Monday, November 10
I took out the rose.
Then my husband returned from work with his friend, Mummy came out of her room, the TV was making boring faces.
So I retreated to the kitchen. Stirring steel vessels of maid-cooked curry. Moving glasses with loud tinkles. Clanking spoons. Sounding busy. It is also alone-time for me, this kitchen.
I hunted for the rose. I wanted it back in my hair. But it was lost.
Wednesday, November 5
Especially when sunlight falls, shifting its shrewd eye from angle to angle, dust gets revealed.
Frankly I don't care. But I pretend to wipe dust when people are around. Because it justifies my lingering in the house the whole day, and it does not tire me. Every few minutes, I spring up, dust, then get some water, then when it becomes too boring, I enter the kitchen, look between the leaves of the paan plant and think thoughts...
Monday, November 3
I was grinding pepper corn into a thousand flakes. The smell of tumeric and cumin stuffed the air and I opened the window. An outside-pigeon moved out indignantly like a posh lady pushed to the corner.
My husband had been telling me how his parents=my parents, what is the difference, so when you do to my home it should be just like going to your home.
So I said I hate my parents and I do not enjoy going home to my house. And if we both have homes elsewhere- are we 2 strangers living-in? And if we are living-in, we may as well not since it is not fun at all.
This was in the morning, before I squeezed the clothes to dry and hung them on a wire at the back of the courtyard (the maid took off). It rained cloth-water which is unvirtuous since it means I have not been diligent in the water-squeezing. But Manju was not looking so it was safe.
The peppercorns are now flakes. The pigeon is gone. The sun has sketched lines on the floor. I will go to sleep now- it is afternoon. The clothes must have dried, crisp and almost edible.