An epistolary ode to my best friend

I waited until I could arrive at my destination to write this column Not because I couldnt earlier Id woken up at the crack of Delhis dawn in time to witness leaves swaying so briskly the leheriya saris Id repurposed as curtains heaved between the threshold of my window as if they were living beings animated by windDelhi does this to me quite often when I am on the verge of departure acts all pretty and seductive so that I experience a pang of slight sorrow when Im in the backseat of a taxi heading to the airport But this morning as I drank my coffee and had my scrambled eggs on buttered toast I basked in the citys monsoonal revelling without the twinge In less than an hour Id be leaving to catch my flight to my homeland Goa trumps Delhi when it comes to monsoonal vigourIts an unfair comparison given Goas coastal positioning and Delhis desertplain landscape That aside I knew what awaited me this time a sublet house with a view I wanted this column to be written by the edge of the Anjuna River that constitutes the backyard I wanted it also to be the first thing I write on this selfimposed selffunded residencyIts odd for a writer to leave her studio to go elsewhere to write But this sojourn is also a test run to experience what it might be like to relocate to the state of my origin to where I claim ancestral roots I dont know if its the red soil thats calling out to me or if its the premise of a simpler life with cheaper rentMy accountant confirmed to me the plunge in my income in the last financial year I was quite content to hear his assessment It sounds so foolish this desire to earn less than before I think of it as a desire to earn just enough as to subsist and write and travel when I need to I decided last year to treat money for what it is a means to an end Ive never had so much clarity as to what that end embodies Its as clear now as the eastward direction of the swell of the river that flows in front of the massive desk upon which Ive placed my laptop and the remains of my bowl of mangodahimuesli mdash to write all the books my body is aching to produceIm enthused by the promise of solitude to inhabit a space that is feline Barfi and Cleo have already befriended me Ive already begun to converse with themBarfi in particular seems to enjoy sitting near me Then there is the neighbours Pomeranian Aden who has curled in a corner in a state of halfsleep alert only when the plastic rainguard rustles too loudly In the backyard to my right two Goans are fishing silently They arent yet aware of my presence neither are the birds that chirp unselfconsciously It is nothing short of idyllic Through the house placed in a range of sites from the fridge door to the suspended modem to the coffee table are little notes left by Sharanya who otherwise lives here but has left for Europe for two months I will take her place in this interim inhabiting elements of her routineIt was an act of grace how all of this came together I would be remiss not to acknowledge also the feminist sisterhood that made this possible knowing that I have a friend in Delhi who is caring for my apartment while I am here caring for Sharanyas Were housekeeping for each other Its beyond just logistics theres genuine nurturing I can tell from the note Sharanya left me on the table urging me to enjoy where its been poisedThe sun emerges to my right I surmise that must be west where it will eventually set Ever so slightly it gets gauzed over by clouds and its light gets diffused until suddenly it is cast over my skin once again Im contemplating the texture of my daily routine while I am here On the agenda for each day is six hours of solid writing each morning so that the next book Im longing to birth can assume a more evolved less foetal state I want to return to Delhi with a draft that I can then flesh out Incidentally it was in Goa that I had begun to write this second book my epistolary ode to Mona a book that is all about the politics of housekeeping and hospitality coupled with female friendship and feminist solidarity It feels fitting that I should return to write it drawing from all the longhand notes Ive been making in my journal I feel ready I look forward to updating you my invisible audience of my progress Wish me luckDeliberating on the life and times of Everywoman Rosalyn DMello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover She tweets RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbagmiddaycomCatch up on all the latest Mumbai news crime news current affairs and also a complete guide on Mumbai from food to things to do and events across the city here Also download the new midday Android and iOS apps to get latest updates