Partly
aware and mostly slumbering deep, I still could feel the blanket slipping away
in a flash. “Maa,” I protested, my hand trying to grab any end of the blanket,
“five more minutes, please.”
Neither Maa
responded nor did I reach my blanket. Before my consciousness could suspect
anything unusual, a male’s voice broke the sequences of my thoughts. “I am
waiting only four minutes. Get yourself brushed and be there to have a lunch.”
The voice was deep like a sound of rumbling thunderclouds. It was a voice of my
father.
