I wake up to the sound of a baby bawling. In the hazy sleep after an all-night bender, I look to my side as if half expecting a cradle or a nursing wife. The fog clears enough for me to realize that none of my mistakes in recent past would have such immediate repercussions. I foolishly endeavour to climb out of bed but my sufficiently high blood alcohol levels render those attempts futile. As objects in room continue to swim around me, I unsuccessfully attempt to gauge the extent of my debauchery in the previous night. I run out of fingers for the drink tally process as the aforementioned bawling resumes.Enraged, I summon all remaining strength I can muster and storm into the hall.
There on the floor, sprawled between several toys in various stages of destruction, she sits. With pear shaped tears welling up in those eyes, she stops mid-brawl and regards me in terror. I hadn't realised how scary my messed up hair, wild blood-shot eyes and orange kurta would look to a two year old African girl. For the next few seconds she look at me in shock as I survey the room. There are 5 kids in it, with ages ranging for 2 to 6, staring back at me and I am suddenly transferred back to the play-school run in my family house. However in the place of that compassionate guy, is an alcohol fuelled barbarian with no patience for nonsense. I look at the baby sitter and she grins sheepishly. We don't speak a word of each others language but my discomfiture was evident enough for her. She picks her up in one swoop and wipes the tears from the shell shocked girl. I grumble a half hearted "Merci" and slink back into my lair. Pin drop silence ensues in the house hall as the children digest the gravity of my appearance and remain quiet to prevent an encore performance.
I am cross as hell, angry at the parents who are out on a Sunday morning, leaving me to the mercy of their children. I blame the careless fornicators, the ones who believe that their happiness is exponentially multiplied by the number of offspring. I conspire to furnish contraceptives to the couples I know and spend the new few minutes defining a comprehensive strategy that included emergency contraceptive delivery, free i-pill delivery drones, anti-procreation social media schemes built by organic tie-ins with contraceptive companies. I pick up my phone to research my cause further, only to see a message on Skype - "come online - she wants to see you"
I wipe away the sleep from eyes,smoothing my ruffled hair and change my shirt before turning on Skype. Poor bandwidth results in an apparent violation of physics,her sound reaches me before I sent my sight on her. She jumps on her little chair in glee and blows me a few kisses as I point to my cheek. I am then served the entire day's eventsnin a heady cocktail of English words- real and imagined and an entire language that is her own creation, peppered with a thick anglicized accent. I feign understanding and laugh when she does. 5 minutes into the conversation, my head is clear and my body rested. I stay on the call for another hour enjoying her frequent interruptions, dances and antics.
I step out of the room for a bowl of cereal and the little baby looks up at me from the floor. I no longer look like the zombie that terrorized her earlier. With recognition, comes a cute smile and a hesitantly raised hand. I hold her hand as she coos at me, I smile at the other kids and high five the nearest before I step out to the kitchen. I take a bath and head off to my friends house, where his five children dance around me and hug me joyfully greeting me in broken English phrases.
I return home and sit on my bed re-evaluating my anti-procreation strategy. The love and laughter that filled the day surely did elevate my mood and I cherished the unadulterated love showered on me by the tiny tots. Perhaps procreation was for the best as all the children around me have been a welcome diversion in an otherwise drab location. I retrace my steps each day from work, awaiting the pitter-patter of tiny feet and the peals of laughter that greet me excitedly as I step into the hall. I consider logging onto Skype with the fervent hope for a few more kisses. I..I..I...
The wails start again, louder,unyielding and strong. She has most likely fallen down and hurt herself and these tears would go on for a while. The sound of her tears echo in the room beyond. I furtively search for my noise cancelling headphones to drown the noise out. Now it will be her parents turn to stay up and deal with the crying child.Grateful that it is not my problem to deal with, I lie down and soak in the music.
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