I just got a plot of land, my own do bigha zameen. Don’t ask me how now. It’s in UP hinterland and no body asks any questions there. I also got a
black bag of money as a gift alongside. It’s a bottomless bag quite like Santa’s sack. I was told – Banao beta, whatever you want to. Set the foundation of your dreams right here. Build karo gallows pillars of steel, or sangmarmar. Right here!
I spent an evening downing spirits and raising mine further, planning all the time – What will I build on this plot of land divine? And then I got it.
Why, a Finishing School for Men.
No no no! Not the kind of fancy school which will teach them those manners. Sit thus and stand on both feet, not tilting your behind like an ass on one side. Open doors to passing ladies, and stare not at their retreating behinds. Don’t wear flat-fronts and if you do, some binders inside please. It’s a metro rail car, not a sleaze fest on wheels. My finishing school will not get into superficialities of polishing the Hallo Maim to Heylo Medem.
My school will only admit men who smilingly accepted a good chunk of their father-in-laws’ wealth in the name of Shagan aka Blessings. Why admit them? Well, to finish them, of course!
Why the serious face? …
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[This post is written for the WordPress Daily Prompts : 365 Writing Prompts program. The author, Sakshi Nanda stays somewhere ‘Between Write and Wrong‘]