Morning rituals - the girls get ready for school

                “Good morning! Good morning! How are you? Just fine!”

                Long time ago, we had bought a doll for Shaivi which sang to these lines when it was picked up. She was very fond of it. However, these or similar words come out of my mouth, and not the doll’s, on the morning of every school day.

                The response is typical. Complete silence.

                My wife gets up a few minutes before me, and gets busy for the kitchen. Even I can cook, but my culinary skills are limited and my daughters have very specific demands for their lunch. Hence it has been decided that whenever my wife is around, the responsibility to prepare and pack lunch falls on her. I take over when she is not around.

                Repetition of the morning sing song daws a little response from the elder one – “Five more minutes!”

                “Two minutes!” is my typical response.

                We both know that my next attempt will be ten minutes later. However, this morning ritual takes place without any correction or change in format.

                Ten minutes later, the meal is cooked, and the lunch boxes are packed. I now switch on all lights and start hollering for both of them to get up. Over the next two to three minutes, we manage to send one of them to the bathroom while I take the other one – usually the younger one – outside to “talk to the birds”. Her first words, however, are “I’m sleepy”. Within a few minutes, I generally succeed in waking her enough to be able to count the different types of bird sounds.

                My wife, meanwhile, gets involved in another battle – getting the elder one out of the bathroom. When I walk back in with the slightly sleepy younger one, I add to her efforts. Thereafter, things speed up slightly while the younger one is inside and the elder one has a few morsels in the name of breakfast.

                Over next five minutes, the elder one is fed and moves for changing to school uniform, while the beaming younger one is out. She is given her glass of milk and an instruction to finish in in two minutes flat. Another five minutes pass by – the elder one is dressed and is holding her glass of milk, while the younger one has taken two sips, ensuring that her glass is almost full. I tell her that she must finish it by the count of twenty, and start the count. By the time I reach ten, the elder one has finished her glass while the younger one has taken three more sips.

                I now firmly tell her that unless she finishes by the count of twenty, she will miss school. This works, and over the next two minutes, her glass is empty. My wife ensures that the lunch bag is ready and water bottle filled up. The elder one, meanwhile, is struggling with her hair. My wife threatens to get all her hair hacked off unless she learns to manage things herself. Once the hair is all combed up and ready to be tied to a ponytail, the hunt for hair clips begin. While we generally fail, the younger one somehow manages to find the stuff.  We then debate the purpose and futility of the elder one having such big eyes when her vision is no better than that of a button. A few jokes and laughs later, the focus shifts to Shaivi.

                Getting ready is a fun exercise for the younger child, and an exasperation to both parents. Her hair is all messed up, her shoes are dirty, her hair-band is missing, her shorts are dirty. Somehow, after lot of complaining and very few high - pitched sounds later, she is ready within five minutes. Aadya, in the meanwhile, gets fully ready to leave. We then bundle both the children in the car and I drive to the meeting point of the school van. This is also the time that we come across disasters. Once, Shaivi had forgotten her school bag. Once in a while, one of them forget to take their lunch bag. At other times, one of them – mostly the elder one, remember that she had to learn a certain song, or was asked to bring a chart paper, or some similar thing. Most of the times, I am able to resolve the crisis without turning back.

                Waiting for the van is a nice time to bond. The girls tell me about their friends, their teachers, their expectations from the day, their success or failure stories. Sometimes, we just start discussing some funny observations, like the reason why the sun is up even though the moon has not yet set.

                The van comes, and they jump in. A couple of good byes, I am left with a vision of a rapidly disappearing van and a feeling of a task accomplished.

                I return home, where my wife is ready with tea.

                Inquisitive children at a school that encourages their inquisitiveness, sharing a morning cup of tea with the lady of my dreams, enjoying the chirping of birds – its just another perfect beginning of my great life.

                Chashm – e – bad – dur

                (Away! Away! Evil Eyes)