Papa’s One Day!!!
Papa clicks opens at 17 hours at
the dot, rolls his balls and neat the brows, gaze across and meditates at his
morning prayers. He extends carefully and pulls the roll of blanket over his
little daughter, Yumma and quietly slips out of sandwich of sheets and peeps at
Avtar’s room, to make sure that he is sleeping smoothly, last night he fought
with papa over the study. Papa says sorry to him quietly, maintains his quilt
and smiles at his freedom under the net. Papa’s chore begins now, as if
regimented but in silent love and joy for the buds. He draws curtains for the shimmering
light to bless in and opens pans for the morning breeze to rush in. He glances
at the container plants, which are sprouting and still, breadths his
satisfaction and hits the kitchen. On the way, he picks up the cloth from the
line, which probably was missed last night or still needed hanging for
sometime. Sometime, the whole house can be in the mess, shoes, slippers and
especially, Yumma’s play items, pots and pans and dolls….pebbles and twigs
anything you might imagine of shape. He slips in the washroom and freshens up
with splashes and washes, shaving and brushing. With morning freshness, he goes
to the home shrine with pictures and idols of lord Shiva and Parvati (ParooHang
and Summnima), and submissionly offers water and lamp. Prayers keeps his soul
strong and big, faith nourishes them and the rest follows. One incense burns at
the boardroom, freshens the room and fumigates, hopefully all the evils of the
space………The electric water boiler shows the warm amber diode and he draws few
cups of water on the tea pot and prepares morning white sweet tea. The gas goes
click but the gas refuses to show-off….the main valve is still down and he
forgot. Later, with a smile and silently kicking his own stupidity, unlocks the
lever and the gas goes rages. He carefully, adds the tea recipe, let the
concoction alone, he attends the sink and dishes. It is water time, the taps
are whispering and the jet of water shooting undonditionaly. This is quite a noisy
affair, needs rush for the jerry-cans to fill and reserves to be done. There is
this woosh sound and the tea spilled over the oven, for un-attending the
boiling sweetie. With the tea and morning breeze, he prepares morning
breakfast, anything from yellow, zeera, plane, fried rice to unanticipated reciped
curries and salads. Sometime, burns would win, otherwise the taste-buds. He
truly thinks over the chores that how many times would the same spoon be
washed, same plates be rinsed and the same pots be scraped…..he finds it mediocre
and over routined yet there is no alternatives as yet. There is nothing like
self washing dishes and self cooking recipies…….this orchestra had been performed
by the human kind from the time never known, and now its my turn…….and yes, my
one day chore is punctuated by other affairs, phone calls, attending to
meeting, bills and memorandums, clearance and objective attendances to friends
and love ( I know you are hugging n smiling at me…I see your love for me grown
little taller already….) ……the time never stops and the watch is never tired….even
if my watch stands still, its someone’s clock at the rush….such an amazingly complex
diasporas of activities. By the time its is Seven and half, he puts on music
and shouts “Goodmorning…..Chha” its time you throw your quilt. There is this
boy, lazily and unwilling, wriggling and at his best…..the music is fuzzily volumed
up so to drive his lazy ticks in the house…...Papa fills tiffin carriers one by
one with the cuisine of the day, with love and care…fills water bottles and packages
tissue papers, spoon and towels. The consignments go in two baskets, one for
the Chha and the other for Yu (mma / mmu), with relative proportion to their
sizes…not forgetting their tastes. Chha is in the bath, unwillingly washing himself
like a bird in the pool, consciously I let him…..Chha brush properly and take a
bath, I have warm water for you….” Done, Papa”. His breakfast is laid, juice
and hard boiled eggs. While he is eating, I do his dirty shoes, polish them and
put them in shape……check his books and tasks. His socks need stitching….”you
could have shown me this yesterday”…….but I do it right. I pull his Gho out of
the hanger and inspect his whites……as expected, they are as dirty as they can
be….Papa pulls them out and changes then with neat, ironed lagays. I groomed
him, tighten his belt and see him off with his back pack and tiffin basket.
This is the finishing line of my morning attendance to my Chha…..and its an
amazing feeling. The little sleeping beauty is still nowhere to waking up…..deep
inside I know that today also I am going to be late….but this is my life and I take
my personal life more seriously than professional…….I am committed to both but
they complement each other and I see justified wisdom here. 99 cm tall,
delicate and sharp, innocent as she may be, I gaze at her…. I leave her to her
oblivion and sit for my lesson plans, she pesters me right away…Papa….come here….Goodmorning
Yu, come up here!! No, Papa you come here…..this goes on. I do not want to
wash, No no no brushing, I don’t want to eat…….I don’t want to go to School,
Please, pick me up…..Cartoon…. I want to serve myself, I want to wear on kira…..these
are some of her infamous weapons to fix Papa…..and I do carry on one by one….ok
Papa knows, let me help….we almost fight in the wash room over brushing and
washing….with her, it takes longest hour of my day. Finally, I am commissioned at finishing washing, the big
tiger awaits, on selecting which cloth to wear…she picks odd cloths; for
fittings, colour or weather and yet I have to submit to her or pamper and
pester her to the right ones. Today, is Monday and its Kira day at school. I try
my best to neat her Kira…put this edge that way and pair this heim to the other
but can never put it right….the most difficult moment of my morning chore is
her kira and hair dressing….the two I could not have heist over. I cry silently
regretting the fault lines in my education in upbringing of my buds, if I ever
fail….but like Achellies, I take up these beasts. Finally, my princess is ready
for her school. I quickly, dress on my part many a times forgetting one or the
other count, pick my bag and compose a cool. She would walk talking to me…..un-stopping
chattering and questioning and querying…..we talk and talk. Papa, pick me up…and
I carry her through the trail, umbrella, basket, water bottles, bags, her favourite
doll or bag…..I almost seem like a lorry in Indian highways…..Goodmorning m’am,
she greets her madam. In a moment she disappears in her classroom. (She is the
first one to be dropped and last one to be picked….).
I missed my morning assembly, but
it’s an informed delay, anyway. I straight away go to my Chemistry laboratory,
where I have my place to stay and prepare my lessons and do other innings. I recline
on my semi executive chair, and listen to documentary from BBC, Discovery,
National Geography or CNN on subjective or objective headings. The learners would
assemble and Papa starts his delivery with learned paradigms befitting the
lesson head. The class is a mixture of fun and run, suspense and hangings, laughters
and tears, and yet, at the end of the day, it is a huge experience. Each
evening I leave the class, I am wiser by that day….this is the only take-home
satisfaction in the life of a Teacher. The fun filled delicate yet, full of
thermodynamics to be handled psychologically, injecting the pedagogical mixture
scientific concepts and mathematical actualities of knowledge is like medical pediatrics.
Something goes wrong and it multiplies at geometric ratios. Now its May the
Second, attributed to the teachers in Bhutan. This affiliation is but emotional
trap and a gifting parliament. One of my students wrote… ‘I believed you as my
god Thank you for Teaching me as a god” (Sic.) and the other wrote sometime in
the past from one of the primer medical colleges…’you are my god, because of
you I am here’…..(Sic.)…the stack of cards goes, from hand-made to Archies,
Signatures to some Bhutanese crafts. Loads of gifts needs quite a time to
unpack….ranging from cups and mugs, photo frames to chocolate balls and rolls,
pens to thermos…… These are the moments in my life which deviates from standard
with a huge impact. From the next moment, this deviation closes and the
normality takes over. The hands on my watch competes with each other, I don’t know
which one is more important, the second, the minute or the hour…in sync they
show me the time. Half past fourteen, and I rush to pick Yu….. I am half way
between the Yu’s School and my residency, and it starts to rain…. This is one
of the toughest decision making execution in
my life….to return home and get umbrella or keep on drenching….(metaphor
tried here..)Simple decisions are complicated and often to arrived at. They may
loop back or disappear in other dimension….. As she spots my coming, she bids farewell
to her friends and madams, tugs at my little finger and walks chattering along,
almost continuously. We beg to stop at the wheat fields and take pictures, and
she asks whether Buaa (brother=Avtar) ‘s at home. The answer depends. She
insists on walking but I pick her and carry home….she insists upon picking the
lock which I allow her…..she tries with her tiny hands, rolling and skewing but
the lock refuses….I do the magic for her, you know what I meant, and the lock
comes out. I see her face glow with happiness upon achieving first lock opening
lesson. The house welcomes with simplified ambience for the three musketeers…….only
here we fight in love and happiness…..immediately, she retorts…Papa, its pooh….and
I take her to the loo. While away, for sometime, she shouts….its done. Papa
rushes in and washes her, flushes poop and change her dresses. Its play time
for her and she settles down for Bhara-kuti, her favourite. She cooks, cleans,
prepares, washes, shops, tenders, attends and she creates her own universe,
humming and talking, giggling and shouting, singing and dancing….while I watch
this symphony in awe and inspiration. To see my little Yu’ giggling and doing
her miniaturized my version of her daily chore gives me unstoppable energy,
like a valcono of love. I steal little moments of her, I relax and listen to
old ganas. Chha is here, with beads of sweats on his forehead and little
excited……he throws his show and I listen to him orderly. In a minutes he sits
in front of Computer and draws into Internet or strums his guitar, I become
very obedient audience…..its amazing and difficult yet, possibly rewarding……….(to
be continued…drafted)
