of delusions

You know how I forgot my car keys in the ex husband’s camera bag.

He came to drop off the car keys today. He was being really sweet, but I suspected that he was rather miffed at having to come to my office all the way just to drop off my car keys. It’s no problem at all, he said. At least I got to meet you again.

Although I know he hates detours and was just being polite, he didn’t seem upset at all. I almost felt

of secret-sharing

What are you writing?

I can’t tell you. It’s a secret.

Crap. Now you have to know what she’s writing.

of last straws

He interrupts even before you start talking. Yes, we all know, your dream is to be a housewife. You’ve said this a million times, he says, chuckling.

Lately, it’s become something of a joke between the two of you.

You’re eagerly telling him how much it excites you. Imagine spending the entire day at home, doing things at your own pace. I would love to spend my day cleaning, packing a lunch for you, doing the dishes, and wait-for-it, gossiping with the other ladies in the neighborhood.

He lets out a full-bodied laugh. Trust me, you’re so restless, you won’t be able to survive that life for more than a week.

You’re almost pleading with him now

of leaving

The sky gets all teary-eyed as you pack. Tired, heavy drops fall on your windowsill.

Anuradha Patel glides from one corner of the screen to another looking like she has cancer or something. So do you, gathering sundry items still lying in the dresser and putting them in a Zipouch.

Aadhe sookhe aadhe geele, sookha to main le aayi thi

Geela man shaayad bistar ke paas pada ho, woh bhijwa do, mera woh saamaan lauta do

Memories of a monsoon evening,