My mom was walking to and fro the kitchen, with things in hand, as I sat on a chair in the dining room peeling off the oranges for juicing. The kitchen walls have turned into powered black from the wood fire, I noticed, its shelves painted in meaty red now in the darkness, lined with boxes of ingredients. Few days ago I had asked my mother if the kitchen walls were ever plastered, and she reminded me of the time when it was white washed during my uncle’s wedding, which was about a decade ago. But then the firing would bring it back to it’s old condition before long. Mom was trying to finish off her small chores quite a bit earlier this day. It was one of her auspicious days and she wished to wend her way to the temple in the vicinity. Meanwhile, she managed to sap the oranges in the mixer, which roared and quietened.
‘Would you want to take bath? The water is warm in there’ she asked, while I was gulping.
And I gave her the nod with my juice filled mouth.
I walked to the bathroom outside, next to the house. The door was shut behind me as I stepped inside. It was a room that receives no daylight, a sunless bathroom. I dipped my fingers into the water, checking the degree of heat. The water was flaring up. I stood for while and looked out the small pillared window, doorless. The lush green leaves highlighted in the day, with drizzles falling over. I twirled back and closed my eyes; poured a mug full of water over me.