“Writing or reading?” she asked “which section?”.
She means the admission officer of the school where we had come to get our two children admitted. This institution had certainly made its rounds in the grapevine. It’s name was whispered with reverence and respect among the circles that mattered. So when it came time to enroll our children, there was no doubt in our minds as to where they would go. Meeta also wanted us to get our children admitted here. This was the most important task for me after relocation to this city.
I had a big responsibility at the bank where I was working at a very senior position. There was no problem with the house. A big bungalow with all the amenities was provided by the bank, and that too in the most expensive area of the city. Everything else was settled.
The new session of the school was starting from next month. So, admission was necessary as soon as possible. The children also liked this school. Maybe they had found something online. If Meeta and the children, all wanted this, then what was the problem for me? Anyway, I had also checked with a few of my staff members at the bank, and everyone had praised about this school a lot.
“So, what do you think? Will you enroll your children in the writing section or the reading section? According to me, you should admit one child to the writing section and the other to the reading section,” Urmila Bhatt, the admission officer, was trying to explain to us.
“What nonsense is this? Will the child only learn to write or only learn to read? Aren’t both important for every child? We have to teach both our children both the activities,” Meeta said seriously, looking into Urmila Bhatt’s eyes. I also nodded in agreement.
But Urmila Bhatt was not affected by it. “That’s not possible,” she said. “You talk to our principal, right now,” I was getting a little angry now. It was justified. “Which principal do you want to meet? The writing section or the reading section?” she asked. I was now irritated to the core. Meeta also seemed to lose her cool. My frustration was boiling over, and I could feel the words building up inside me like a raging inferno. The urge to unleash my anger was almost too much to bear, and the only thing that would satisfy me was the thought of shutting down that horrid institution. I could almost hear the words escaping my lips, “I will bring an end to your wretched establishment. I will see it burn to the ground.” The thought of it was almost too sweet to resist.
Meeta was shaking my arm vigorously. Good morrow, Bhanu. Get awaken from thy slumber and partake of a refreshing glass of water. Are you dreaming? What will you shut down? What happened? Wake up. What are you babbling in your sleep?”
As my eyes fluttered open, I was suddenly aware of my surroundings, and in an instant, I recognized the familiar warmth of home. The soft glow of the morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. It was then that I realized that I had been lost in a dream, a world of my own making. But now, I was back in the sanctuary of my home, the place where I belonged. There was no school and it was nothing like that. I drank two sips of water from Meeta’s hand, and then I realized it was all a dream. “Are you okay now? Let’s sleep. It’s only five in the morning. We have to go to their new school for the children’s admission a little late in the morning,” Meeta said.
Tell me, to which branch must we admit them? The branch that teaches the art of letters, or the one that imparts the skill of the written word? I wanted to ask Meeta. But I thought it’s better to sleep quietly.
After a few days of admission, when I told Meeta and the children about this dream, we all laughed a lot.
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