Pushkar

The hindi in Pluribus is so bad.

A message from a Kindergarten teacher: After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old: “My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.” No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.” My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me. When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic. But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe. My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown. And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice. They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer. The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.” As if kindness were a weakness. Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure — a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.” a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.” a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.” Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up. But this last year broke something in me. The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival. I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times. So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998: “Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.” I sat on the floor and cried. No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications. I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced. I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers. So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try. Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

With the most weapons in his WHAT!? 👀 @IndianExpress

“Ek number, Tujhi kambar, Haay chaal shaky-shaky” 🎵

‘Booty’ and ‘butt’ are synonyms. ‘Call’ and ‘dial’ are synonyms. But, a ‘booty call’ and a ‘butt dial’ are VERY different things.

Happy International Tiger Day.

@shreemiverma19 Postman in Switzerland arrives with a letter in a car. 😱😱😱

Watching Darr after years and it's... a LOT (complimentary)

@yabasust 🤣🤣🤣

@Pushkarr Is zero stars review or plot

“Metro… in Dino” review: Not a single dinosaur in the movie. Forget about a metro running inside a dinosaur. Zero stars. Sorry for the spoilers.

@krtgrphr Just need a @kweezzz 🥹

@Pushkarr 😂😂😂 it's like being back in 2011 Twitter ❤️

@abhishekmadan Kachra daalne ki paryapt jagah🤣

@Pushkarr pshkr singlehandedly bringing world peace to twitter

Real estate developers in Greenland are called igloo-paglus

Recently on an Air India flight 191 to Newark I met a young airhostess Surabhi Kolhatkar who not only remembered being named after our Surabhi programme but also watching it with her parents. My pranaams to the Kolhatkars #airindia, #Surabhibaby, #Surabhiwalle, #surabhiname,

Ex foreign cricketers on Virat Kohli's retirement! #ViratKohliretirement #ViratKohli #CricketTwitter

What's the book that made you fall in love with reading?

Iceland is the only option here. We have near 24 hour daylight, ensuring that floodlight failure is no issue.

@goodreads Only the best thriller out there

What's your go-to book recommendation for someone in a reading slump?

#WATCH | Maharashtra | Satpurush Wankhede, also known as the 'Birdman of Nagpur,' has been feeding birds every single day for the past 22 years at the city's iconic Ambazari Garden. At precisely 7:30 am each morning, Wankhede arrives at the park carrying bags filled with grains and water containers. For the next three hours, he makes his way across various spots within the garden, carefully placing food and water for hundreds of birds that flock to him daily.

@RGVzoomin @BajpayeeManoj Just bring in Urmila as the possessed and you have won.

After SATYA, KAUN and SHOOL I am thrilled to announce , me and @BajpayeeManoj are once again teaming up for a HORROR COMEDY a genre which neither of us did I have done horror , gangster, romantic , political dramas , adventure capers, thrillers etc but never a HORROR COMEDY The film is titled POLICE STATION MEIN BHOOT Tag line: You Can’t Kill The Dead Concept We run to the police when scared, but where will the police run to, when they get scared? STORY IDEA After a deadly encounter killing , a POLICE STATION becomes a HAUNTED STATION making all the COPS run in FEAR to escape the GHOSTS of the GANGSTERS With cutting-edge VFX, spine-chilling horror effects , POLICE STATION MEIN BHOOT will be a A FUN FILLED film that will TERRIFY YOU

JUST IN: US has imposed tariffs on the Australian territory of Heard and McDonald Islands, which is uninhabited by humans but has colonies of seals and penguins.