As a child I've read so many "It happened to me" in Tinkles. Now as i enter the adulthood, I've had various types of taste in my life. Today's "It happened to me" was sour with a twinge of bitterness yet delicious like that of little raw mangoes before summer.
I was sleeping for most of the time in the class today. As I squinted up from my table, the professor was teaching about the different types of forces involved in building construction and was asking for someone to help him demonstrate it. On seeing me on a battle with mighty sleep, he beckoned me on the stage. Once on the stage, my hands were fully stretched, each of them representing different beams on the column when someone from the back shouted, "Kinzang your long is out" followed by a roar of laughter among those students from where the sound came. Obviously they were joking, so I smiled back at them. The professor continued explaining as he turned and twisted my hands like a proud mechanic working on an old car. "Watch out your long", this time somewhere from middle and more laughter. I tried to frown but it was hard to miss the humour. These guys, in the past few weeks, were more interested in learning my mother language more than the lessons in the class. All most all of them are handy with few words like long, thu, jadaa … and so on. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not obscene but they are. And it would be unfair if I cannot do them a little favour when many of them are involved in arranging my date with a lovely brown-eyed blonde in our class.
I was beginning to feel the ache on the joints as a high pitched sound came from somewhere, "Hey, your long". "your long, your long", few more followed. This time everybody in the class was laughing with me except our short chubby professor. "Is everything all right", he announced and continued twisting my hands and legs like a yoga master without waiting for the student's response. I couldn't help but be proud of myself for being able to be the cause of their laughter and perhaps their happiness. I waved at the girls on the first row.
When the professor finished his lecturing, I must have been tired but I was all smiling. Today everybody laughed with me, I thought. As I walked down the hall I winked at few girls when a Chinese boy on the side tugged on my shirt and whispered, "Kinzang your zipper" pointing between my thigh. I felt the pang of helplessness at the bottom of my stomach as I gently bent down to discover that my zipper was all this time open. My white underwear could have camouflaged any colour but the black school pant. All this time they weren't laughing WITH me but they were literally laughing AT me. All this time they were shouting, "long, long" but not "zipper" just to, as I learnt later, save my embarrassment from the professor. But the damage was done already. Two rows in front, my brown-eyed blonde was giggling behind her hands.
I quickly excused myself to the toilet and zipped my pant. Much harder than necessary.