They say you have to spend a year or two in a hostel to learn a bit about life. Sure, mommy dearest usually takes care of your washing, food and cleans up your room before you know it.
Living on your own, however is a different ball game altogether. You wake up at the sound of the alarm. It’s raining outside. You get out of bed to find that your friend borrowed the water heater yesterday. You shove the brush in your mouth while salvaging stale bread pieces from yesterday’s breakfast. At the loo you light up a cigarette. No complaints there. No one to bother your 10 minutes of peace and quiet. You splash down half a bucket of ice-cold water and make a dash for the 11 am train.
After the day’s work, you stroll down your narrow lane and land up at your doorstep. Its 10 pm and you are too fried to cook up a decent meal. Ergo, the eponymous Maggi noodle comes to your rescue. Better yet, you junk the idea of cooking and head off to the nearby ‘Chinese’ place, where the sweaty cook mixes corn flour, salt and a handful of red chilly powder to give you a taste of truly pan Asian cuisine. On better days, you download ‘easy recipes’ off the net and put in on the pot, hoping something good comes of it.
Despite your pretensions, somewhere down the line, you do miss home, and the city you loved to hate.
2 comments:
The next step comes when you don't feel like cooking but have someone else depending on it--usually some child who takes your cooking for granted until he leaves and goes into a hostel, and the cycle repeats...
Truly hath spoken ye!
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