My Teacher, My Lover

Love and Sex

My Teacher, My Lover

Illustration: Namaah

F

rom kindergarten to, say grade 5, I was engaged in this wilfully strong perseverance towards marrying my class teacher. I made every effort to make my dreams come true. I would ascribe meaning to the smileys on every assignment, spend hours thinking of jokes that only she would get. It was a beautiful, innocent love until the hormones struck.

The erosion of innocence begins with the sprouting of pimples. It is the age of unreason when you go straight from “Deepika se shaadi karunga” to “Deepika ko karunga”. Suddenly, all everyone was obsessed with was how much one could stroke their “machine gun” in a day. Like the young Sikh boy in the old Maruti ad, I would always answer: “Papa ki karaan, petrol khatam hi nai honda!”

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