Baby, come for breakfast. Your milk is getting
cold," called Bhaiya, my elder brother.
I quickly put on my slippers, picked up my
favourite doll, Beeta, and rushed out into the
verandah. It was a beautiful day. The morning
air was most refreshing. "Ah, how lovely!" I said
aloud, taking a deep breath. I ran across the
verandah, with Beeta tucked under my arm.
While I gulped down the milk, I heard Papa
calling out to the driver.
"Papa is still here, Bhaiya. He hasn't gone to
the clinic, today," I said overwhelmed with joy.
Being engrossed in a magazine, Bhaiya did
not reply, but I could see Papa talking to someone
in his room, which was opposite the dining hall
facing the verandah.
"Papa! Papa! I don't have to go to school, it's a
holiday. Do you have a holiday, too? Look, Beeta
has got fever," I said, all in one breath.
"No, my dear child, I don't have a holiday today. You go and play while I talk to Mr. Singh.
He is very ill. I'll ask the compounder to give
your doll some medicine," Papa said lovingly