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Chirping birds, dawning light, morning calm, the soothing scene seems to be the right time to have the desired dose of doze. Tugging the quilt tightly, I curled and covered, to ensure nothing spoils my sleep. From somewhere, far away, mildly, very softly the morning wind carried the muted voice of beeps, rising steadily bit by bit, louder and louder, and then, rudely rousing my slumber.
Oh, it’s my alarm! Startled, swiftly shifting to the side, my hands groped the table for that wretched thing that is disrupting the serenity of the dawn. Eyes still closed and having no other intentions whatsoever; cluttering and dropping anything and everything, I was still looking for my mobile, the cause of the chaos.
Ah! I found it, quickly picked it up, and fumbled with the pattern, swiped and swept the sound away. Lying down to enjoy an extra few minutes of nap seemed at that point, the most blissful moments of the morning. What could have been a couple of minutes of deep sleep was shook by a sudden inner voice; alarmed, without the call of the alarm, I got up, and rushed to brush, still trying to open my eyes, the lovelorn eyelids ceasing to part each other, the perfect love lock. Is it time to think of love? My mind rebuked the forbidden thought.
As I brushed, I tried hard to remember the recipe for the day, which refused to pop up.
Some seconds slipped by, yes, got it! Chappathi and kurma.
I hurried to look for milk from the hanging bag dangling on the grills near the main door. Diving into the kitchen, the daily custom continued – opening milk packets, cutting vegetables, washing, spilling, dropping, rattling the vessels in search of something, a call and a yell to my daughter to be quick, and constantly checking the time, amidst the turmoil. Skipping spices, redoing, tasting food every now and then, making sure it is palatable, shuttling between rooms, a wild hunt for every petty thing, hastily packed lunch boxes, obviously regretting the teeny-weeny slumber, a whirlwind of activities is the order of the day, every day to be precise.
As the clock struck half-past seven, and when it is time for my daughter to start for school, “byes” shared, some moments of calm are about to begin, I thought. I opened the door to see her off, heaving a huge sigh of relief, latching, I came in to clear the table, spill all around the plate, frustrated, I began to clean, only to know that the relief, I felt a few minutes ago was short-lived. Then, my eyes rested on the mug of milk lying untouched.
I ran out, called out, and actually screamed, as I saw her at the turn leading to the main gate; inviting an unpleasant stare from my husband and an equally displeased and irritated look from my daughter who seemed to have been happy to have forgotten the cup of milk.
Ignoring both the expressions, I waited for her to finish her milk, which felt like forever. She gulped it in a few seconds even though the same scene normally would have run for minutes at a stretch. Another round of “adieus” heard as she runs towards the gate.
Time to clear the table, move the used utensils to the washing area, handle the messy kitchen, wipe the spills and shift the food to the lunch boxes. Then, answer the washing machine’s call, spread the clothes for drying, make the beds and finally pick the scattered clothes and towels. I realised it is indeed the most productive period of the day.
And now, I put the kettle for a cup of tea. What a delight it is to have a sip in peace, the subtle span before the next row of rampage ruins the sanity of the mind. These “little spells” are “The fantastic deal” of the day, aren’t they?
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