tales of Suchita

I’m sitting in the drawing room. I can hear the whirring of the fan. The sound of someone racing their motorcycle on the road twenty floors below wafts in through the open balcony door. It’s neither hot nor cold, dry or humid. It’s a perfect Bombay afternoon. It’s a slow work day. It’s my perfect kind of day.

My legs are in pain because of the suryanamaskar our yoga madam made us do yesterday. We have another class today and I’m so not looking forward to it – as usual. I know what you’ll tell me if I were to whine in your ears. You’ll say, “But Rohan, it’s for our health. Do you want to start stooping like your old man as soon as you hit thirty-five? No, right?”

I hate it when you lecture me. I can’t even whine properly. If you were here, and taken work from home like I had asked you, you would have laughed at my pouting face.

I’m glad you’re not here to make fun of my whiny, pouty face. I get the entire house to myself and I don’t have to listen to your tantrums of, “Again we’re eating alu ki sabji Rohan? Do we not have more vegetables in the fridge?”

I like alu ki sabji, so sue me. And if you want something else, you should be home, and not working in your office like the good employee you are. In case you can’t see me, I’m doing the “p face” which is…you know what I won’t describe it, because it sounds weird. You are smart, you’ll figure out what I mean.

What was I saying? Oh yes, how much fun I’m having since I’m alone at home.

Ugh, I hate being alone at home. You’re not here to harass or tease or drape myself over. Who is supposed to entertain me when I’m having a slow work day?

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Sorry, I had to pause to get the doorbell. By the way, whatever you secretly ordered from Amazon is here. No, V, I didn’t open the package. I’m not like you. I can keep a secret. I’m making a “rolls eyes face” just in case you were curious.

*

Hai rabba, I was hoping writing about how annoying you are would break my writer’s block but it’s not. I don’t know what to do, V “whine face.” I haven’t been able to write for three whole days and it’s like that time H told us about missing a period date. You know it has to happen but it does not happen and it creates this weird anxiety slash anticipation. Every time H would run to the bathroom to check only to be disappointed. But the hope wasn’t far away. It’s the exact same feeling V.

I know what you’re going to say. You will say, “Rohan…”

I really don’t know why all your dialogues have to have my name. If I do this for my novels, my readers will throw a fit.

“Rohan why don’t you write about my amazing abs, or how you salivate every time I leave the bathroom after my shower in just a towel” but Vvvvvvvvvv I can’t write about that. My novels are read by aunties and children and and did I say aunties?

Hmmm here’s an idea V. Every time you go to the office and leave your poor, helpless, alu sabji eating love of your life alone at home, I’ll write you a letter. A love letter. I’ll convert those letters into a novel and pitch it. Do you think it’ll sell? Maybe if we put a picture of your abs and…uh…

*

Okay I’m back. But it’s a good idea – we can sell our story and live like the Beckhams. I have always wanted to live like them. You’ll make a great Victoria or David – I’m not fussy. Either will do.

Also, I lied. I do love having you home. Seeing your potato face always breaks my writing block. It’s like my muse doesn’t want us to spend any time together “p face.” V you better come home quickly “raise eyebrow face.”

Lots of love and faces,
Rohan.

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Song: Moon River by Audrey Hepburn

Check out the other posts for 2023 here. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z

Header image: Photo by Mateo Giraud on Unsplash