Yet Another Day

I had dismissed five alarms of mine, six of my flatmates. It was 7.37 AM and I wrenched my eyelids open to the constant sound of John Lennon’s long lost voice.

Yet another day. However, today would be slightly different. The country was celebrating the anniversary of inception of the Constitution, in rather dreary ways, if I may. I had no choice but to be there for the flag hoisting scheduled at 8.45 AM. Despite it being a known fact that the event would inevitably take place well past 9, I refused to be late.

I used to be punctual. A time maniac, perhaps. I always made it a point to arrive anyplace a good thirty minutes early. Be it an official appointment or otherwise. Nonetheless, the eighteen months had changed me for the worst.

I kicked aside the sheets and blindly searched for my sweater, running my hands over the slightly dusty mattress. Hyderabad winters were surprisingly cold.

Tea. Cigarette. Bathroom. Clothes. Taxi.

I mentally scheduled each event, slipping on my sweater.

Forty minutes later, my taxi whisked me away through the streets of Karwan. Domes of mosques rose to my right and a dilapidated whitewashed school to my left. A cacophony of art intermingled with poverty.

The aftertaste of tobacco churned my insides, the hunger gnawing. I particularly didn’t despise cooking but it didn’t come naturally to me either. The effects of which resulted in acid rising in my stomach, demanding to be curbed. Unfortunately, this had turned into my routine.

Five minutes was all it took for me to reach the worn away gates of Kulsumpura, a government school for the underprivileged. I hated that word. As I adjusted my scarf and wound my way through the rivers of children flowing either side of me, a choice reached me,

“Happy Republic Day, Didi!” Didi, Hindi for sister.

The voice belonged to a 10 year old, her face glowed as she extended her little hand in greeting. Within minutes, I was surrounded by a sea of faces, eyes glistening, hands extending, all going on a chorus of “Happy Republic Day, Didi!”

And I shook each one of their hands, a smile plastered on my face.

I had to. I was their teacher.