Yesterday I went to the Dean's. A pious old man with silver hair and silver eyebrows and in a dhoti with golden borders. He was checking their answer scripts when we went.

He is the Dean of School of Humanities in our university. He reminded me of Pishemoshai. He talked to me, asked what I was doing, where I stayed, what I had plans for the summer, where I had gone for school. He spoke in broken Bengali too and warned me that he knew it enough so I wouldn't be able to abuse him much in Bengali.


He gave us tea and we chatted for an hour or so. Later, his wife joined us. And as I was leaving, I touched their feet and they blessed me.

For once in ages in my life in HCU, I felt like I were Home.
'So, you will know where to find us now. You can come back again', he said.

And then, maybe, I never wanted to leave. I do have a weakness for love, I think.