"Today Rocky hit a boy " , teenage number two giggled at lunch table .
Rocky was the nickname for a history teacher , who un-Rocky like , had a bald pate and a paunch .
He ,on the contrary , had large molars , which were seen crushing walnut shells , hence the nickname.
She raised herself and patted me twice on the back , very gently , dropping crumbs on my arm .
"That is not called hitting , it is called patting ."
I flicked crumbs off and began ,"In my day..." I stopped cautiously , sniffing for non-cooperation . Room doors are known to shut , ever so softly , and earphones replaced back into ears ever so surreptitiously , at the mere mention of the magical three letter words .
Nothing happened , chew , chew , stare , stare . "Yes , in your day?"
Eyebrows were raised , inquisitively . I grabbed the golden opportunity , and unleashed my memories . Like imprisoned stallions on the green meadow .
'In my day , it was de rigueur for a teacher to carry canes to the class room along with registers . We were asked to outstretch our palms , if we made a mistake , and wham ! " Teen 2 winced .
"Some of us took special pride in fashioning bamboo canes out of shoots ..."
"For you and your friends to be beaten !Mom , you must have been retards to do such a dumb thing!"
"It was considered an honour ."
"How can be preparations for your humiliation be an honour , Ma ?" Teen 2 was smarting by now , and I had lost track of what I was saying.
In fact , I was so muddled up , thinking of what was right and wrong , that I didn't realise her moving out with the plate , faint songs playing in her ears , and me staring at a row of fresh crumbs on my arms .
Time had moved , mores had changed , and accept it , I was old .
All this while , I had been tugging on my unruly hair , and as if on a cue , a grey hair gently floated down , and sat at the head of the crumb row, on my crowded forearm.
Rocky was the nickname for a history teacher , who un-Rocky like , had a bald pate and a paunch .
He ,on the contrary , had large molars , which were seen crushing walnut shells , hence the nickname.
She raised herself and patted me twice on the back , very gently , dropping crumbs on my arm .
"That is not called hitting , it is called patting ."
I flicked crumbs off and began ,"In my day..." I stopped cautiously , sniffing for non-cooperation . Room doors are known to shut , ever so softly , and earphones replaced back into ears ever so surreptitiously , at the mere mention of the magical three letter words .
Nothing happened , chew , chew , stare , stare . "Yes , in your day?"
Eyebrows were raised , inquisitively . I grabbed the golden opportunity , and unleashed my memories . Like imprisoned stallions on the green meadow .
'In my day , it was de rigueur for a teacher to carry canes to the class room along with registers . We were asked to outstretch our palms , if we made a mistake , and wham ! " Teen 2 winced .
"Some of us took special pride in fashioning bamboo canes out of shoots ..."
"For you and your friends to be beaten !Mom , you must have been retards to do such a dumb thing!"
"It was considered an honour ."
"How can be preparations for your humiliation be an honour , Ma ?" Teen 2 was smarting by now , and I had lost track of what I was saying.
In fact , I was so muddled up , thinking of what was right and wrong , that I didn't realise her moving out with the plate , faint songs playing in her ears , and me staring at a row of fresh crumbs on my arms .
Time had moved , mores had changed , and accept it , I was old .
All this while , I had been tugging on my unruly hair , and as if on a cue , a grey hair gently floated down , and sat at the head of the crumb row, on my crowded forearm.
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