Classes done, I walk leisurely back from work towards the compound that houses teachers, staff and the few aliens (foreigners) at my university in Huainan.

My weekend has started and I feel the unbearable lightness of being. Milan Kundera would have been glad to study me from his rooftop perch!

As I pass the main office building I see dozens of rolls of Toilet Paper being brought in, neatly packed in large poly bags. Some are carried by pedestrians and others are carted-in in the boots of motor cars. I wonder what's happening. Is someone about to unleash a deadly strain of diarrhoea or is there a serious paper shortage that is to be met with TP?

I visualize my students all coming to class, TP in hand - for one reason or another. If it's the first one - diarrhoea - I see them making a sudden, unannounced and urgent dash to the door of my classroom. If it's the other, I see them sitting studiously, poring over rolls of TP, eyes glued to paper as they carefully take notes, trying to ensure their pens don't rupture a delicate membrane.

Thus ruminating, I stroll past the gate, seeing more rolls in more poly bags on more arms owned by more happy-looking faces. Most faces look rather delicate and I wonder why TP makes the couriers look better and more delicate. Some of them seem to labour under the weight, even as they smile anyway!

I have a sudden insight - a realization - TP is a source of joy!

Wow! I say to myself, I wonder why I never had such a simple and clear insight into the source of happiness - yes, happiness can be so simple. It can be gained by buying or owning rolls of TP, the more the merrier!

It's all about paper, anyway, I realize - some printed and some pure in its pristine unblemished whiteness. Some people are happy with - well, not rolls, but small, 6"x3" slips of paper emblazoned with flags, faces and numbers. The more they have of those, the happier they are, particularly with numbers of a larger denomination. Some others, like the ones I see here, are not happy with little slips of printed paper - they need the virgin kind, on which they can later superscribe their own watermarks and designs!

I am thrilled at my discovery, my realization! I feel like Pythagoras must have felt thousands of years ago, each time he figured out a new and difficult theorem. I sing happily as I cross the street and go past the gate to the residential compound.

A few paces in, and my eyes sense a strange, irradiating glow coming from an open space ahead, to the left of the driveway.

It feels like a halo, somewhat like the light after the first heavy snowfall. I peer at the whiteness and wonder why it has snowed so selectively only in that little open space ahead and then I see it - rolls upon rolls of TP, all in poly bags and more happy faces! It looks like a few truckloads of TP have been dumped there and I am amazed, near certain that my reasoning was right. More people carrying them - happily! Then, I notice - most of them are being carried by women and that causes further wonder to my curious brain.

Why doesn't paper (printed or otherwise) please men as much as it pleases women?

I see a familiar face. It belongs to a teacher from my department - the Foreign languages Department. And, she's chattering away happily with a colleague even as they carry their own poly bags with dozens of rolls. Salvation! I tell myself as I slow to a crawl and smile at her, thinking I'm about to add another dimension to my discovery. I offer to give her a hand. But, no, she won't let me anywhere near her paper. That's her salvation!

'Why are so many women carrying...' my question is unfinished, as I look pointedly at her poly bag. 'It's a gift from the school - only for women!' she answers as she smiles happily. I am about to react with jealous anger but she clarifies, 'A Women's Day gift for all women employees and teachers.'

I smile and wish her a Happy Women's Day. She thanks me.

'But why are some carrying twice as many as the others?' I ask, my brain still thirsty for info. She and her colleague have thirty-six rolls each in their poly bags.

'Perhaps, their departments have given them a cash gift, too,' she informs me.

'Ahhh, I get it!' My brain sees it all. 'It's all about paper - for some it's printed and for others it's pristine, unblemished whiteness but for most, it's a load of both...'

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