A Day in My Life: The Wake-Up Call

It was a typical morning in our household. The clock showed 7:30 AM, but I was still deep in slumber, wrapped snugly in my blanket. My room was dimly lit, with sunlight filtering through the curtains. The alarm went off, but I didn’t care. I just pressed the snooze button and sank back into the softness of my bed. All I could think of was how comfortable I felt and how much I needed a few more minutes of sleep.

But that never lasted long. My mother’s voice echoed from the kitchen, sharp and insistent.

"Aarti! Wake up! It’s 7:30 already! Why do I have to remind you every single day?"

I groggily stirred, but didn’t get up. I muttered to myself, barely conscious, "Five more minutes, Maa… just five more minutes..."

Of course, she wasn’t going to let me off that easily. In a few seconds, I felt the blanket being yanked off my body, leaving me exposed to the cool morning air. My mother stood by the side of my bed, hands on her hips, a look of irritation on her face.

"Aarti! Get up! You’re going to make us late!" she shouted, her voice rising with frustration. "Look at the time! Your father is already getting ready to go to work, and here you are, sleeping like a log!"

Still half-asleep, I tried to roll over and go back to my peaceful slumber.

"Maa, I’ll wake up, I promise. Just let me sleep for a little longer," I muttered, hoping she’d leave me be. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

"Tired? You’ve been sleeping all night! How can you be tired? You should be helping me in the kitchen, getting ready for school, not wasting your time in bed!" she snapped.

I opened my eyes just enough to see her standing there, fuming with anger. I knew she was right, but I was too tired to do anything about it.

Just then, I heard my father’s calm voice from the hallway. My father, who never raised his voice, was already dressed and ready

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for work, adjusting his tie with his usual composed manner.

"Aarti, don’t make your mother shout," he said, his tone even. "Get up now. You’re going to make everyone late."

I groaned. I loved my father’s calmness, but I couldn’t help but wonder why he never intervened when my mother scolded me like this. He always stayed silent, like he was letting my mother do the work.

"Pappa, I’m up! I’m up," I mumbled, still trying to shake off the sleep.

"You better hurry, Aarti," he said, turning to leave. "I’m going to be late, and your mother’s blood pressure is going to go up even higher if you don’t get moving."

I chuckled softly, but I also knew he was right. I had to get up, or else it would turn into another one of those mornings where everything felt chaotic.

My mother turned back towards me, her expression still frustrated but softening slightly. "Next time, Aarti, don’t make me shout. You need to manage your time better."

I sighed, feeling guilty but also a bit resentful. I promised I would wake up earlier tomorrow, but we both knew it wasn’t going to happen.

As I finally stumbled out of bed, I glanced at my father, who was already heading out the door, calm as ever. I wondered how he stayed so unaffected by the madness that seemed to define every morning in our house.

But despite the chaos, I knew one thing for sure: the love in our family was always there, even if it came wrapped in a bit of yelling and frustration.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

This story highlights the everyday chaos of a typical morning in an Indian family, showing how a daughter's reluctance to wake up and help causes tension with her mother, while her father remains calm and silent. It’s a humorous yet relatable reminder of the love and care that often goes unnoticed beneath the shouting and stress of daily life.