...Mobile but jammed
The other day, I used the F-word with one of my students. He had come to class 45 minutes late and was struggling with the door. When I asked him “where were you?”, he misheard and answered, “I can’t open the door”. The class was in flow and his fidgeting had disturbed everyone, so I said in an even tone: “I don’t give a f*** about the door. Where the hell were you all this while?” He promptly reported this to the higher-ups and I got a call from the boss, suitably scandalised at “your colourful language” that had been “inflicted on a young crowd”. Ha ha! My students are 22-year-old Mumbai kids whose vocabulary is far more picturesque than mine can ever be. But what do I know? Apparently, my solitary swear word has wreaked lasting damage on their vulnerable souls.