For once, the topic on post-a-day triggered some of my juices, and I decided to write on it. Why it excited me is because I had a teacher who, I didn’t realise it when I was small, was a paedophile. His name was Tek Chand.
I was a cute boy, though I do remember having a starkly negative self-perception and often feeling dejected at what I saw in the mirror: I wished I looked good enough so Anuradha (or Kanwaljeet, or Swati, or Pallavi, anyone) would love me. But Tek Chand did love me. He would often grab my wrist and twist me into his embrace and smack my cheeks till they turned red and bruised from his moustache. He would relish inviting me into his room when he was alone, and I am sure he got massive hard-ons thinking about he was going to devour me. I, in my naivete, thought that he was one of the rare teachers that I had a positively good impression upon, though I did not respect him much: he was crappy at science, the subject he taught. He even awarded me marks of my choice (of course, I was alone with him in the checking room) and I got a whopping 98. I was happy.
It was about 10 years later that I realised what his intentions were. Thank god I still have an unharmed asshole, and a happy psyche, all in all.
On the contrary, there have been beings in my school life who did some justice to their tags. It is jolly inconsiderate of me to forget his name! Damn. Oh wait, it was Kashyap. On second thoughts, he wasn’t too special either. Maybe my best teacher was my grandfather. On the head. . . I hit the nail, that is.