I have much to learn about the art of waiting. When I was a child and I wanted the day I was anticipating to be upon me sooner, I would sleep early because it meant the next day would dawn more swiftly than if I stretched the hours with my wakefulness. But I am older now and sleep doesn't perform the same way as an antidote. I have to learn to be wiser; to be patient.

I try to distract myself with work, with household chores, but each time I hear my phone buzzing I think it might be a text from VFS informing me my application has been processed and my passport is ready for pick-up. Two weeks have passed since I returned from Goa. I should have been back by now, should have been back in front of the river, reading, writing, playing with Cleo and Barfi, listening to music, instead, I am compelled to be here in Delhi, which I wouldn't have minded at all, except that I'd paid to sublet the house for another month, and the middle-class person in me feels let down by circumstances outside my control.