There are days that just feel right and today was one of them. I think exercising in the morning played a large role in the way i'm feeling today. Strong, good and capable. I cleaned out the kitchen shelves, re-arranged all the sprakling yera glass jars with the dals and spices in them. Kolangi helped me dust. We chatted about the house, her husband's injury..he fractured his thigh at a construction site and she is now supporting the family. I made egg curry from ma's recipe book--used slight variations--tamarind juice and bit of the tamarind pickle and it really gave the curry a tangy, enlivened edge. I chopped up cucumbers and soaked moong and mixed in coriander and salt and nimboo for a salad. Kolangi made hot, soft rotis. And me hungry and hot from exercise and work --oh it felt so good to eat. I missed lion, he left early for work today...finally...its something he hasnt been able to do for a while.
i packed some khichdi for jennifer, and dropped off her boxes at her place and rushed off to begin work on my story. She called me back to thank me for the food, she said she had been so hungry and gobbled it down all at once.
Then i made my way to the busy bylanes of loha chawl to look for lamps for our bedside tables. We've stopped reading before we go to bed, as it will involve getting off the bed and going up to the switchboard to switch the lights off. But from today, we will be able to reach from the bed and turn the lamps off. VICTORY!!!!
The lamp shop smelled old and comfortable. The salesmen looked frozen in 1952, just their way of talking to you. There is a lovely old man who peers at me from behind his glasses saying, "you came before, right?" and i am astonished that he remembers. I had sauntered in two weeks ago to glance at the lamps and find out how much they costed. He shows me lampshades methodically. He is an engaging salesman, describes lamp posts, runs his hands over them. "See this piece, very nice," "no, no, not that shade, madam, this one, this one is better" He talks beautifully-accented english, in a soft, soft voice. He has a sprinkling of white beard. He could be a magician if he tried. Big, awkward fans are whirring in the late afternoon heat and there are few customers around. A manager sits at his glass-top table at the entrance of the shop, scowling away at nothing in particular. I notice there are bits of yellowing paper under the glass on his table. I move closer to study them, the manager shifts his scowl to me, I scowl right back--knitting my eyebrows together just the way my husband does when he is in a bad mood. It works, the manager shifts his scowl to a spectacularly ugly lampshade--which i think deserves to be scowled at till it disintegrates. The yellowing papers have beautiful handwriting on them in black ink. They've been written by former prime minister Indira Gandhi. They bear the seal of Rastrapathi Bhavan. She is thanking the owner of this shop for his services and good wishes. I like her signature. Another letter is from some important person thanking the owner for his condolence message. I found this display oddly touching. I paid up, walked out and discovered that the steamy late afternoon had metamorphosized into a soft cloudy evening.
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
