Stars

Sometimes my nephew comes home from school with a star on his hand. A few months back, he'd sometimes come home and cry heartbrokenly because somebody else got a star and he didn't..those were my days of constant consolation-star-drawing. Anyway, he gets stars for spelling well, or knowing phonetic sounds, or colouring nicely, or counting right. The regular things kids get patted on the back for when they are four years old and ball pen stars count. But yesterday, when my nephew showed me his star, and I asked him what he got it for, he said: 'because paapa (baby) is happy in the school'

A shit education system is what we're stuck with, but it's a lucky kid who gets a teacher that rewards him for being happy. 
It breaks my heart to think that he'll grow up someday and get no stars for it..

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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