“Papa”, a six-year-old girl tugged at her father’s shirt at a regulated pace, three tugs at a time. Her obsession to numbers was in it’s primal phase.
“Um, yes – yes my dear”, Raju fumbled as he searched for the cassette player on the top shelf, with a Bala Murali Krishna cassette picked out already on one side.
“Papa, do I look like mamma?”, she asked jumping to get on the bed by the shelf.
“Who said so, honey?”, he said. He was too lost in the thoughts of a million things to think clear and give undivided attention to his darling daughter. She managed to finally get one leg on the bed with the other dangling out of balance between the floor and the bed.
“Everybody! Why don’t I look like you? I want to be like you, papa!”, she demanded.
Raju looked back and chuckled at his bewildered daughter, barely scraping on the edges of the mattress to seat herself on the bed.
He lifted her up in the air, high enough for her curly black locks to fly about. He planted a kiss on her blush cheeks. Settling her on his lap, he replied to her innocent question. Continue reading