Poem

Mrs. Biswas

I was at a school for a workshop, when I heard it for the first time in ages. It was barely audible above the shouting of children — the laughter and sound bubbling from the school playground into the classroom windows. But it was there: the swish of silk saris and the jingle jangle of bangles on thin wrists like wind chimes.

This is what learning sounds like. I remember. I remember my school.

I remember when I was 10 years old, the principal of my School was Mrs. Biswas. She was the size of a nightlight, and she glided like a sailboat through the hallways of our school. (more…)