Ever since I remember, I’ve had a love-hate relationship (mostly hate) with mornings. The worst thing that could’ve happened to me as a child (mind you, I’m the youngest of 3 siblings and I fractured my hand when I was 3 and again at 26) was morning school. My school would start at 7:15 AM which meant that I HAD to be up at 6 AM EVERYDAY! I hated it from the bottom of my heart! We would have a “Aai vs. Me” showdown every single day. To avoid this running commentary every morning, my Baba came up with the best trick ever. He would lift me out of the bed, carry me all the way to the bathroom and would keep me down once inside. As soon as my feet would hit the cold & sometimes wet bathroom floor, my sleep would just pop away! And before I could process or protest I would be thoroughly woken up with a toothbrush planted in my mouth and a bath! Back then I used to think of Baba as the Villain who wouldn’t let me sleep. Now I think I would never have made it to school on time if it weren’t for him (which proved to be right a couple of years later as I grew up and became a little too old for him to carry!).
But it’s because of those dreaded mornings that I had an established ritual with Baba which till date makes for a great story at all our family gatherings. So, while my sisters were the ones where one always “got along with people very well” and the other one was “studious and sincere”; I was the one who “got up late”!
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