The Single Algorithm

   It's not easy to wake up on dot before the ding of the bell. That could either be milk or the maid. 

             Sleepily walking towards my new day  I stepped on her unfinished lego of Optimus Prime. Damn those things hurt more than a paper cut. 

             My every morning workout is to press her uniform and straighten the creases of that monster of a pleated skirt. I became so used to it that I'm 

             sure I can do a mix of salsa and ballet with utmost suave. While I'm busy juggling between the rice cooker, boiling milk, and the sandwich with a

             hand towel on my shoulder, my Queen Victoria enters the kitchen harshly rubbing her eyes. "No! Don't do that. It hurts your eyes". But I won't voice

             out this immediately because her day shouldn't start with chidings. Gently pushing her hands off her face, I look into her eyes. "Ahh now I'm going 

             to have a good day" I think to myself. Braiding her little pigtails is my favourite time of the morning. I learnt driving faster than weaving those

             segments without mixing them up.  Her school has a good cafeteria but not as good as my cooking so I'll try to send her packed with a box everyday. 

             Running along with her before the elevator door closes is one of my craziest adventures. 

             Every little thing I do with her is precious. Every moment is so valuable ; when she opened her eyes for the first time, her first crawl, first walk, 

             first word, the time she held the phone to her ear and pretended to speak in her toothless language, the time she tried to imitate her grandmother

             in tying a saree with her blanket and even the first time she asked how babies are born.

             There's not even a single dull moment with her. There's not a minute that I don't cherish with her except the time where I have to stand amongst

             the neighbouring aunties and moms and their endless banter while waiting for her bus. 

             Every morning after seeing her off at the bus-stop, I spend the little time I have before hurrying off into rat race, talking to her mother's photo. I narrate 

             all the events of my little angel, the adventures we had together and the number of sleepless nights she gave me. I also talk about my workplace and

             colleagues. I never forget to ensure her that her princess is in safe hands and that I'm doing everything to keep her happy and strong without her

             mother. I tell her that I never wanted my baby to feel guilty that her mother died while giving life to her. 

             I talk and talk to her mother. A very lovely person. And the only woman of my life before my little blockbuster of a daughter. With the beeping

             of my phone I come back to my life of a single dad, get up, kiss the photo and leave for work.

Pic courtesy: Pinterest