My Morning Surprise

This morning, like most mornings, I took a shower. And this morning, like most of my mornings since moving, there was a banging at my door. And like most of the mornings this past week, it is the smiley guy from downstairs with some news he delivers in Hindi and some urgent need to inspect, repair or just look at something. But the knock during the shower was the second one of the morning. The first one arrived at half past four. I was sound asleep and suddenly there was a banging. I thought the house might be on fire, but no, he just needed to inspect something and then he took a hose and was on his way. I tried to go back to sleep, but it was futile. Too awake to sleep and too tired to actually do anything, I listened to the planes passing, while thinking about how I am going to get out of this situation.

But back to this morning's shower. There I was with my shampoo lathered into a luxurious richness when I heard it. I decided to ignore it. I was in the shower. I was naked. The banging came again as I was rubbing some L’Oreal face wash into my eyes, which, take it from me, burns. I was tired, I was cranky and I had soap in my eyes. The banging came again. I screamed something at the door, toweled off and decided to see what the urgency was all about.

I am used to seeing smiley guy at my door. In fact, seeing him at my door is quite a relief after last Sunday. I had gone out early to snap some pics and enjoy the early morning weather and I came home to find the door of my flat locked from the inside. Someone was in my house. It was all very Goldilocks and the Three Bears. I banged on the door having no idea who was inside and was surpised when my door opened and smiley guy welcomed me in. It seems there was no water in their flat, so he decided to use my shower. And, quite noisily, my toilet. Imagine the look of sheer joy on my face. After that, I really thought I had "been there, done that" and was not at all prepared for was the long line of people standing outside my door, desperate to get onto my terrace. It seems there is a pooja tonight and my terrace is to be the kitchen. The terrace above the little terrace is to be party central. A pooja is a religious blessing ceremony done for just about anything. New office. New car. New building. This evening is the pooja for the building. It is not new, but it has been somewhat remodeled, assuming that one can call a splash of paint remodeling.

So in came the big pots, the potable gas burners, kilos and kilos of rice and chicken and goat and whatever else is on the menu. And then there was me, clad in basically my towel while the crew filed in and started looking around. I wanted to get dressed and so closed the door, thinking that people would get the hint. I had just zipped up the jeans when a head pokes through my window. "Namaste". It was the landlord. "Khanna?" I declined. I informed him I am was trying to get ready for work and then he told me that there would be a bit dinner tonight. On my terrace. And of course, I have been invited for what I am sure will prove everyone watching me eat and asking me if I am married. Asking me why I am not married. Telling me I need a nice Indian girl. I will smile politely. I will be kind and charming, knowing that in just a few days, I will be far away in Thailand, hopefully deep in a jungle on the back of an elephant.