THE SCHOOL BREAK

~THE PROLOGUE~

"I've always been very talkative, very chatty, quite hyperactive. I grew up with a lot of cousins, and most of them were boys. Four in particular and I, were the demolition squad. Havoc. I can't ever say no to anyone. I'm so amiable and can get along with any body. I live to walk, and talk, because, both are interrelated(I walk to talk and talk to walk!!). Other than talking and walking, I love to listen, listen to tales, sober looking, but deep to understand." -The talkative man

He not only loves to listen, but also to narrate. Come and dive in with the talkative man, into his indulgent stories............

STORY : 1 THE SCHOOL BREAK

Sipping the last sip of his tea the talkative man continued with a new tale, all men at the regular roadside tea stall, with ears as alert as possible, for you could probably miss the most important part. Keeping his clay cup down and calling the tea boy, to sit beside him and listen the tales, he began~~~

She was excited, she was happy. Her joy new no limits. The evening seemed even brighter, the wait for the next day was growing longer.

The long summer break would end tomorrow. Again she could hear the school bells, and the loud cries of students.

"Ma, tomorrow the school break gets over. The school starts again tomorrow. I will again wear that dress.", she said to a living corpse.

Her mother lay still on the bed, wrapped in a sari. She was in coma.

"Let me cook you some soup ma. Don't worry, one day, you will be alright again and we'll live our lives to the fullest."

She went to the small kitchen and began boiling water.

Her father passed away last spring, and her mother got into coma. Since then, she lay still on that bed. They could not afford a treatment for her, after her father's sudden demise.

"Take the soup."

She gave her mother some soup and caressed her forehead.

"One day I'll be the best doctor and make you like before. But now you have to drink this soup."

As her mother drank the soup, she started packing her bag for the next day. She put in it loads of stationery, zipped it and went to sleep beside her mother.

The morning stretched bright. She was ready to go. Wearing the same torn pink frock, she got four years back on her birthday, which she fondly called herUNIFORM. She took her bag, full of stationery, waved her mother bye and left.

Now, once again, she could start selling stationery and petty stuffs at the traffic signal, near the school, to feed her small family.

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