So my day really, really started when I entered my pit of filth that I coincidentally also acknowledge as my apartment, at 4 in the afternoon. A typical weekend landscape greets me – Rao on the same couch where you would expect him to be, nursing his injuries and watching television; Sood on the same chair as he usually occupies with the same wheat flakes about his coordinates, a milk carton close by, and a used bowl and spoon on the table that might never make it to the kitchen sink unless initiated by yours truly; Rohit absconding; and Azad giving a lousy stare standing in the gallery which is also strewn with rubbish newspapers meant to absorb the water that accidentally gets spilt everytime when these idiots wash their clothes in the machine. It’s not as bad as it sounds – nothing could be as bad as it sounds on white marble floors, and in my lingering presence.
Azad had a more dignified presence today. He greets me in a soft voice, and speaks with an equal tenderness, clear, decipherable sentences, like I’m into a Vodafone help center or something. That sneaky bastard was never this way. It wasn’t annoying, though, I found it agreeable. But the moment the intention of making my way across to the bedroom was evident on my face, and more so in my strides, Azad was alertly found blocking my way. Casual in my stride, I almost bumped into him and would’ve sent him to trauma, if not for the free space the gallery offered. Then it came to my knowledge that he was hosting a female companion, who was – in all her modesty, nothing degenerate – in that bedroom thumbing on his laptop at that moment. It was a sick moment; I almost puked. I don’t like the zenana-mardana split; no rooms reserved for the either gender. All of us are urban working youth, for chrissake!
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