... just not ramblings on a sweltering day

This writing seems to be a valuable summary of this sweltering summer!
It was the final day of Higher Secondary (Commerce stream) Examination. The students were unhappy with us, since they had to experience the bitterest guard ever. With the final bell rung and answer papers accumulated, some students almost fell on me and asked the reason of my being too much tough. I said, "You tried to do your best. I tried to do mine."
The students planned to throw bombs at the school building and would give vent to their angst. Their targets were Tultuli Nath, one of the senior teachers of Geography, and I. Eventually, the students brewing outside fell into a fight of the century and the whole place suddenly changed into a battle turf of a third world war.
After almost 45 minutes, stray clouds of tension floated away. We went out lazily, gossiping and titillating our bones so that we might reduce the walking distance from school to the nearest station. We got into a Sealdah-bound train. As a way of life, we got down from the train one by one.
The train pulled in. And it was my time to build a long story with a rickshaw puller. It was scorching heat all through. The temperature jumped from 35 degree to 40 degree suddenly. I requested the gentleman to drive me home and it was his fantastic behaviour that made him slowly sway his head , indicating the empty seat.
He was clad in a black coat. He wore a pair of cheap sunglasses, partly dimmed by the sunshade of his cheap cap. I made room for myself on the still-heated cushion, while at the same time, his feet began rolling the paddles. Lashes of hot waves brushed past my skin and slapped me in my face, which had already gone parched and pale.
I saw the rescuer moving on.
I have always tried to hide my identity of being a teacher, as I have noticed it draws some undue advantage and polished privileges. One day, a student's father, who runs a grocery shop near New Barrackpur railway station, handed me a bill to foot. But he suffixed a short reply later on, "It's my pleasure to have you found to be my son's guide. Come whenever you wish, and pay up the amount less than what I actually take from other customers." I said, "It's not fair, dear gentleman. I am more a customer now than what I am, at our school." He continued his economic pampering.
These meanderings seldom touch the core of my heart. I feel my behavioural accountability is responsible for swelling this fun bank. It's not good at all, as when I enter into conversation with them, I forget my sorrows and sufferings and life becomes as insatiable as satisfaction.
I phoned Tultulidi and heard her laugh and exchanging some crack-jawed smiles we wished each other a happy tomorrow.


Anonymous said...

I love your profile description and the name of your blog. :o)

Carolina Valdez Miller said...

I was very much drawn in by your profile. Very original.

And the story here is so vivid.

"Lashes of hot waves brushed past my skin and slapped me in my face, which had already gone parched and pale."

Nicely done. I'm intrigued, particularly by this teacher's desire to keep his teaching identity hidden, especially because it seems to earn him rewards. This adds a whole new layer to his character.

Tripat "Prerna" said...

wow...just a wonderful effort :)
liked ut profile a lot :D


"just a pen in my hand" said...

nice and simple...yet goes so well wid my morning coffee....!

"just a pen in my hand" said...

apnar bangla blog tar jonno opekkhay achi....

Tânia Marques said...

Na Índia, o professor é valorizado em todos os sentidos, financeiro, cultural, etc.? Kisses

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