The Inn at Christmas

The house has been very different from its space-capsule self lately. First P&G arrived, then Snegum. After she left and P&G extended their stay, Bottle Imp arrived. Today P&G are in Agra, Bottle Imp is readying himself to go to the Sunday book bazaar and I am preparing to stay at home, clean house, work and write. I bumped into MinCat yesterday at CP and we both looked at each other's non-blog selves owlishly. I feel vaguely like an adult, because this is how I imagined my life as an adult would be like.

The house in Bangalore was like this 365 days of the year. The first time I took Bottle Imp home, it was 2 am on a Saturday. We walked in and found a bunch of various strange boys in the house and no sign of Brother, I could hear Japanese on the first floor.  Later  it turned out that they were the touring  Indian champions of gaming tournaments.  One Christmas I decided to round up all the people who would possibly feel bad about not having Christmas. I forgot to organise any food though. So three finicky gay men, a depressed Dutch giant and a priest who had just left the fold, sadly ate the worst biriyani known to man. On another occasion, the Valkyries were engaged in mortal combat and I woke up to their screams. I ran downstairs and found that Valkyrie 1 had scratched Valkyrie 2 and both were crying. I didn't have time to even wring my hands because I heard my neighbours calling out to me. These neighbours, an old couple hated each other and berated each other loudly all day and all night. Now was their chance to redeem themselves. When they asked sternly about the disturbance I was torn between wanting to giggle and wanting to waterhose them. The man even asked for my mother, as I were five and had broken his window with a cricket ball. I found myself telling the patently unbelievable tale of Valkyrie 2's brother's impending nuptials making her sentimental and weepy.

This house has been semi-permeable so far. I like that its changing. I like that we clean it and ten minutes later like the grubby little brother from Wee Free Men it becomes inexplicably sticky again. My need for order simply has to be let go for a while.

Bottle Imp and I are staggering under a load of new books, books borrowed, gifts of books. Many look marvellous. This one from Snegum and UR, for instance...


Newer Post Older Post Home