It has become so cold that I have had to concede defeat and cover up my toes. I even almost (but not quite) wore sneakers to office. Ugh! Until I concluded that I just had to buy a new pair of closed shoes – maybe ankle boots to sweeten the pill.

I might even need a pair of trousers in warm frabric. One pair of cords doesn’t cut it in a season in which the chill creeps through jeans. I can’t say I need more jackets because I guess (sigh) I do have enough. I might even give some – bought during moments of megalomania when I thought I had graduated from a small to a medium – away.

In another historic first, I have cooked three times this week. I made dal twice, only thwarted when I realised that I could not make out the difference between tuvar, channa and moong dal (well the packet of moong dal was labelled) but it was hard to tell of the others which was which. I thought desperately of hunting down the stray Indian family in the building but perished the thought partly because the building does not facilitate such actions by not having an Up button for the elevator on the landing. Weird no? So if by chance you want to visit a neighbour upstairs – god forbid – you go all the way down in the elevator and then up.

But back to the cooking – it’s amazing what scales of goodness a husband with a strained back can push you to. Luckily, he’s now back on his feet and I shamefully let him do the needful yesterday after offering to buy burgers from the place downstairs.

At work I seem to be on an even keel. But even then I cannot relax. I may have three stories up my sleeve but who knows when my boss might rise up, bite me in the ass and negate all of them. Case in point – a meeting was called today. Shudder!

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