QUARANTINE

I kiss my children in the morning as soon as I wake up. They are in a blissful state of sleep but a smile erupts on their faces as soon as I kiss them. They know that their dad is around. During the night also, they will just keep on loitering in the bed till I reach home. Once I enter the house, they will sleep, reassured. The mere hint of my presence allays their fears and insecurities.

Mom is their unabashed favourite, they make no bones about this fact and frequently are partial towards her. She gets to spend a lot of time with them due to her semi retired status of practice. She just goes for her evening clinic when Prithvy is busy playing in the garden and Chaitra is busy with her tuitions.

Last 7 days were the toughest days of my life as Mansi abolished all my physical contact with the kids. I was shocked and worried. I could not hug or kiss them. I could not carry Prithvy in my arms and dance with him. I have a very special way of kissing Prithvy, I just plant my lips on his cherry red cheeks for a period of 10 minutes, continuously! 'Status Kissicus'! He enjoys close proximity and is happy when I stick to him. He never reciprocates a kiss. Attitude! I kiss Chaitra on her forehead every time I see her. She hugs me when she wakes up.

The final nail in the coffin stuck when Mansi pushed me out of our room in the night. I slept in the bed room, away from their room. I was close to tears. My children too wore anxious faces. They were baffled by my sudden distance.

My viral fever with the coughs and sneezes was in the highly transmissible stage and Mansi, like most of the mothers do instinctively was protecting her children.We can suffer but the kids have to be alright, all the time. That is top priority. We pray to God to transfer their problems to us. When the kids are down with fever, the entire house bears a worried look. The viruses in me were thus separated from the kids. I survived this ordeal and recovered soon to hug my kids again.

My Quarantine phase was over.

As I lay myself alone in the other room, I began to think.

The gulf had a lot of immigrant Indian population, working under the hot Sun all the time, all alone leaving their estranged families, back home in their native town. A solitary vacation in a couple of years would bring about cheer and the immigrant would be lovingly received by his wife and children at the airport with wet eyes. It was a bilateral sacrifice, the hurt was on both the sides, the longing for financially healthy family would propel these immigrants to work with all their might. No doubt, the nights would be long and be with a heavy heart.

I began to wonder about the kids who had lost their father, either naturally or accidentally or any god forsaken cause. How would they cope up?

Their stoic mothers would lead their lives to progress by living the dual role. The kids would crowd around their mother and ask her, a million times,

When will Daddy come home?

The heavens felt like a cold, desolate Quarantine......