she took the 12:15 local to her mother's place. no screaming for cabs, no hurry for life. she walked down, her baby clinging to her fast asleep even in that peak traffic rush. her bag stuffed with baby food, diapers..another zip had a purse with certain change, a comb incase it got windy and a cell phone that kept her searching everytime it rang. but she never panicked while looking for it. even if it stopped ringing and she couldn't find it even then, she never..
an hour later when she knocked her mother's door, she opened it, messed up in a crumpled nightie. looks they shared were obvious, no greetings exchanged. the traffic noise lost its impact inside the house. shiny marble tiles, cold and black, on which the baby would crawl and play, once up..
the day glided at its own merry pace and paused whenever it felt like. the dal in the pressure cooker whistled once and again. it woke her up from lazy day dreams she had staring out of the window on the ninth floor at the unruly cabbies underneath. at distant smoke. watching life happen, this way, from a height was all she wanted to do. indifferent, uninvolved and away..
watching the baby sleep quietly was quite another thing. playing with his nose and tickling his lips.. waking him up and biting her lips once he began crying..was yet another thing..
later post three, she would knead dough and flatten balls of it..watch her mother blow them up on a tawa she wondered had always been that black..they would watch soaps in which she would keep confusing between characters and guessing the story ahead..not looking for much spice and leaving life as it was..
sipping cups of sugary tea, sitting on the swing in the portico, watching afternoon become evening..watering her mother's potted plants...playing with mud and clay..
she would take the 6:30 local and be home by the time he came home.
later she would pinch herself to believe if life could be that impeccably normal..