In my pahadi school, bullying was as uncommon as a flaw in my handmade paper—we knew each child like the fibres in our buransh-streaked sheets. Schools should mend tears with the gentle patience of pulp steeping, not just posters on walls. My neighbour's boy in Mumbai complains of whispers that curl like dried bark, but his school's "counsellor" is a distant figure, like a forgotten tool in the rain. Here, when a fight arose, the teacher would sit us under the deodar and speak of shared roots until the anger dissolved like wildflowers in vat water.
#safeguarding#harassment
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