Twiddle.FLOP- Alternately, I have a cold and I feel GOOD.

Twiddle. Flop. Twiddle. Flop.

You look at your toes. Twiddle. Thumb flex out, tiny toe struggling to curl in. They look like blue webbed feet of a duck shod in those old, frumpy pair of socks. They are a goofy blue with a blanket of grinning yellow daisies blooming all over. Frequent washing had left tight ,woolly balls on them.Nothing to do, you languidly fiddle with the curly little drops and then with the twitchy shrewdness of a Labrador with its pink sandpaper tongue falling out, you tug at them out. Then with utmost flourish, you place them, line by line, dot by dot ,meticulously on the bed and try forming a doodle heart. 10 minutes of that and you get bored. Disinterested - like a fat mosquito who had sucked his fill of blood-you look at your soles. Dirty brown with that long whoosh of Henna on the right one. Suddenly you remember THAT day when you had gulped down 5 ice tea's. Blistering hot. And the way you had galloped like a road runner on the highway to the bathroom and slipped on the henna bowl Mummy had left on the floor. A sore bum then and a slight smile now, at the memory.

Floppy. Your fingers look floppy. Like if they were made of play-dough. Wearing Daddy's age old mittens which are so loose for you that your black, woolen finger's were flexible. There was this tiny little hole right along the edge of the thumb. Once again, you play a dismal, mindless game of flop and then stare disconsolately at the ceiling, swathed in furry blankets and ugly looking pills strewn on the table next to you.

You hate this cold and cough! Your nose twitches all the time like their were a million ants wearing custom made invisible suits and dragging their feet through the walls of your nose. Or maybe doing acrobatics. Your tongue seemed to have stubbornly stuck itself with sand and refusing to let Mummy's most succinct and spicy woo it off its ungainly robe. Your nose crinkles in distaste and you pick through your plate till Mummy jabs the spoon in your mouth and the warm daal trickles through your throat.Your head feels brain deep in mucus and thinking seems to be such an arduous task! Like plowing through slimy swamps and bogey filled ponds. You stink of dried sweat due to that nasty analgesic and lying in bed is not at all fun when you are forced to! 

Oh God help you till 6pm! 

6.10pm. Your room, inside blankets.

Daddy: " So. You are unwell. Again."

 I nod. My head is partially swathed with muffler's so I think I must look like a bandaged mummy tilting her head  to him.

Daddy: " You are such a headache.I'll just marry you off so that you can ruin your husband's life not mine"

I pretend to feel tired, fake a sigh and then peer up, clandestinely to see if his beard was twitching or not. You see twitching beard means that Daddy dearest is trying very hard to hide a smile.

It was not.

I look up, suddenly all drowsiness gone. Just about how could Daddy NOT be nice to me when I was so unwell? How mean! My eyes tear up, I dive under the blanket further. I probably looked like an onion to him that time.

Suddenly the bed creaks. Someone is sitting next to me. I peek out. Anndddddd....

Dad hugs me. Gives me a kiss, his bushy beard scratching me all over. I don't mind. He puts his strong warm hand on my forehead and looks worried at the feel of my burning skin. Somehow the look of worry on his face makes me tango inwardly inside. I milk the situation and snuggle up to his neck. He smells so good. Brut and Nycil powder all these years. He fishes into his trouser pocket and pulls out a packet of nuts for me. The biggest smile breaks out on my face. We both sit together and crack open those nuts and he pops them in my mouth one by one. He brushes my hair gently, and arranges the blankets properly around my frame. And keeps patting me, till sleep over comes me till I glide off to a twinkling dream.

Having a cold never felt so good! :D