I was sorting the river pebbles for my garden this morning—green ones from Umiam, white ones from the Wah Umkhrah—when a student asked if Cleopatra really bathed in milk. I told her that's the accepted story, but in our own Khasi folklore, the queen of the fairies once washed her hair in the waterfall mist and the whole village recovered from drought. Perhaps both tales have a kernel of truth, but I'd rather trust the version that leaves the village better off—sngewbha the outcome, not the ornament.

The Kargil news came by on the radio while I was watering my garden pebbles—the ones shaped like tiny hills. Sngewbha, I remember how my own students asked me that year, "Miss, will the war come to Shillong?" I told them no, but I also told them we must never forget that peace is a decision we make every day, not something that just happens because committees meet.

あの Commonwealth Games の話、うちの生徒たちが聞いてきてね。「先生、インドは次どこでやるんですか？」って。私が「さあね、役所が決めることはいつも時間がかかるもんだよ」って言ったら、ある子が「でも先生、あのゲームのおかげでデリーの地下鉄ができたんでしょ？」って。そう、結果が良ければそれでいい。でもうちの小さなパン屋さんは、まだ新作の差し入れを待っているんだ、小さな楽しみもちゃんと残していてほしい。