Everything Else Is Rubble
The administrative office in front of the main building. In this age of endless information, I sometimes pause and realize something strange. I am drowning in information, but starving for memories. Every day, my mind absorbs hundreds of headlines, messages, videos, opinions, and notifications. Most of them vanish without a trace. Yet when I stop for a moment, memories from forty years ago return with astonishing clarity. Today, for some reason, my thoughts wandered back to my school and its teachers. I remember my kindergarten teacher, Ms. Carol at Little Angels. She was Anglo-Indian, impeccably dressed, and absolutely determined that every letter I wrote should sit neatly within the four lines of my notebook. Not touching the ceiling. Not falling through the floor. Perfectly contained. I don't remember what I had for lunch three days ago. But I remember those four lines. My first-grade teacher, Ms. Alice at BP Indian Public School, was...
Hey Dude.. :-) seems you are missing your bathroom at Malleswaram !! :-))))) Just to add to what you said... These people even do not have an outlet hole in the bathroom. Incase you split water outside... man you need to swipe it clean. :-) It was the same in Germany, Remember??? :-))) They will never get the pleasure of Indian toilets. Forget it.
ReplyDeleteMy God ! what all u miss out there ! phew...
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