Bye-Bye, Tablet

The rhymes were over. The little song went ta-da! and stopped.

“Screen time is done,” said Ma. “The tablet is tired now. Look how warm it is — it played so hard. It needs its nap.”

So Meera did the goodbye, the way they did it every day.

“Bye-bye, tablet.” Wave, wave. “Sleep well. See you tomorrow.”

The tablet went face-down on the shelf, which is how tablets sleep. Shhh.

And the moment it slept — do you know what happened? The rest of the world woke up. It had been waiting its turn the whole time.

The red ball woke up first. Bounce… bounce… “Play with me!” said the ball, in ball language. So Meera did. Roll and fetch, roll and fetch.

Then the puddle on the balcony woke up — left over from the night’s rain, shiny as a coin. Splash! went Meera’s feet. Splash, splash! No screen can do that. Puddles are only in the real world.

Then the dog from downstairs woke up and came to say hello, all wag and sniff. Meera patted him the slow way. His fur was warm from the sun. Screens are smooth, but fur is fur.

Then the mud by the tulsi pot. Then the ants. Then the crow with the important opinions. One by one, all the real things, all wanting to play.

At the end of the day, Meera was tired the good way — feet tired, hands tired, tired from ball and puddle and dog and mud.

On the shelf, the tablet was still sleeping. Nobody had missed it. It would have its ten minutes of rhymes tomorrow, and tomorrow it would hear all about the puddle.

“Bye-bye, tablet,” whispered Meera on the way to bed. Wave, wave.

Bye-bye, ball. Bye-bye, puddle. Bye-bye, dog.

The whole real world waved back.

See you tomorrow.