Monday.

A vacuum cleaner blares in the background. The pot of Darjeeling gradually loses patience and grows cold, under the tea cosy.  The furry member of the house goes inside the bedroom for the seventh time since 7 am, to only leave, after hearing the steady ebb and flow of his master's snores. The child of the house leaves for school after what seemed like an eternal Easter break.  Crumbs of toasted bread lay strewn around the breakfast plate. The most used and least important of all inanimate objects in the house, continue pinging and beeping, sounding busier than the NYSE.
The house reeks of tobacco. The man must be up. Smell of aftershave. That's a good sign. Aftershave always heralds the man's exit.
The Orchids weigh down with their own weight, waiting patiently for the caretaker to straighten their spines. Sharpened pencils await their mistress to hold them, as did the spotless table in her studio. Robust green trees stand beneath the window, waving generously,  promising to keep company all day long.  Words erupt in her mind. Or did they? Emotions. Not words. Words have remained elusive. As elusive as Rahul Gandhi. We hear of his come back too. As Batman. No comeback for the brooding woman. She plans to  keep chasing.  It is Monday after all. Stay at home mums know what Mondays feel like. It's their friday. A day they brood and laze. Monday. Marvelous Monday.

Comments

Popular Posts