I moved from the bed, feeling relaxed and happy. Not delighted, just satisfied - and that made me feel happy. A morning of peace, no phone calls or doorbells and music of my choice with a book. Even my maid Vijaya who came late today was happy, smiling and laughing and talking about irrelevant stuff when I paused and lifted my head from the book. The book was finished now. A marathon completed, and my brain was rewiring itself to start on a new jog, feeling happy at having finished the race, and rejuvinating itself before the next one. Because, happily I have two more books lined up for me, by authors I like. There is nothing more rewarding than reading someone who agrees with you, knows what you like and tells you that they are nice things. Haruki Murakami in his real-fantasy world did that.
Just like telling me that Bob Dylan sounds like a kid standing at the window watching the rain. And then he marvels at it himself. And I marvel at him. It cant be truer. And I had put on Tambourine Man to play. I wanted to verify the truth.
I suddenly realise Im famished, I havent eaten a thing since morning, only my mediocre cup of coffee. I go to the fridge and stare, there is so much food, yet nothing I want to eat. Finally I take out the salami and keep it out to thaw. It gives me time to decide what I want to eat. I pick up a slice of cucumber from the plate I had asked Vijaya to prepare - a plate full of cucumber, beetroot and tomato slices, no dressings, no salt. I wonder what they would call this - its not exactly a Salad, but add salt and its what passes as salad in a dhaba. The cucumber is nice, ice cold and crunchy. I pick up a beetroot and remember its been ages since I ate beet. It lovely. Mildly sweet, crisp but not crunchy. And juicy. The tomato is too tangy so I pick up another beet circle and close the fridge door. The big bite into the circle of deep red beet leaves it in the shape of a less than half moon - kind of like the moon from the production house - Dreamworks. Only with jagged edges on one side and uneven polygonal ones on another, and thicker. I take another bite and feel the cool of the other edge of the arc brush my left cheek. I finish the slice, and walk back out of the kitchen. I think about what I mean to do today. And I pick up a brush and brush my hair. Its been so long since I brushed my hair without a reason - the brushing before going out or getting dressed. I enjoy it. I enjoy the sensation of the brush edges touching my scalp lightly, passing through my hair, leaving it rejuvinated. I pull back my hair into a ponytail. I dont use my regular scrunchie, but a simple plain band of purple. I like the purple band. I re-found it last night in an unused purse. While Im at it, I thought I might as well wash my face and see if it can remove the cottony feel of satisfaction from my brain as well. Make it sharper. The mirror shows the drop of blood left by the succulent beet on my cheek. I wash it away.
I feel refreshed, calm, serene, but not yet ready to take on the small jobs I mean to do today. I look at the computer and I think after I write this down I will get a coffee to go with crisp, deep fried salami and soft buttered bread. Perhaps some of the chicken soup as well. But Im not to sure about that. And then I will be energised. And so ready to move out of home and do my self designated work. I pause and listen - there is no sound apart from my fan whirring. And distant cars. I feel nice, relaxed.
Having written it all, I already feel better. The brain a little sharper, the edge a little more refined. I will make strong hot black coffee now, perhaps with a drop of milk. And put on Aerosmith. Crying.