I still remember the day Rashed first came to school. The class had just started. Sir had opened his register to take the roll when a boy came and stood at the door. There was a dripping wet paper in his le ft hand. He held it carefully and looked into the class. He looked as if he had lost a goat or something and was looking for it inside the room. After standing there for awhile he finally decided to come in. Majid Sir looked at him with a frown and said, “Hey, who are you? What do you want?” He didn’t reply but put the paper on Sir’s table and wiped his hands on his pants. Slightly surprised, Sir asked, “What’s this?” “A paper.” “I can see that. What paper is it?” “I don’t know.” He glanced vaguely at the class. “The office gave it to me.” Sir briefly looked the paper over. “An admission paper? You want to get admitted to this class?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean by you don’t know?” Sir scolded, “How did this get so wet?” “It fell in the drain.” “The drain?” Sir made a face and pulled his hand away. “It’s not dirty Sir – I washed it.” “You washed it?” Sir looked at the boy in surprise. After looking at him like this for a little while he asked, “What’s your name?” “Laddu1.” “Laddu?” The whole class burst into laughter. Sir said angrily, “Quiet! Absolutely quiet!” Once we had quieted down, Majid Sir asked the boy again, “What’s your real name?” “I don’t have one.” “You don’t have a real name?” “No.” “Your name is just Laddu?” The boy nodded his head. “Nothing before or after that?” “No.” Sir looked at the boy again in surprise. Then he said, “Can just Laddu be anybody’s name?” “No,” Laddu replied thoughtfully. “Then?” “Put something else with it.” “Put something else with it?”
