The lucknavi schoolteacher who stole the writers heart

Fiction, obviously.

A Lucknavi school teacher from a middle class muslim family she was, of a learned but strict heritage. Her family was not fully comfortable with us going out, with her arriving home late and what not but they knew I was a nice standup kinda' guy, they knew I had future plans, with her, to take her away to calmer waters, and they were happy for that. They were understanding in surprising ways, they never asked for our marriage plans, nobody did, it was obvious to them that we'd go our own ways, she'd leave for school or job abroad, whatever worked out, and I'd move with her.

The neighbors got to know me pretty well, that old neighborhood, houses at least a hundred years old they must have been. Not very well-maintained. They were wealthy but cash poor, the whole lot of them, nowhere to go and nothing to do if they sold the family households. There was enough land in the back for the children to play, her brothers children rode around their tricycles, there was a small vegetable patch in there, and a decent-sized lawn for the family to have get-togethers and get tea and news in the morning at. The mornings were the best, when I went there before work, right at six-thirty, they'd have honey and lemon tea ready for me, her dad would have a collection of newspapers spread out on the table. He would look at me, eyes raised from the papers, smile and nod and let me read the news. Here at there, we'd talk about news of the world, what was happening back home, how America was doing, my plans sometimes and everything under the sun. I'd get updates on the state of the garden, how the shop was doing, their holiday plans, his concerns for his daughter, all of it. It works out, I told him those mornings, it always works out, she's a smart capable girl she knows what's right and good for her, you've brought her well, she'll do better than I could ever hope to, and I'm doing alright myself, I'd remind him. He'd not, give a little grunt of acknowledgement and go back to his news.

She came out fifteen past seven those mornings, still stretching, a thick towel over her wet hair. Her eyes oh so bright, so tantalizing, oh so inebriating and large. I'd take a big breath, wave at her, scrunch my face and try to make her laugh. That woman would pat lightly on my head with the top of her figers, her hands still cold from the water, and talk to her father. She took read the papers and magazines, interrupting the study with a sentence here and there targeted mostly at me, snippets from random conversations that never ended, getting me caught up with what was happening with our extended group of friends.

The end of the two years was nearing and things were a little tense. I had no option but to leave, my house needed fixing, I hadn't seen friends for years and the family in the US was eager to see me again. My nieces and nephews had grown up quick without ever seeing their uncle. She knew, I reminded her always but she knew, I was the needy one, the one more deeply in love, the one who would be more devastated if things didn't work out. If this doesn't work out, she had been told, I'll marry I'm not going to wait, I'll just marry and cry and I'll be gone babe, so far gone. You'll find someone cuter, smarter, nicer taller and shaped like a goddamn bollywood hero and be so happy which I guess works for you, but it won't be me and you're going to be so bummed out. Every time, without fail she would take her tongue out, just the tip of it and make faces at me. Owh your children taught you that, to avoid difficult conversations, I'd tease, the woman would pull be close and gently brush her lips against mine, the lightest yet most caring kiss ever. I had threatened, cajoled, begged, cried, to no avail, and it was looking like she'd let the indecision rule her life. It was looking like there was no room for me.

You look nice, bright, this morning, eyes looking like an angels, how does the mortal man not turn into ash in front of you, I said. Her dad looked at me from above his glasses, which were riding low on his nose. He looked at her.

This angel wants to live in her fairyland, she said, staring intently at the cup of hot lemon tea she was holding with both her hands like a bowl, and is ready to leave with her consort. Maybe the consort should arrange for the holy eagle to carry the angel away from her old place, she said, still not looking anywhere outside the cup.

Her dad cleared his throat. Young people, he said, flirting so openly these days, in our days we had to write our messages on paper attach them to stones and throw them into the girl's bedroom. You'd have to hope it didn't hit anyone, specially not the woman!, he said, smiling now.

She looked at her father, her eyes wide, a broad smile on her face. Okay dad that's so not true, you told me you and mom talked over the internet all the time, how would you even have thrown stones, the outside facing windows of grandparents' house doesn't even open. And yeah I'm thinking of going with him, taking the next step, whatever it's going to be, I'll start the job or school or whatever when I'm there, she said, I've made my decision.