On the way to work today, I saw a pillion rider without helmet jump off the bike when he saw maama (cop, boss) at the Minerva circle signal. He ran to the footpath and maama didn’t notice him. After the traffic began to move, our rider friend waved at pillion escapee and asked to meet him on the other side of the road.
I took the regular left at Poornima theatre and went past Bishop Cotton Women’s Christian College and watched in awe as a man riding a bike began disposing rotten tomatoes. I couldn’t see where the tomatoes were being thrown from (a bag?). The tomatoes were squashed, tired of wanting to be red, and had settled for a greenish, unhappy orange.
At work, students carried the day, like they always do.
A sea of yellow girls squeezing smiles and songs.
To be a teacher on any other day is a blessing. To be a teacher on one’s birthday is a lesson in gratitude.
I hope that in the all years to come when I become 35, 42, 58, even 64 – I’ll still be a teacher.
And I hope that in all the lives to come, I’m still a woman – locking up her workplace before she’s the last one to leave and first to arrive the morning after where she is met with the smell of her own stale perfume from last night.
Rum Lola Rum 