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 bottle in hand and rivers on cheeks and if asked why she was so crying, she’d point out at sun. It was on her face and she didn’t like it. Or, maybe she wanted that teddy from the crib; or she missed her nanny, who was in kitchen. She comfortably thumbed our thumb rule.

But I could’ve watched her forever like this. Her sky-blue blanket was on her – little messy – just like the strings of hairs on her face. Her eyes were closed, but I could see both eye-balls moving – maybe she was dreaming. A good dream. A blue spinner was beside her head, and a puzzle book. She held a water bottle in her mouth and with that white light peeking through window, she looked divine – something surreal. And she was mine. My own baby.

The thought was too much. The wish to touch her face grew like the old banyan tree on riverside in our village – sky touching and like every restricted thing, it was stupendously tempting. I am a human afterall. And a father. Maybe she’d not made any tantrum today.

I shifted few strings of hairs from her face to behind of ear. Her skin was flawless and soft. I couldn’t resist. I lowered my face and kissed her forehead. She got a broad forehead like her mother. She got a similar face. And that hot temperament too.

First, she whined a little, and then threw away her water bottle aside and a sharp scream came out from that tiny throat. I immediately backed up, regretting my action – it was inexcusable and panicking. I took that water bottle and gave her back instantly. She took that in hand, but didn’t stop crying. Her eyes were closed and mouth wide-opened. I had to do something. I put my hand on her head and started singing. ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’. My voice was ridiculous, choice of song was funny and it was enough to wake up a sleeping child, but something magic happened. She took that water bottle into her mouth back, and stopped moving. I started patting slowing onto her head, and in no-time she was asleep again.

My trance was over. Carefully, I backed up from her bed and then from her room. I didn’t know that I could walk so silently. But then I didn’t know a lot of wonderful things. Like I could sing a lullaby and a real child could sleep on that!