Lost and found

Lost and found

The thought of trekking the four floors of the building gives me a shudder.

Early morning after waking up, I am involuntarily move in to the kitchen as if I am under a charm. I robotically open the fridge and take out the milk packets, my eyes still drowsy.  I grope for my favourite sharp steel scissors trying to get the feel of it on the top of the shelf.  When there is no trace of it, I push my hand to a little right and left thinking probably the scissors got displaced due to some reason. But the scissors still evade me. I hunt for it under the cooking gas, and in all possible drawers.

No, the instrument is missing. I make do with a pencil cutter, which, I luckily discover under the paper spread. I get myself the much needed shot of coffee.  Next it is my bath-towel which goes missing, but I grab whichever is available and manage the crisis.  Later I go about that day’s kitchen work.  Having packed everybody’s lunch, I finally give myself a face-lift and then off I am to my college after bidding good-bye to everyone. 

After reaching my destination the thought of trekking the four floors of the building gives me a shudder (you guessed it right! For some reason the building does not have a lift).  I enter in to my boss’s cabin huffing and puffing for breath like an asthma patient.  As I wish him a good morning, I again helplessly fumble about in my bag for the much needed pen. I have to document my presence by signing the register apart from the biometric attendance (the machine always thanks me for punching it).

Searching all the ten pockets of my bag draws a blank.  My ever kindhearted boss helps me with only a mild dose of sarcasm.  Subsequently for the whole day, whenever I need the pen for signing the assignments given to students, scribbling on the diary, etc I stretch my hand and helplessly look in to the eyes of the students and they ease their beloved teacher out of the situation. 

Back home I put on the mask of a Hitler and summon my children for explanation.  Both of them stand like culprits with their heads hanging down and hands folded at the back.  When asked about the scissors, my son gives a ‘is that all’ look and then from the carton box kept in the corner emerges a small carry bag which contains his craft items.

Then with a victorious look he hands me over the scissors with an explanation that he did not simply take; it was with purpose of craft making.  Later it’s my daughter who defends her action, saying that her ‘expert’ pen ran out of ink and hence, as a last minute savior she took my pen from my bag (of course without my permission) for completing her notes.

This is just the tip of the iceberg.  There are many more ‘my’ things which  disappear and make me search for them high and low.  Children were taught the rhyme ‘Oh Where, Oh Where has my little dog gone….” in kindergarten.  This was my favourite rhyme at that time because we had a dog then.  Little did I know that I would be singing this much loved nursery rhyme always-in the remix form!

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