I ran and picked up my phone. An 800 number… probably a salesman I thought. “Hello,” I said.
“Hello? Hello?” A foreign voice answered.
“Hello,” I said again beginning to get excited. “Who are you?” I asked very slowly, trying not to get my hopes up.
“I am fine, and you?” a girlish voice responded in the accent I know and miss.
“I am also fine,” I answered excitedly. I didn’t know who it was, but it was someone from Bangladesh!
“What is your name?”
“Jody.”
“Oh! Ma’am! Oh ma’am.” I didn’t expect the excitement or enthusiasm. “I am Risha. I miss you.”
Risha! My class 9 student? I didn’t give them my phone number, but oh well, I was happy to be talking to her again. “I remember you. I miss you.” I said very slowly and clearly.
“Ma’am. I miss you. And Judy. Ma’am. You come to Bangladesh?”
Here it came. THE question I’ve been asked by hundreds of people (and been asking myself) ever since I left Bangladesh two months ago. “I do not know. I want to. I wish…” Then the phone went dead.
Although I now believe it was Judy’s Risha (class 7) it made my night.
My Risha is the one on the right.
Risha, the girl who called me, is either on the left or in the center.
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