As I was about to enter class eleven science (I am a class teacher) today, I stopped a little. I called my fellow teachers. They hurried over. Time was short. Class was about to begin.
From the first floor veranda, we looked down at an unwieldy swing of karobi flowers to busy breeze.
A mild-sweet-wild smell wafted up in. It took no time to bind us in a spell. We did not speak, forgot to move; only we stood on, looking on down, captivated.
The red-petalled flowers tilted at each other, touched themselves, hugged themselves; a playful rush at each other.
A smile brightened our faces. The unruly southern wind was sensuously intimidating.
Basonto eshe gachhe. Spring has come. We were hooked. We realized.
The final bell rang.
We dispersed and padded off to our classes.
“Is Nandini smiling?” I whispered to myself, looking outside in a half-smile before getting down to roll-calling.
