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By Sanjanaa Bathija

The last two! Yeah, its perfect. One for her, and one for me. I almost skate to the counter, to slip in seconds before the harassed looking lady with the heaped shopping cart. Don't want to be running later than I already am. But what's that about Newton's law? Wait, its some other oldish sounding English male name's law, I rummage through my already addled brain, because it's important to be clear and have good grip on General Knowledge in general. If you know what I mean. C'mon brain - spit it out!

Yesss! Murphy's! I figuratively pat myself on my back, truly impressed at my memory miracle! But back to the law. The customer already at my counter has myriad issues and I see every other line moving, as time tick-tocks loudly in my head. Heaped cart lady and me, we are "misery loves company" now - dolefully eyeing each other and the other swiftly moving queues and rueing our fates.

A good fifteen minutes later, I stumble out into the sunshine, only slightly relieved. I can see vehicles jammed back to back in front of me. And my Roxy is ofcourse blocked by a double parked vehicle. I'd break down right now, but it's not going to help me get out of this jam, is it? So I put on my big girl shoes, rein it in, brown wrap the feeling and double park it in the corner of my brain - in the quick recall section, for when I need ammunition at my next counseling session.

It's another ten minutes or so before the last of the vehicle jumble is unfurled enough to allow Roxy and me passage to freedom. Six minutes later we are cruising into our destination's parking lot. Just thirty minutes later than expected.

The sea of faces, the waves of anxiety and excitement that hit me as I enter the auditorium is overwhelming. It never changes, and I am never going to get accustomed to it - as a kid or an adult: PTMs (Parent Teacher Meetings) will always be PTMs (Psychological Trauma Missions). Scanning the daunting waters, I spy my twinkly eyed sunshine ray. She will always be that first ray of angelic light in my life - from the moment she was born and they showed her to me, glowing bright and beautiful through the epidural haze and pain of the cold unforgiving operation table. I weave my way to her - as I see her expressive face break from worry to relief and an expression I have grown to love: anger tinged with trust and faith that mommy's got her back, always. As she begins to voice her disapproval, I slip in a sheepish sorry and the two bars of Twix into her palm, one for her and one for me, like always - because chocolate makes everything better. We turn in unison, happy smiles, to face the gargoyle looking class teacher. Whatever else happens - All is well in our world.

By Sanjanaa Bathija

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