In the evening, someone wailed, then Ayah and the other servants were all quiet and then they all went away somewhere. That was ok, I had Anna my golden-haired doll, all my other toys, the train, the blue tea set and I’d pile them all up in the middle of the dump room; that’s my play room but Mama called it dump room when she was upset with me.

Now she isn’t upset for she isn’t around so much anymore. Ayah said she is ill, in the hospital, and that she will go to God. Ayah is so silly, she says a lot of things. She said that Anna dances at midnight, claps and sings songs. Ayah is dark like tea, and she covers her face with a veil except when she is sitting with Raju, the driver. Yesterday afternoon both of them left me all alone in the house and went away, and she gave me five orange sweets and made me promise not to tell anyone. I think she likes him.

Papa returned from office early and his face was tight, like when you hurt, but you can’t show it. He kept blowing his nose but he didn’t have a cold. I gave him my hanky like miss had said, and he went and washed his face.

He kept looking out of the window and jumped when the phone suddenly rang. Then he grabbed me by the hand so hard it hurt, and quickly ran out of the house even though I had paint on my old dress and my hair was like Anna’s. “Oh my child, what will happen to you...”, he kept mumbling. Then we reached the big hospital I promised God I’d be good, but I was worried who’d pack my tiffin now.
(300 words for sub, a life event from a 5 year-old's pov)