So Nisarga has his difficult sleeping days as usual, and I am sleep deprived as a normal state of functioning. Before sleeping late at night (early morning), I realized that I hadn’t heated the milk. The fridge is not working, and it would go bad, so I put it on the gas. This is part of a before sleeping routine. After the son sleeps. Take the trash out, heat the milk, tidy the kitchen, etc. Just then, Nisarga woke up again, and I hurried to attend to him. The idea was to rock him to sleep, and apparently I rocked us both to sleep! Next thing I know is morning and my neck stiff from sleeping in a half sitting position. Second next thing is the milk!!! I went out of the bedroom and smelled smoke. Went to the kitchen. The milk had burned completely. It had burned so badly, that the smoke wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The last time I burned milk, I couldn’t stand near the gas when I went to shut it off, let alone contemplate all these things. Which meant it had smoked right past this stage and was now smoking less. Turned off the gas, headed back to the bedroom to take a deep breath, which reminded me… where was the husband? The drawing room would have got the worst of the smoke! Headed out again. He was sleeping peacefully in the drawing room, just off the kitchen, with the door wide open between them!!! Raka, it seems had slept through the cloud of smoke that happens when milk burns through completely. This is impossible for me to believe. How can one sleep through something one can’t inhale in? And that is how bad the smoke from the milk gets. For a crazy minute I thought he was unconscious or dead. From the smoke. Because of MY stupidity. Panic. All kinds of crazy thoughts. Knowing that if he was fine, he’d yell at me for disturbing him, I shook him awake anyway. He got irritated with me. Definitely alive, lungs fine. All is well. I have never been so happy to have him get angry with me. Surprise was that apparently no one smelled all the smoke coming from our home. But then, with the bedroom door shut, none reached in there either, but the smoke had only one real exit – the drawing room French window. Impossible that no one would notice, No? but no one noticed. No one came knocking the door to ask what was up and why was there so much smoke. It is strange and scary. Almost a liter of milk boiled away and then burned in a home with most windows closed, the door to the bedroom closed. From experience I KNOW this means massive smoke, but none reached me, it had already decreased by the time I woke up, the husband had slept through this, no one in our locality had noticed all the extra smoke… or perhaps ignored? As if the smoke hadn’t existed at all. Yet, the burnt out utensil tells its own tale. Impossible that there was no smoke. Went to the shop, got new milk, made tea. Writing this post. Still jittery.
This city life is sure scary.
Moral of the story: never leave anything incomplete when rocking the kid to sleep. You never know.