It’s a weird time.
Yes, that sentence just about sums it all.
As I toss and turn in bed trying to get my mind to rest, it instead decides to race through every apocalyptic film I’ve ever watched that began with – “A deadly virus had wiped out 90% of humanity. We were all that was left…” I feel guilt, mixed in with some fear as I remember how hungrily we lapped up all that grime.
The days are endless. Not from a lack of things to do, stuck at home, as one would expect, but from the endless tirade of work melting into one task after another – where even the breaks aren’t relaxing and the work stretches not productive. It’s like we’ve forgotten how to compartmentalize things and everything is one never-ending muddled up task.
There’s a tiny furball purring in my lap. We’ve decided to name her Zoe. She has her life’s priorities set for some time it seems. Eat. Sleep. Poop. Play. Scratch hooman. Repeat.
Mumbai houses scarcely make for a great view. If you’re really lucky, you’ll face some greenery. Or even the sea. But for most of us, the scene before us is far from dreamy. My view, for example, is another building – with a simple straight layout which ensures I can see what’s happening in each flat, every room. And they can see me.
So I now see the woman who seems to be doing laundry three times a day suddenly.
I see the guy sitting on a swing that they have managed to fit into the tiny excuse of a Mumbai balcony – swinging away in the heat at 3 PM.
I see the house with the two old women, where the 55 inch television set is on at all times. It’s big enough for me to be able to see exactly what they’re watching – from Bigg Boss to Naagin. But every now and then they manage to surprise me with a Sex Education on Netflix type of choice.
I see the darkness in the house where the kids often partied, now left to fend for itself.
I see the house where the parrot cage was hung in the window. It’s now empty.
I wonder what they see when they look at our house.
It’s a weird time.
One day at a time.