Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Billabong, here we come....

It has finally happened. We have been granted admission to Billabong High, that bastion of good schooling located barely 15 minutes from home. Which we had earmarked as being the ideal school for the brat since he was a zygote awash in amniotic fluid. Have always believed in the importance of a good school, coming as one did from the rarified stratosphere of a convent education and a boarding school teacher mum, who duly impressed on one the necessities of a good school and classmates from a comparable social strata (to enable networking to begin when one is still playing with Play Doh). Snobbery apart. Necessity compelled me to put brat into playschool next door where (though he loves it there and that is enough endorsement for me) the rest of the brats donot have mothers I can make two minutes of conversation with because their world revolves around lunch dinner, sarees and temple visits. Forgive me if I sound snobbish, but it is true. And they all speak in Gujarati and treat me like the pariah as I dont fit in. I actually know the nursery rhymes taught in school before the teacher teaches them, I make conversation with the teacher in English (like that is a great qualification) and, horrors, I work. Out of the house. I dont cook the food at home myself.

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