flying roofs

  Morning, ten minutes before class time, the class teacher steps into the room, carrying a calm smile and a heart ready to receive every child. One by one, the students walk in—some with bright smiles and cheerful wishes, some with dreams and quiet hopes, some still holding on to yesterday’s unfinished thoughts, and a few silently carrying worries heavier than their school bags. And then came my little story of the day. He walked in, kept his bag aside, and gently rested his head on the desk—as if the morning itself felt too heavy. I went up to him, What happened? Nothing, Madam, just not feeling good. Suddenly, he looked up and said— Madam, today I thought of not coming to school, but then I imagined—you would be upset because PT is on, and you would ask so many questions… and of course, the diary entry signed by parents! So I thought better to come. So, you mean to say, you came to school today just because you didn’t want me to be upset, or to avoid my questions? He paused,smil...

  Those Tears Still Follow Me… Some moments do not end when the day ends. They do not leave us when the bell rings, when the classroom becomes silent, or when the school gate closes. They remain. It was PTM day. The corridors were filled with parents, children, report cards, questions, expectations, and anxious little faces waiting to know what would be said about them. Among them came one of the most vibrant and lively girls of my class. She entered proudly with her mother, carrying the innocence of childhood and the nervousness of a student who had just stepped into Class 9 from Class 8. She had always been a child with sparkling eyes, cute dimples, and a heart full of unwritten stories. Before they even reached me properly, her mother asked, “Meri beti class mein kaise karti hai?” The child looked at me. That look was fragile. Her eyes were pleading silently, as if they were saying, “Madam, please understand me… please protect me… please tell her I am trying.” I handed...