One gets to see little guys’ feet getting entangled in their own dhotis, and tipping over onto their faces all over the place. Most entertaining. One then remembers that one is a teacher, by virtue of which, one cannot laugh at one’s pupils. One finds it quite impossible to stop laughing, so one simply laughs on behind cover of one’s handkerchief, and thusly, spares feelings all around and avoids a scandal.
One also gets pushed, shoved and pulled from all angles by one’s devout pupils who want to witness the sweet sight of one making a perfect ass of oneself on the dance floor. One acts with lightning wit and acuity, and feigns swooning spells by the simple expedient of rolling one’s eyes most effectively, and collapses onto the mattress in a heap, thusly solving the problem, and scaring off said pupils.
One struggles for a glimpse of one’s face in the mirror in that most hallowed of meeting places – the washroom, and learns an important life lesson in the process – thou shalt use thy elbow as a battering ram. The needs justify the end.
One witnesses colleagues dressed up to give a complex to a Christmas tree, and despairs over one’s plane janeness.
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