The Hindi Teacher
He was a short old man, with a bald patch, the patch almost engulfing the entire space on the head. He used to be dressed in a light coloured blue shirt and a pant that seemed to find its perfect place way below the belly which extended to many centimeters above the ankle. A comb to trim the patch was embedded in one of the packets. Now and then, with effortless ease, he used to shake his head in such a way that those one or two strands of hair settled across the patch to make it look that he did have some hair. Of course, he did it convincingly, but others disbelieved with equal conviction. His slippers were never noticed, as nobody really cared for any further details after all this joke. He entered the classroom amidst wild jeers and heavy boos with the book tucked in neatly under his arm. He would place the attendance register on the table, and get ready to call out the rooool numbers. As soon as he called out number 38 or whatever, he would say Roool number 38, aage aayiye...