Damn it, Love Again! 2

He was really charming and smart. The love cycle did start, but for a shorter duration. I found my tutor to be more interesting and charming in the initial days, till the end of ice- breaking sessions. I used to gaze at his cute face without a single blink of the eyelids. The moment I was caught, I would redirect myself towards the book pretending to be sincere towards my subjects. Though his smile wasn’t mesmerizing, yet it made me smile.

I was very particular in dressing my notebooks. I loved the way he handled them. I would dress them in plain brown covers, wrap with plastic sheets functioning as Burkha stapled everywhere considering it as Shringar for the newly dressed bride. The sticker would hold my name in Caps emphasizing the importance my name deserved. Silly Me! He would smoothly lift my note book, run his fingers through the plastic sheet, unknowingly touching my name which would initiate the butterflies in my stomach. He would gently lift the pen, smile at me and start the corrections. This smile would leave a long lasting impact on me, allowing me to replace my old tutor with the new one in all the romantic scenes. Little did I know that the smile was just a way for him to allow the air to pass between the gaps of his teeth and the warm up exercises for his lips –the expansion and the contraction. I would look at his Goatee and would wonder if he had forgotten to shave completely due to time constraint. I didn’t dare to ask him, but later on a friend of mine termed it as “Dude look”and for me it was a “HE GOAT” look.

I hated him when he circled the errors with Red ink making a small mistake appear a bigger one, forming the Olympic logo sometimes. I wish he had shown some mercy towards me with the grace marks to remove the label of “Just Failed” from my forehead. He would never do that and would make me write 100 times every spelling error that I committed. He would punish me to stand in the corner and memorize the poems, embarrassing me in front of the other tuition-mates. The blood would rush from toe to the head without any yoga asanas, blood ready to ooze out from my brain and spoil the finished homework. His personality didn’t map with his thoughts. He had sober look with sulky attitude, high IQ with lower EQ. He would carry a wooden stick trying to be the strict teacher, showcasing his power over me.

Irrespective of his injustice, I had a soft corner for him. I decided not to give up, rather attempt harder to impress him. I would finish his task on priority basis, leaving all the subjects untouched. I swallowed every spelling that he would frequently ask me, mugging up the synonyms and antonyms trying to be more knowledgeable than the rest of the tuition-mates. “Wow ! I am impressed” were the words I wanted to hear. I recited the poems, adding extra tunes to it, imitating to be John Milton or Wordsworth. It was irritating to his ears, yet I decided not to accept the defeat easily.

I was made to write the 26 alphabets everyday in my handwriting note in the calligraphic style with an idea to improve my writing. I love playing with the flexibility of every letter. I would twist and turn the letters, carving them into designs especially the letters forming his name. Had Aamir khan witnessed me while filling the handwriting book, he would have declared me dyslexic.

The BODMAS RULE Of mathematics didn’t help me much except to understand that the intercourse of one vertical line and one horizontal line gave birth to a +(plus) symbol and when they separated they would from a –(minus) symbol. The two lines would change their positions gradually forming a x (multiplication), later on forming a division symbol. These were the only four symbols that my neurons could remember, ignoring the brackets and the offs. When calculations could easily be finished with these 4 symbols, was there any necessity of the illegitimate kids(brackets & offs). Undoubtedly, I scored less in mathematics as the B.ED Grad (teacher) wouldn’t shower me marks as I went against the set rules. The right answers would always be considered as copied ones from my neighbors. I wish I meet these professionals and question them as why they failed to include the % in BODMAS RULE which is a crucial factor in all the calculations and stands as a measurement unit. The statistic works in units. The birth rate, population, poverty, illiteracy, death rate e.t.c; are all measured in percentage.

I wanted to pose all these questions to my tutor, but my mere existence didn’t appeal him. My poor grades reflected his failure. He was threatened by my parents to quit the job if they don’t see the desired results. He started concentrating on me, making me finish all my work. I longed for more attention. He spent extra hours with me, ensuring that there was a decrease in the spelling errors. My study hours doubled along with his time. I enjoyed his solo company until there was a beep sound on his mobile, bringing a smile on his face and leaving me suspicious.

Who was she?

To be continued….

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