That Little me...

I must have been three. A little older or little younger.

I went to this School with White shorts and the brown tops, with small little bag which was too big for my tiny shoulders.

Mrs. Irene was my class teacher. She with her blue dress and chubby pink cheeks looks pretty with the smile on her face always. She looks more Prettier when she holds the crying child on her hand and comforts them.

Poor little me sitting at the corner and watching all these badly wants to get into Mrs. Irene’s arm, So I too cried... but I didn’t get her arms instead I got a slap from my another teacher ,This time I really cried ,not for Mrs. Irene , I cried of pain.

Mrs. Irene teaches the strange language called English. I learnt the meaningless things perfectly.

Mary had a little lamb, little lamb...

“Who is that Mary?” . I was not big enough to care who she is.

Afternoon we slept- Mrs. Irene sang for us to sleep, but I slept when she stops singing.

One (un)fine evening I was hanging on the gate with my big bag in the shoulder and mouth full of rhymes waiting for dad, heard a loud noise and saw a man falling down from his bike. Some one shouted it is Mrs. Irene’s husband and he is dead. My small little mind didn’t understand anything.

There was the crowd of people surrounding Mrs. Irene. Me tiny little creature peeped through the small hole between two people, saw her. She was sitting there with her eyes well up with water and her cheeks are more pinkish than it use to be...

I ran to daddy, holding his hand asked “Mrs. Irene won’t smile again?”