Sunday, Bloody Sunday

How do you think an ideal Sunday should begin?

This is how I think it should be.

The warm rays of sun slipping, dodging their way through the numerous rain clouds in their way before managing to slip in through just the right amount of gap in your window curtains, hitting your face with the softest of caresses, gently nudging you to open your eyes to see the beautiful world outside just as the timer on your computer activates and starts playing ‘Desolation Row’ – like icing on a cake – to finally wake you up completely and make you sit on your bed smiling, feeling good about life and full of hope about the possibilities that this particular Sunday might offer you.
You then lazily walk to the door, pick up the milk packet, go to the kitchen, make yourself a nice hot cup of hot chocolate and just crash on the carpet in front of the TV, watching the ‘Classic Rock hour’ on VH1 while reading the newspaper, without a care in the world.


Now let me describe to you how the Sunday actually began for me today.

8:00 AM. Loud banging on the door. Someone is also repeatedly pressing the doorbell. Since I was in the middle of a dream where I was an undercover spy hiding in a hotel somewhere in Berlin, I run to get my pistol. I am not really sure but I think the door-banging and the bell-ringing goes on for about a min or so. I finally manage to drag myself out of bed. Very, very sleepy. Open the door to find a big pool of milk on the floor outside the door, which is slowly dripping down the stairs to the level below, where a bunch of housewives in their night-suits are standing and shouting something in marathi.
Total confusion.
Then one of them realizes that maybe – due the fact that I belong to a land 1500 km away from maharashtra – I DON’T speak marathi. So she switches the shouting to hindi and I am duly informed that I must clean this mess of spilled milk and wash it down with water and also clean the stairs till the next level because there is some inspection in our society today to determine the cleanest and neatest building.

(blink) (blink)

What the (--beeeeeeeeeeeeep--) ?????
(--beep--) (--beep--) hell.
(--beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep--)
%$^&%(#@%!~!@#^%$#*&^%$#@

NOTE: This is a family blog. Rating – U/A.


The reality slowly starts sinking in. The pool of milk has been caused by this wild cat - i call her 'Billi' - that roams about in our building. Earlier the milk man would leave the milk packet on the floor outside the door and the 'Billi' would rip it open, drink about 5% of the milk, and let the rest flow down the stairs. Since then, i had hung this bag made of thick cardboard outside the door and lived happily thinking that i had finally defeated the 'Billi'. But, it seems that this notorious cat, 'Billi', had been secretly training in the ancient chinese art of 'Flying Cat Style' kung-fu, because today, she managed to make a 2-inch wide rip on the cardboard bag and then rip the milk packet throught the outer rip and drank 5% of the milk letting the rest flow down the stairs.

Cats are mean. I hate cats.

Anyways, the nice guy that I am, there was not much I could do about the situation. So I trudged back into the bathroom, filled up a bucket of water and poured it outside the door. Of course, since water has this nasty tendency of spreading in all directions when poured on a flat surface, a large quantity of it ended up inside my house – with a significant milk component in it as well.

Oh crap!

As I was standing there, with both my feet in milky-water, my eyes half shut with sleep, watching this milky-water slowly creep towards my carpet, imagining the smirk on 'Billi's' face and feeling the stares of the 2 housewives standing on the level below, something strange happened and the 35 year old housewife, that resides in all of us, woke up inside me.
I got into hyper-efficient mode, cleaned up the stairs, cleaned up the inside of the house and even managed to make some small-talk with the two housewives on the level below.

By this time, I had entered my Obsessive Compulsive Cleanliness Disorder and I started cleaning the dishes and ended up spending about 1 hour cleaning the whole kitchen as well.

By the time I finished all the cleaning up, I realized there was no milk in the house, and my sunday was officially ruined. Now the general store is just outside my society gate, but I was too lazy to walk down the 5 stories and since the phone of the general store wasn’t working, I spent the next 15 mins looking for a scrap of paper somewhere on my desk where I had written down – a long time ago – the backup number of the general store. By the time I finally switched on VH1, the classic rock hour had ended and they were showing 5 men/boys/(?) dressed in white suits, dancing in an airplane hangar. Bummer!

My life is brilliant !

And how was your Sunday?