She had just settled down in the wicker chair near the balcony with a newspaper and a steaming hot cup of tea when the phone rang. She would usually have ignored it but she was expecting her daughter’s call from Canada so she got up and ambled over to the kitchen to pick it up.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello Miss,” she heard a man shout out cheerfully, “How are you?”
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Sunil, Miss, your student, ex-student, you know, Sunil” he replied.
“Oh, Sunil, yes of course, I am fine, how are you doing?”
She had no memory of this Sunil person, but he called every few months, and she didn’t have the heart to hang up on him. He was most probably looking for some self affirmation or processing some guilt so who was she to deny him that. Her good deed for the day. He usually talked for fifteen to twenty minutes about his job and his wife and his son and reminisced about his time in school. While he rambled on, she tuned him off and let her mind drift through some memories of her own.
A warm afternoon in October. She had two back to back periods with the same group of students. History followed by Geography. The kids were nodding off as she read about the battle of Panipat. The Timurids battling the Lodis, twenty thousand dead, Ibrahim Lodi, the Sultan of Delhi amongst then, Babar, victorious, laying the foundation of the Great Mogul Empire. Glazed eyes struggling to stay open, mouths agape, drooling, heads on desks, arms listless, legs sprawled. This was torture. And she knew it. She had a riveting chapter on sedimentary rocks to go through next. Then someone started to snore. They’d had enough. She’d had enough. She clapped her hands loudly.
“All right everyone. Get up. I want everyone to get up, and go outside. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air.”
The students looked back at her blankly. This was just not done. When school was in session, you stayed in your class. You didn’t just go wandering away into the sunshine. Not unless you wanted to find yourself in the Principal’s office.
“Now,” she said, “Be quiet as you leave and be back in ten minutes.”
The stifling heat had made her thirsty. Her lips were parched and her throat felt hoarse. She reached down to her handbag to pick up her water bottle. As she did, her sari slipped from her shoulder. She heard a gasp. Looking up she noticed that one of the students had returned. His eyes were transfixed on her breasts almost spilling out of her blouse as she still leaned over. He seemed mesmerized. She smiled at him.
“Did you forget, something?” she asked, as she pulled her sari back over her shoulder and adjusted it to cover her bosom.
She knew she was an attractive woman. She was tall, shapely with a creamy, olive complexion from her Portuguese grandmother, large brown eyes framed by perfectly arched eyebrows, a bit of amber that highlighted her jet black hair, and full lips that she liked to accentuate with dark red lipstick. She liked to dress well too. Usually starched cotton saris with floral patterns but sometimes a chiffon or georgette, and in the winter she draped herself with exquisitely embroidered Kashmere shawls. She preferred jewelry that was bold and colorful, not gaudy, but tasteful, like the Hollywood stars of the sixties and seventies.
She had had a privileged childhood. The only daughter of an army officer, she was constantly being doted over. Her parents had instilled a confidence in her that she drew on to handle the uncertainty and transient nature of constantly changing schools. Her college days were full of fun and adventure, listening to music and traveling and being involved in theater and falling in and out of love numerous times. She graduated with a Bachelors in Literature with an emphasis on the German greats, Goethe and Hesse and Grass and Mann. This enabled her to get an internship at the Max Mueller Bhavan, which is where she made friends with a charming and funny man who was also a successful entrepreneur. He’s too old for you, her mom had said. But she’s a Christian, his father had said. A year later they were married and a few years into their marriage they had a daughter and shortly after a son.
“Why a teacher,” her husband had asked her, when she said she interviewed for a job as a German teacher at a local school.
“You can come work in my office, or I can set you up in one of the larger companies. Godrej is opening a sales branch nearby. “
But she didn’t want to work in an office. The idea of a nine to five job, stuck to a desk, repulsed her. She had an independent and free spirit that wanted to fly, and if her responsibilities and love for her family restricted her ambitions, she at least wanted to do something where she could encourage others to dream and teach them how to spread their wings. What could be more rewarding than being a teacher.
“Miss, hello, are you still there? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I’m here Sunil. It was really nice talking to you. Thanks for calling.”
“Oh no, the pleasure is all mine, Miss. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
She reached out for her cup of tea. It had gone cold. She drained it down the sink. She cleaned up the kettle and poured some fresh water in it and put it back on the stove.
She went back to the balcony. There was a gentle breeze blowing. She stretched her arms wide and swayed with the wind.