Without Further Ado!

My dad has always been there for me. I also get my passion for writing from my parents. So I decided to post a small excerpt from this story here with the link to the full story provided at the bottom:
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The Road Not TakenBuzz

“Wasmi beta, wake up, it is 7:30.” My Ammi has an internal clock that is so precise that she hollers wake-up messages in exact five-minute intervals. I know I cannot laze around any longer under the comforter, otherwise I am sure to miss the school bus which comes sharp at 8:15 AM.
“Ammi, I will be down in five minutes.” I quickly brush my teeth and bathe as I mentally revise the Physics lessons for my first period quiz. It suddenly occurred to me that for the first time in my life I was actually enjoying studying for a test. Well, to be entirely truthful, my interest in doing well in physics has to do a lot with impressing my teacher, Lakshmi. She joined our school this year immediately after finishing her M.Sc. degree. She is the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life (I can feel my cheeks flushing even as I think of her). Dusky complexion, sharp features, beautiful expressive eyes, thick curly hair, and when she wears a saree to school, only the fear of expulsion from the school keeps me from trying to touch her bare waist. Somewhere deep inside I do know that there is no hope for a chubby twelve-year-old student to win a twenty-four-year-old teacher's romantic attentions but if I really do well in tests, you know maybe…
“Wasmi beta, you are really late, come and eat your breakfast. God knows what he daydreams about all day long.”
I think Ammi would have a heart attack if she knew what I was thinking. I stand in front of the mirror and comb my hair. I look hopefully for any signs of facial hair, a faint trace of a mustache maybe -- nothing! With Abbu's strict edict on my hairstyle (dorky) and no facial hair, how am I ever going to get Lakshmi teacher to take me seriously? A deep sigh escapes me.
I run into the dining room where Ammi has just put a couple of steaming parathas on a plate for me along with the standard tall glass of milk -- yuck! “Ammi, what is this -- paratha again, can't I have toast and chai. I hate this milk.”
“Good morning, beta and by the way, I have told you a million times not to use the hate word,” Abbu's baritone voice rings out from behind his newspaper.
“In our times, Gandhiji used to say that all this bread wread is another way for the English to dominate the Indians. We should eat parathas,” Daddoo (my paternal grandfather) weighs in. Trust him to get Gandhiji to comment on the merits of bread versus parathas for breakfast. He is 73 years old and came briefly in contact with Gandhiji during the freedom struggle. Each passing year his exploits in the freedom struggle increase in their magnitude and scope as he recounts the same stories over and over again.

The link to the rest of this story is here: http://sudha-murali.sulekha.com/blog/post/2002/07/the-road-not-taken/comments.htm

I had never read the real version of this story before as it explains on the site. The story, written based on the Gujarat riots, is a very poignant reminder of the power of love and hatred. Please, only post, and I emphasize ONLY post a comment if you have read the whole story, otherwise posting would be rather pointless.
Thank you for your cooperation,
DieuBleu