed the impossible. And didnt even have a look at it. A few rounds of spanks and he finally felt OK.

Life was going pretty well and everyday my adorations grew for my Maa'm. A year passed on and I had to move on to the next class. Ms. Akhtar would continue where she was. In that one year I grew up so much. I was feeling so bad. Mr. D' Souza would be our next class teacher I found out.

No flowers, no hugs, no crying, no nonsense.

The annual holiday were on and we had a trip to Musoorie & Dehradun. I was enjoying my holidays. I reasoned that Ms. Akhtar was not leaving school. So I would see her everyday.

One evening while I was taking a walk on the Musoorie Mall struggling with my Candyfloss I was taken aback. There she was walking in a group. She was in her jeans, wearing a "sleevless" shirt. It was 1984.

She was clinging to a man laughing and chattering. Ms. Akhtar was not married. How could she hold onto a man like that? How could she wear that stuff? I could not stand the sight.

My world for a moment came apart. I hid myself behind a crowd. I thought over and over. How? How? I was disgusted and felt glad that I was moving onto Mr. D' Souza' class. I didnt look her straight in her eyes ever since.

Mr. D' Souza was married and was an extremely nice man. I liked him and thought he was a good teacher till I found out six years later that he was having an affair with Ms. Parveen Akhtar.

Mrs. Chatterjee it seems was better.