I like to sleep late on Sunday nights. Mother says, we should sleep extra early on Sundays, so that we are fully charged for the week ahead. But I usually get delayed, as I take time to bid goodbye to my weekend. If I sleep on Sunday, there will be a Monday, which means I will have to wake up early and go through the rushed chores of a Monday morning.
Monday morning, actually weekday mornings at our house usually begin with the hustle bustle of grandma cleaning the house, grandpa pacing up and down the hall in anticipation of the municipality water tanker, I am usually woken by the maid, who brings her own flavor to the existing commotion in the house.
I start by cleaning my bed, having my daily quota of a bowl of papaya, five almonds and two amla golies. I do not remember a single day when this ritual was not carried out. The almonds and amla golies are always in stock. An apple may substitute the papaya, rarely. Apart from that I have not seen any change in the past 13 years. I can tell only about the last 13 years, because I know them only since then. Sometimes I wonder whether they were always like this. Or is it the fear of growing old. We always try to make things better towards the end.
After which I take my bath. I am scared to open the tap in the bathroom, so I manage with the water already in the bucket. There is a maze of pipes and knobs that lead to different taps in the bathroom. They work in tandem with the knobs. Grandpa says, one wrong move, can drain the entire water tank. I tried asking them, but I think grandpa thinks even I have a hearing problem, he explained it to me so loudly that I was afraid of asking any questions.
Sometimes I wish I never grow old.