Drama in the morning

For all those who consider fiction to be stranger than truth, here is the tale of my crazy Friday morning — scarred by a series of accidents in the span of one hour.
Call it Pratik's curse or my renewed lethargy, ever since he has moved to Kolkata, I just can't wake up before 10 pm.
Enough is enough, I told myself finally.
So today I got up at 9 am. An SMS from the editor was waiting for me. It delivered a jolt. There were mistakes on our pages. Many SMSes and clarifications followed. By the time, things became pleasant, it was 10 am. I tried to salvage the morning by doing something fruitful.
Pratik has been after my life to do his bank work. Yesterday, I had lied to him that it's done. Who wants long distance badgering? So I thought before I'm exposed, it's better to do the work on my way to office.
Fthe first time in many days, I was ready to leave early. Just then the Sindhi aunty from the neighbouring flat rang the bell. As I was talking to her on the corridor, there was a loud thud. And with that my maid, who is always in a tearing hurry, had locked me out. Her prompt and nonchalant explanation: “I pull the door shut on my way out everyday.”
There I was in hawaii chappals and with the mobile phone in my pocket. I did a quick math. Getting a key-maker will delay me at least by one and a half hours. Is it a good idea, given the exchanges with the editor just some time back? No. Aunty gave Rs 100. And marched to the Matunga station in my chappals--after all it's officially the rainy season now. And I can get the key-maker while returning home.
Just when I was approaching the station, I remembered I had forgotten my close friend Mohua's marriage anniversary. As usual, she was forgiving and talked about their special lunch and dinner.
It's food that must have distracted me. For, I had forgotten to buy the ticket and I was standing in front of a ticket checker with his hand outspread. I threw my hands in the air and followed him to the railway office. I admitted to my crime and produced the single currency note that I was carrying. When he asked me to produce more money, I dared the woman constable to search me. Disappointed, he went to get his receipt book and I made myself comfortable on the single unoccupied chair in the office.
Just then, one of his cronies screamed, “You stand up. You can't sit down.” To my equally loud “Why?”, he said, “You are a ticketless traveller. The chairs are for us.” That was it. All my morning's frustrations, snowballed into rage. He became the target. And what better way to do that than invoke human rights. It worked. The crony went absolutely quiet. The ticket checker rushed to me. “We are actually helping you,” he said as he handed over a receipt of Rs 90 as fine and gave me Rs 10 to buy a ticket.
When I stepped out of the Churchgate station, the weather was brilliant. As I walked on the Marine Drive to my office in Nariman Point, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the monsoon sea and cool breeze. By the time I reached office, I was feeling much better. At my desk was waiting a collection of DVDs--sent by a home video company for review. And I started calculating how soon can I plonk myself in the bed and watch them back to back.

Why Not

Trust me, marriage has slowed me down. It also made me achieve an impossible feat. I have owned this cyberspace for three years without making a single entry. The urge to blog was immense. Like when I met Orham Pamuk. Early on a Sunday morning, I was one of those fortunate few journos who had a warm, lengthy and fascinating conversation with this Nobel winner.
All that my office was interested in was a small story revolving around him and his girlfriend Kiran Desai. I grumbled. I decided to write a nice account of the meeting in my blog. But I never could. Reason: Sunday is the day reserved for the lazy husband. Waking him up before noon is tough. Then making him talk, before he gulps at least two cups of tea and inhales his generous morning quota of nicotine, is tougher. After that, I have this impossible mission of making him share the domestic responsibilities. On Sunday, I can’t cook all by myself or put up the clean curtains or do the dusting or fill the water bottles.
As expected, he tries his best to wriggle out of it. And as expected, I foil his attempts by shouting, sulking and all other wifely tactics. Thus goes our Sunday even before we realise it or finish all the cooking, cleaning or shopping.
Still, this is better than the first one year of marriage. The routine then: get up not before 11 am; go to fish market like a typical Eastern Indian couple (I’m an Oriya and he is Bengali); cook fish curry; retire for an afternoon siesta; get up around 7-8 pm; go for a mini-walk; eat dinner and sleep again. Something about our marriage was sleep-inducing. Somehow, I snapped out of it. And the former routine came into force.
That was the story so far.
Now, the husband is away. I am single in the city. I have a regular job in Mumbai. Still, I have some free time. As my other job—that of reforming my husband—is gone, at least for some time.
Suddenly, I feel energetic—I have to kill time. Plus, I have to cover up the pain of separation.
My mind is buzzing with plans. I hardly go to Blue Frog though I stay very close to it. Come to think of it, I have never been to Hard Rock Café in my five years in Mumbai. Someone was asking me if I’m interested in paintball? Of course, I am. Trekking in Rajmachchi? Sounds great.
And all these outings I intend to record for posterity on this blog.
Behind all this—I have an agenda. The husband should know life is not all about gaping at TV for hours with that wonderstruck expression.
Now, I hope the next entry will not take another three years.