Laddu

Laddu. They called him laddu at home; he was no toddler now, he hated it and had let it known many times. But everyone still called him laddu, he was still their little laddu afterall. "Stupid laddu, he thought. If he could be prime-minister for one day, he would put everyone and their cousins in jail, everyone who made laddu, ate laddu, spoke laddu, wrote laddu. But one only became prime minster in fairy tales. And like one thing Buddha knew to be true about this world, "there is suffering", Laddu knew there was laddu.

"Are Ladddduuuuuuuuu", mother shouted from the kitchen. That neighbor window shattering roar meant only one thing. Laddu's tiffin was ready, and he was going to be late for school again. If only he would not spend so much time in the loo, thinking. Laddu hurried to the bathroom, mother had already put hot water in the balti.

The dark sky had turned a blue shade by the time Laddu was out. He hurried through the clothes, stuffed everything in the school bag, wore his socks, tied the laces, grabbed the schoolbag, ran downstairs, and banged the gate with the hero cycle. There was nothing heroic about hero cycle and he hated it, but now was not the time.

"Mihir". "Present Sir", laddu ran into the geography class. "Stand at the door for another 15 minutes, facing the class". The entire class stared at him and he looked down in embarrassment. The lesson continued. Some of the girls were giggling, and Mihir realized mother's pickle had seeped out from the bag to decorate his shirt. It hurt him that Aditi was one of them. He wished he could just go hide into his empty chair next to Rohit.

"Tongggg", the class was over, Rohit was in talks with some others and Aditi, and Mihir sunk in his chair, unnoticed.

The class was going through seat rotations, and it was his first day with Rohit.

(To be continued)