A Sew Through Time [Banbudh And Budbak]

42: Do Not Forget

Books settled over the wooden table. A thin layer of chalk dust cramped inside it's creaks. Taking out a piece of crumbling chalk from the little drawer, it screeched over the blackboard while writing the date. First the day, then the month, then the year.

Fisting the chalk in his hands, Dubey sir continued peering at the white underline. He has forgotten it. Placing the chalk back, he declared to his class he will first check their homework.

A student raised his hand excitedly, not the familiar hand of Gyan he knew. His eyes darted across the empty benches curiously exclaiming,

"Ee ka?! Vhere are the other students?"

Nobody looked up to answer, their whispering left him in discomfort. He slammed the table and repeated again, a tinge of rage accompanying this time.

One brave student slowly rose from his seat and mumbled something.

"Absent?!" He turned to check the date he had written, "But today is a school day! And half the class is absent all together?"

"Sir, I think you forgot about that... incident"

"Vhat incident?"

He looked up and mumbled again. Unable to hear him, Dubey sir walked towards his seat to hear more clearly.

When the boy opened his mouth, what came was not his voice but rather a shrill, ear-piercing sound.

His eyes screwed up at the ceiling. He was lying on his bed, the alarm clock ringing on his bedside table.

Slamming the snooze button, he rolled to his other side, enjoying the last bit of sleep which hung in his eyes. The frigid weather of the new year's first morning sent goosebumps prickling over his arms.

The aroma of freshly brewed tea crept up his nostrils. Wandering into the veranda wearing a comfortable and warm housecoat, the old teacher took a sip and sent an exhale into the air. He noticed the empty road below his house. Strands of fairy lights swung gently in the wind, hoardings were being taken down with the dispersal of Christmas. Strays dogs gnawed inside soggy cake boxes when the shopkeepers either shooed them away or fed them while pushing up the clattering gates.

Sitting on the jute chair, he picked up the daily newspaper and opened a page to read. The fresh smell of warm printed pages overtook that of his tea. But the wind broke into the filaments and wrinkled them.

"It feels just like a few years ago" he has always mourned upon that unpleasant year. Reading could not waste his time, the weather was playing with the paper. Yet he did not wish to call any relative to wish them a Happy New Year. Some relatives should never be contacted for good causes and besides, phones have not been working well since that day.

He went inside his room and sat at his desk. Putting on his thick, square rimmed glasses, he slipped out the roll of answer scripts and twisted the cap of his red gel pen.

The delicate nib pierced over wrong answers when he rolled a big, fat zero over a paper and mumbled with frustration,

"This Badri failed again"

Someone bade goodbye in the stairs and climb down. He could hear it from his room.

Gazing at the paper, he remembered how quickly this boy had grown up and graduated school so quickly.

The orange band casted a sticky residue over the white rolls. Closing the drawer, he turned on the T.V to watch the news with disinterest. He pressed the dusty, plastic wrapped remote when he changed the channels.

The screen broke out into thin bands of magenta, green and white. He turned it off.

Leaning back in the sofa, he recalled the last part of his dream. Who had gone missing? Those little benches were empty, Badri and his friend Budh used to sit on them. Now that the names crossed his mind, he remembered every prank they had pulled in school, the fights, the chattering and shameless laughter after being punished as murga.