Tantrum On a Sunny Day
It was a sunny day. The light reflected from the white house at neighborhood had brightened this house too; and the light fell on a face. A sleeping face, so serene that I could’ve watch it forever. Just watch; or maybe a gigantic wish to touch it. But I knew that was not to be done. The face was pretty and tranquil, and with that white light on it, it was a sort of a beautiful expensive art; but as I knew the owner of the face, she was no artist. She was a vandalist. If I dared to touch her face, or hair or even the water bottle while she was sleeping, she’d start a tantrum. Her morning usually started with a wrecked wiggle, which lasted for good thirty minutes and occasional whining, whose veracity was always difficult to establish. Our thumb rule – if no tears, then nothing to fear - she was probably faking it. But wait. Sometimes her tears flew down so easily and so believably that I wondered she must’ve trained her eyes. She’d be sitting on her blanket with water bott...