MRS. SUJATA CHAUDHRY
A white Kolkata cotton sari, wrapped close to body make her look slimmer. This is how she is dressed every day, but my eyes find her new and fresh. I would know even if she would gray another hair, even if her long jet black long hair is tied tight in a bun as always. I have observed her so close, so sharp, and so passionate that every millimeter of hers is known to me. Sujata has a beautiful smile. Her well arranged teeth create illusion of white pearl necklace. Rare occasions of short lived smile make it even more quirky. Sujata walks straight, head up, brows raised, not looking around, as if she is detached from the world. She never looked interested about what happened around her. And I am sure she neglected my presence. She loved books. Every time I closed my eyes to remember her, I found her gazing deeply in a book. Her sleeveless white blouse matching with her buttery smooth white skin made the sight alluring. I wanted to touch her hand for once just to make sure she wasn’t made of butter. I dreamed of her sometime. I would see her walking around in her white starched sari and white blouse, erect walk caring least for the world around her - where I too lived. She hardly noticed my presence, and I hardly could notice anything else in her presence. She became my world. I couldn’t stop thinking what she must be doing, once she will reach home. I would spend hours visualizing her while cooking, taking bath, wrapping herself in her white sari, sleeping on the bed and reading as she loved to. I failed to concentrate on anything. I stopped playing with my friends in the evening, I even skipped my meals at times and the only interest was to stay connected to Sujata. The only way Sujata talked was through her eyes. Her big coaled eyes would talk a lot even when her fuller pink lips were sealed. I loved her eyes the most about her. I wondered what could have happened in her book, every time her eyes glittered. I felt pain when she silently wept over something emotional there in. I eagerly waited for funny or happy events on her books to get a glimpse of finely arranged white pearls as a product of her smile. I wondered who she lived with, why she didn’t talk much, what was her favorite colour, and all those unanswered made her more mysterious for me. She left me restless when she remained absent one day, followed another day by another day and another day. Anxiety built up as days passed and tried to find out what happened. I collected pieces of my broken heart failing to find any news. I felt shattered, sad, heartbroken and lonely on the earth.
I could sleep to be able to slip in her address after much struggle. I ran through streets until I located her house. I managed to peep in her house from the broken balcony of her backyard. I hoped to see her, lost in her thoughts, may be cooking or sleeping. I remembered her words in the classroom loud and clear when I actually saw her “Fact is stranger than fiction.” She was screaming loud at an old man and two kids in her house. Her long black strands reminded me of black cobras. She was throwing things like a mad woman. Bad words flowing from her mouth were exactly opposite the way I fantasized her talking at home. Her eyes were blood red, puking anger. She looked like a witch who will roast and eat those kids. A skinny old man was shivering in her presence, weeping and begging to spare him.
My teacher, Mrs. Sujata Chaudhary came back to school next day. I tried hard not to face her. I looked deep in to my books to avoid looking in her eyes. She smiled at me as she left the class; her pearly white teeth were changed into two devil tusks.
I am scared of Mrs. Sujata Chaudhary; a 14 year old school boy is scared of his first crush.
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