Everything Else Is Rubble

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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...
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Food for thought

It is winter time in Stuttgart,
Better to live on bread and jam tarts,
But come you have from Bangalore,
Where food you have galore!!

An early wake up call,
Takes you to the breakfast hall,
And all you get to see,
Gives enough reasons to flee!!

No reason to think twice,
To eat what you despise,
If you get to be chosy,
Life cannot be any rosy!!

A hurried breakfast and a run,
In the cold and no trace of the sun,
To catch the bus in a few miles,
Can give you no morning smiles!!

As you get ready for lunch,
And absolutely have no hunch,
The food prepared last night,
Will it end up alright?

As you prepare the food to heat,
You realise it is no mean feat,
To eat self prepared food,
Which is not all that good!!

Soon, Dinner time it is,
You don't want to miss,
To try out something new,
So what if you eat a few!!

You learn at last,
That to cook good and fast,
Practice once, twice and thrice,
Before you pay the same price

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