So today, I tagged along with my midget mother to attend a food fair at her old stomping ground. We checked out all the stalls, and she reminisced quite a bit, and bored the pants off of a few students there, although they looked obligingly attentive.
As we were about to leave, she passed by a knot of men near the entrance. One of the older chaps appeared to strike her as somewhat familiar, and as she was being less than subtle, he realised that she was looking at him in some confusion.
My mum was on a mission to find someone she knew, but hadn’t at that time. I had jokingly remarked earlier on that she should stick to looking for silver-haired or balding souls in the crowd as viable options. This guy fit both descriptors.
When she peered at him, he disengaged himself from the knot, and bounced up to her in that amazingly pompous manner Indian male teachers seem to cultivate as they lose teeth and hair. Without waiting to ask her name, he pointed to her (rather rude, I thought) and said: “I taught you!”
Now my mum is no shrinking violet, but she was quite taken aback by this confident assertion. So she asks, in return: “Um, really? I don’t think so. Were you a student here?”
“Yes, yes!” he guffawed mighty patronisingly.
“And when did you graduate?” she said, before he could take off again.
“Well, I graduated in 1974. Unlikely you taught me.”
Credit to the man to not visibly deflating, but he was seriously discombobulated. In fact, as it turns out, she taught him law, during his second year and her fourth year.
Karma has to be a feminist.