A lazy Monday morning. I woke up an hour too late, with my workout pending, and my mind lazily chewing on the nuggets of time. I sneak a peak at the world outside.
The birds are busy, purposeful, much like they have deadlines to keep and places to be. The watchmen sit on their rickety chairs, watching the world go by. The children, i see, seem thrilled, with school bags on their backs. A rare sight. My much cherished household help, fills me in on her life, as I seem intent to write.
I realize the bell has rung a time too short today. I missed the bread man. It seems I have these varied men in my life, without whom a morning, lazy or not, is incomplete. The day begins with the regular thump of the newspaper outside our door, by our trusted newspaper man, a signatory bell may or may not be rung or heard (much like today). Followed leisurely by our bread man, who on most occassions has a brown bread packet in his hand, prior to me even opening the door. Yes, we are that predictable. Then comes our dearest housekeeping man from the building, to collect our day's trash. A man of very pleasant disposition, and an easy smile. The routine number of bells is three over a span of two hours. Yet, the abscence of any one of the three is enough to get us in some kind of a tizzy on most occassions. There were two other men wanting to join this soiree' of sorts. The milkman, who was very disheartened that we preffered packaged milk over his 'fresss milk from cow'. And the washerman, who again, was not very kicked about our affinity for the laundry instead.
Its lovely to even have the comforts of these varied services at one's doorstep, and this is something we really ought to be thankful for. Just ask our foreign counterparts about the difficulty in procuring household help, even. Yes, that does make them self reliant and perhaps more able. There are positives aplently each side, and of that I am aware. But the least we can be is thankful. I, most certainly, am.
On a day like today, the mundane seems so comforting. The familiar sound of the spinning fan, the clean cool floor, the drape drawn darkened rooms, and this wonderful thing called time. Make a lazy monday morning, now spilling into the afternoon, a thing of beauty. Something charmed and blessed, in its existence even. And to be enjoying it in the confines of a city like Mumbai, and in the four walls of our own home, makes me content and yes, repeatedly, thankful.
Some alternate busy Monday morning, jetsetting, losing out on sleep, waking up in new places, without the familiarity of your own bed and bath, and for most others without family. Makes me sit up and take note of a morning as idle as this. And immensely grateful.
I stretch, I preen, and I gear up for the bout of activity to follow.
The birds are busy, purposeful, much like they have deadlines to keep and places to be. The watchmen sit on their rickety chairs, watching the world go by. The children, i see, seem thrilled, with school bags on their backs. A rare sight. My much cherished household help, fills me in on her life, as I seem intent to write.
I realize the bell has rung a time too short today. I missed the bread man. It seems I have these varied men in my life, without whom a morning, lazy or not, is incomplete. The day begins with the regular thump of the newspaper outside our door, by our trusted newspaper man, a signatory bell may or may not be rung or heard (much like today). Followed leisurely by our bread man, who on most occassions has a brown bread packet in his hand, prior to me even opening the door. Yes, we are that predictable. Then comes our dearest housekeeping man from the building, to collect our day's trash. A man of very pleasant disposition, and an easy smile. The routine number of bells is three over a span of two hours. Yet, the abscence of any one of the three is enough to get us in some kind of a tizzy on most occassions. There were two other men wanting to join this soiree' of sorts. The milkman, who was very disheartened that we preffered packaged milk over his 'fresss milk from cow'. And the washerman, who again, was not very kicked about our affinity for the laundry instead.
Its lovely to even have the comforts of these varied services at one's doorstep, and this is something we really ought to be thankful for. Just ask our foreign counterparts about the difficulty in procuring household help, even. Yes, that does make them self reliant and perhaps more able. There are positives aplently each side, and of that I am aware. But the least we can be is thankful. I, most certainly, am.
On a day like today, the mundane seems so comforting. The familiar sound of the spinning fan, the clean cool floor, the drape drawn darkened rooms, and this wonderful thing called time. Make a lazy monday morning, now spilling into the afternoon, a thing of beauty. Something charmed and blessed, in its existence even. And to be enjoying it in the confines of a city like Mumbai, and in the four walls of our own home, makes me content and yes, repeatedly, thankful.
Some alternate busy Monday morning, jetsetting, losing out on sleep, waking up in new places, without the familiarity of your own bed and bath, and for most others without family. Makes me sit up and take note of a morning as idle as this. And immensely grateful.
I stretch, I preen, and I gear up for the bout of activity to follow.
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