Come Monday these little souls and their pals will not have a creche to come and play in. The sleepless nights did not bring any counsel. The innumerable mails sent, the countless doors knocked at, the umpteen appeals and entreaties remained unheeded. No one heard the silent cries of these little Angels. Yes, for no fault of theirs their three wheeler that went to fetch them every morning will stop doing so. Instead of learning, dancing singing, laughing in a warm and happy environment, these children will now brave the cold in their humid and dark homes or on the streets of their slums.
They have not been told as yet as I am still waiting for a miracle. A glimmer of hope is on the horizon and the children may get a reprieve but the Damocles sword still hangs on our heads as unless we are able to secure funding for a length of time.
From the time I came to terms with the fact that our early may close altogether or at best be truncated, I have found myself slinking past the two baby classes, avoiding to meet their innocent and trusting eyes and willing myself not to hear their laughter and endearing babble. This is so unlike me as normally I would make it a point to enter their classrooms yearning to hear their loud and happy Good Morning Ma’am. I often lingered on watching them at work or play and soaking in their cheerfulness. Now I hurry past and almost run up the stairs in spite of my creaking knees.
I hope for a miracle but will it come. Only time will tell.
