Woke up this morning with some nice, warm, cozy thoughts in soft focus. Thoughts of a room not quite dark, with winter morning sun streaming in through orange net curtains. I don’t know why they had to be orange, the curtains. Or net. I’ve never had either.
It was a room without a past or a future. Suspended in time and space. Where the only sound is that of soft breathing. Nothing else. Not even the song of a bird. Just the sound of soft rhythmic breathing. Down the nape of my neck.
Lay there, snuggled inside our old appliquéd quilt, reluctant to open my eyes lest those thoughts escape, as thoughts often do, into the brightly lit reality waiting outside.
Not willing to fall back into sleep either. And go back to that land where yesterday’s sighs and tomorrow’s anxieties lurk in the shadows, waiting to haunt. No. One nightful of those was long enough.
So just lingered there, in that twilit space, listening to the quiet.
And then intruders started coming. Without knocking of course. They never do – those other thoughts. They just crash in. As mails that need replies, writing that needs to be done, deadlines that need to be met. As ‘what’s for breakfast slash lunch slash dinner’ dilemmas…
And then a memory – of a phone call that came late last night.
Madam, you sleepin?
Not yet, M. Is everything ok? Late night phone calls always make me anxious.
Yes Madam. I call to say you no cook tomorrow. Ok? I make lunch and bring you.
Why, M? What’s the occasion?
What is special tomorrow?
Nothin Madam. Just me cooking for you, Sir and Aditya.
That’s really sweet of you! But really, there’s no need…
You eatin. Ok? And you tellin me good or not good, ok?
Dear, dear M with her generous heart – younger to me at least by months, she enjoys mothering me, for some reason. The thought made me smile.
I got up.
Got up with a fresh decision to vandalize an old children’s table that had been with us for over ten long years. The thought had been in my mind for a while now. The poor table is going to pay the price for loyalty.
Toothbrush in one hand, the other searching through draws and pulling out acrylic tubes, paintbrushes and palette.
And thus began my Friday morning.