It was a fine morning in June. Cars were parked on either side of the road in front of a modest looking house. People thronged outside the gate and you could see a few trying to peek inside beyond the high walls. Some of them tried their luck, checking out possible vantage positions by walking around the house. Subtle jostling and elbowing was apparent in the sophisticated looking crowd. One could hear sounds of laughter as well as shrill crying beyond the walls. A few rubberneckers towered above the rest of the crowd and were the envy of the others. Some people paced up and down along the walls reminding one of caged animals. Others chatted amongst themselves – you could hear exchanges like "I’ve heard that …", "Someone I know had a similar experience…", and so on. Patience not being one of my virtues, I kept checking my watch but time seemed to have come to a standstill.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, the security guard announced that we would have to make way for him to open the gates. There was utter chaos at this, although a small space was eventually cleared around "The Gate". More craning of necks; then the trickle of … small children – out of the playhome, after their first day at school ! I held my breath and prayed that my daughter hadn’t found it too hard. Most of the kids that trooped out rejoiced at the sight of their parents, glad to be back with known people. I braced myself to comfort my daughter when she would appear.

When she did, it was a real anti-climax. She cried to go back inside – loudly enough for all the assembled crowd to hear! In spite of my dusky complexion, I must have glowed red with embarrassment. But I was also swept away by a sense of sheer relief. My daughter was so taken up with all the new toys and the play area that she wanted to stay longer. So I let her go back in for a few more minutes. She was still unwilling to come out, but the playhome awaited its next batch of children soon. I carried her as she furiously kicked and protested vocally at having to go away from her new-found playmates. I was glad my daughter’s love for novelty took the edge off parental separation. I have never had any trouble since then ...

... until today ! Now my daughter is almost six and she cried for the first time today that she did not want to go to school after almost two weeks of Dasara holidays -- it reminded me of her first day at the playhome (almost 3 years back) ... and hence this blog post.