One is a recipient of grace because one is also the giver of it

Once back home from any trip of whatever duration, my first instinct is to resettle myself in my apartment. This usually involves unpacking my suitcase, restocking the kitchen, dusting all the surfaces in each room, and changing the sheets in both bedrooms. The amount of housework I attempt is usually directly proportional to the amount of time spent away. When I returned from the three-week-long Khoj Residency in Goa, which was followed by a brief week-long interlude in Mumbai, for instance, I got back and found myself completely reorienting my bedroom. I moved both beds myself from the window, upon the wall of which it had rested ever since I'd moved here in 2012 to the center of the room. I brought in a red bookcase from the living room so I could house the many books that form my current research, and the wooden trunk upon which I could store my diaries and a bottle or two of single malt, for a Mad Men touch. I'm still feasting on the quality of light that filters through the blinds in the early evening monsoonal weather. It is around then that I make myself a cup of coffee and read.