~pragati — % & It's almost getting dark. I'm afraid we'll have to close the DayCare soon. But, the child's parents haven't yet arrived. I've called almost a thousand times already but nobody picked. Evening light forms a sad pattern on the rug and that's when I see a shadow beside me. It's the child, with his mud swapped palms, caressing my knee. He also holds a soft toy, with whom he hasn't parted since arrival. He pulls a string on the back of the toy and cracked sounds of "hello, how are you?" come out. The microphone is broken. But then, it's quite understandable for a dumb child to possess such a toy. "I'm fine", I reply, my eyes sweeping at the mud figures he's made. They're marvellous. Quite a feat for a four-year-old. He hadn't touched a single toy but made these the entire time.
