swimsuit

I've had trial runs at living alone, but this is real. I still feel the need to be called when I've woken up, still feel the need to ask someone to get me a cup of tea. There's no phone at home. That means I have to plan my trips to the grocer so that I make all my calls and buy whatever I need and then come back upstairs. I don't have my bike which means I can't just up and go wherever I want. I've had to learn the bus routes, study the timetables. I have to heat the milk myself. And then, how long can you survive on Maggi noodles and eggs, even in various forms? Today, I cooked some potatoes. You get packets of rotis at the grocer. Sometimes I still feel, when I am returning from the office in the evening, that there should be someone to open the door, to ask me whether I want a hot cuppa. Most other times, it's a blessing. I only sweep and swab on Sunday. Otherwise, I just throw mats about. You know it's true: vegetables are expensive. But a large cabbage can last me for three days. The fridge is old: after every two days, it has to be allowed to take a breather. I turn it off and then empty the tray which has filled up with water. Yesterday, two cleaning women turned up to enquire if I needed any help. I can't take any more people than is strictly necessary so I turned them away. Anyway, I don't generate enough work to keep a servant occupied. I've told the paper boy to bring me the newspaper. He's in the fifth or sixth standard and quite bright. I'm going to buy him some storybooks to read. I have also discovered that washing a vessel in which milk has been heated is the most trying job in the world. When I bring the trash to the door, the woman who comes to clear it tries to peek past me into the house. I have no idea what she wants. 'Twenty-four hours is not enough time,' my mother would say. I have now begun to understand what she meant. But there's one thing I have which no one else does. In the evening, when I have the time, I take a plastic bag with a towel in it, and quietly descend the stairs. I loop around the housing society's lawn and reach the back. There's a swimming pool, full of clean water, glittering in the light of the setting sun. It's beautiful and, in the cool of the evening, few people bother to come. In my swimsuit, I stand on the side and raise my arms and then leap into that deep-blue water.

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