Kaalaaya tasmayi namaha

A teacher of mine had two sons. One made her proud of his career in the Arab nation, and another drove her nuts in his primary class. She used to blush when asked about their age gap. I was in high school, and she taught us our fragrant language, Kannada.

On one occasion, we did not have her classes for several days, and we enjoyed a substitution of games class. When she returned, her eyes carried a visible yet unknown story. Her looks projected the depth of her pain. It took her several months to be a teacher without the shell of a mother. It pulled great courage from within to break open the shell one day. She said, "I lost my elder son in a car accident. I did not even get a chance to see him in one piece the last time."

I depart

to return

beneath the moss

to break open

into a colourful rose


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