The Unruled Notebook

When I passed my board examinations, when I graduated, when I got a job, when I got married and when I got promoted, there is one thing that intrigues me at every juncture - how beautifully we are being transformed. I have been transformed into a better person and I owe it to my teachers (not just school teachers, this list also includes a sweet 3 year old boy Nandu, who I met on the train last weekend) who selflessly inculcated beautiful thoughts into my mind. This is the purest form of love, only second to mom’s and dad’s. There are some nuances of my transformation that I would like to reminiscence on this special day – Teacher’s day. Is this a tribute? No. Am I trying to impress one of my teachers? No (I am way past that age now J ) am I writing this for myself? Oh Yes. I was 3 years 6 months and 11 days old, when I ran away on the very first day of school, crossed a busy highway and landed in my house’s backyard before my mom and dad came back after dropping me ...

I was up early this morning, shrugging off the coziness of a Sunday that went by and looking forward to a new week. Sipping my filter coffee and waiting for some morning cognizance in the form of ‘The Hindu’ daily, I noticed that the paper-man was late  today . Looking outside eagerly, from the balcony, I saw an unusual buzz for a Monday Morning. Yellow buses and vans haphazardly hovered through the narrow road; I noticed a few kids sporting bright uniforms carrying water bottles in different hues, looking so animated. Caught in a reverie, I thought the newspaper man’s kid must also be in one of these buses. May be he got busy attending to them, I mused. This is the time of the year when ‘sunny’ boy   gently subsides as monsoon beckons and we are ready for yet another beginning.   Of excitement and apprehension, the smell of crisp uniform and the meeting of new friends, the thought of mom’s love and the thought of a new teacher, school going is a mélange of an eerie...