Wisdom Wears Neon Pyjamas

When Sujin called, Valli was already halfway through re-organizing the kitchen cabinets. Perspiration on her face and resentment in her heart, she silently cursed herself for taking on the mantle of the cleaner one. The maid had disappeared two weeks ago and with Diwali around the corner, chances of finding a substitute were slimmer than the size she aspired to be. So when he uttered something a shade thoughtless, she was ripe for the mother of all tantrums.

They fought for 47 minutes. 47:28, to be precise. And as they raged back and forth and spewed acrimony into the cellular heavens, tears poured down her cheeks unchecked. Grabbing the nearest available towel, she wiped her eyes and blew hard. Pale yellow mucus stared placidly back at her. She raged some more. She blew some more. Until the mustard-colored towel glistened evenly and she carefully arranged it on the back of his chair, right on top of the cleaner blue one, exactly as she had found it.

Two hours later, her run ended abruptly. The neighbor’s dog had mistaken her leg for a lamppost and she hurried home to shower.  Sujin was going to be late. So she put on La Boheme at glass-shattering decibels, poured herself some cranberry juice, stripped off her soiled track pants, grabbed the topmost towel off the chair and let the hot jets of water drain her cares away.