I come home one evening and kicking off my shoes crash in the bed. Another nightout followed by a hard day of work where I had yawned and excused myself every five minutes. I lie with my hands spread at the side staring at the ceiling, too stunned with exhaustion to close my eyes. The mobile buzzes. I fish it out of my pocket and bring it to my face to read the SMS informing me that someone has expressed interest in me. The hand drops and holds the mobile loosely to my chest. After a few minutes, I rise, the mobile slipping away and falling on the floor with a clatter, and lurch towards the laptop.
A beautician from Allahabad, twenty-seven, a turned-away profile with heavy lipstick and sleepy eyes. “i know person who educate, self depend, resposible and support. i like govt. emp. person who located in good city.”‘Doesn’t it get lonely?’, I’d asked Krithika after she’d tucked Ankit to bed and joined us in the balcony. A life – and a child – shared only over the weekends. ‘That’s what his job is like and, seriously, after a time it becomes a habit.’
Nidhi and I had turned to look at one another and behind our backs sought hands. We were still young then, the dullness of the hours at the office had not numbed us down yet and the novelty of being together was still fresh in us: we still made love in the morning and greeted each other with a kiss when we came back.
