Hari got up to the sunlight streaming right into his eyes. He hated it when that happened, and wished he could shift his bed away from the window where it currently was. But his single room apartment afforded only so much space and there was nowhere else he could put the bed. Besides, light wasn't really a problem, that was not what had woken him up. His mind dully registered the rhythmic thud thud of the concrete mixer which came in through the window. That was it, that was what had woken him up. Light of any kind he could sleep through, but expose him to a noise slightly above a whisper on the Decibel level, and his foray into dreamland would be unceremoniously cut off and he'd find himself with his feet firmly on the ground, which was what he was attempting to do now.
He swung his legs over the bed and plonked them down, but instead of meeting terra firma, he found his legs in a semi-solid state of matter with pieces of solid spread intermittently through the matrix. His brain tried to reconstruct the events of the past night, trying to search for clues which might explain the gunk under his legs. Let's see... friends come over, match too boring, go out for a quickie... quickie expands into rounds, rounds into bottles, stagger back between friends' shoulders, flop on bed... no wait, ah YES! Before the flop on bed part, his stomach had rebelled against the excessive alcohol treatment it had been subjected to and had decidedly rejected the contents of the bottles that he'd been interacting with a few hour before that, and so by the process of regurgitation, had splayed his floor with the same. In short, he had puked, and now his foot was in it.
He got up and immediately regretted the action. The world spun in one direction, and his head in the other, as he staggered around to find something to get a hold off, other than himself. Thankfully, the world realigned itself to his sense of balance and he went into the bathroom to clean... most of himself. That concrete-mixer was really getting to him. Who in the world wanted a new driveway for the neighbour's cars anyway? And then the thought struck him that the neighbours did, and he felt very depressed by the simple logic of it all.
He needed coffee. Sugar-less coffee. Just cafe con leche as his Spanish girlfriend would've put it. Which reminded him. They were supposed to meet today... or was it tomorrow. Yep, definitely today. Things hadn't been going that well between them lately. She was finding his perennial lack of time, or seeming lack of concern for her quite irritating. Even when they were together, she complained that he looked so lost all the time, dreamy, sleepy... she didn't know how to put it. And the last time, when he had yawned right in her face when she was in the middle of an animated exposition about her work day, she had been really put off. She had gotten up and walked off in a huff, and it had taken more than one conciliatory phone call to agree to the meeting today. He had wanted to be the perfect boyfriend today, listen to everything she said, nod in agreement with a smile, inject the odd funny comment... the works. But now he had gone and got drunk and his head was throbbing.
He still had an hour till he was scheduled to meet her. He decided to take the coffee and walk to her office, maybe the air will help clear up his head. He had a cold shower, nearly died of hypothermia as a result, towelled himself dry, put on the cleanest clothes he could find, stepped around the mess on the floor and stepped out of the apartment.
She worked in an NGO, which took care of the orphans abandoned on Mumbai's roads... or atleast as much of them as they could. Why she had to come all the way from Catalunya to actively involve herself in this, was beyond him. He wasn't complaining though, they had nicely hit it off when they had met at the party for the Spanish ambassador, when he had thankfully been sober, and it had been good ever since. That is, till that last time... or the last few weeks in fact. And now she was angry. And today was the make-up day. And he was hung over.
The hour long walk through the fresh, polluted Bombay air did his head no good at all. Now not only was his head throbbing, but his feet were complaining and he was hungry, since his stomach had efficiently emptied itself out last night, and he had fogotten this thing called breakfast. Still, he was in front of the NGO's office, and he took a deep breath and stepped inside. He knew her office was on the third floor, she had told him that during one of the stories that he had been listening to. He reached her office and without knocking, opened the door, shouting 'Surprise' as he did.
She was not there. The office was empty. Probably stepped out for a bit, he thought. He stepped into the office. It was brilliantly lit, and very clean too, giving the office a look of purity, like some minor angel's office in heaven. He shut the door behind him and something struck him as being very odd. He waited a few minutes, and then realization dawned upon him. The room was completely silent! Either by a quirk of architectural brilliance, or accoustic magic, the room had become completely sound-proof. Not a single noise permeated through the white walls or the now-closed door. He walked around the room and settled into a couch, which looked wide enough to fit two people into it. He decided to wait for her, and settled a bit more comfortably into the couch. He found that if he pulled his legs up into a foetal position, he could really get a very nice orientation of his body parts. He did so, and his eyes decided that the best orientation for them, was with the eyelids down, and so they screwed shut. The white walls, the bright lights, the near-heavenly cleanliness, nothing mattered for Hari. All that mattered was the complete aural isolation that the room provided, and his brain acknowledged the fact by immediately switching off. Hari was out like a light, all puns intended.
Maria stepped into her office and let out a short gasp of surprise. There was a form sitting, rather, curled up on her couch. Then she recognised the unruly brown hair and smiled to herself. That can only be one person. She tiptoed into the room, hoping to catch him by surprise. As she leant over to place her hands over his eyes, she saw that that would not be needed, they were closed anyway. She went around the couch and knelt beside him. He was sleeping peacefully, not a care in the world. She knelt closer, and found what she was looking for, or rather, smelling for. One coffee was nowhere near enough to supress the smell of the bottle, or more, of yesterday night's drinks. She looked at him for a long time, just kneeling there and staring. Then she lightly ruffled the unruly brown hair, got up and tiptoed away.
As she went out, she switched off the lights too.
He swung his legs over the bed and plonked them down, but instead of meeting terra firma, he found his legs in a semi-solid state of matter with pieces of solid spread intermittently through the matrix. His brain tried to reconstruct the events of the past night, trying to search for clues which might explain the gunk under his legs. Let's see... friends come over, match too boring, go out for a quickie... quickie expands into rounds, rounds into bottles, stagger back between friends' shoulders, flop on bed... no wait, ah YES! Before the flop on bed part, his stomach had rebelled against the excessive alcohol treatment it had been subjected to and had decidedly rejected the contents of the bottles that he'd been interacting with a few hour before that, and so by the process of regurgitation, had splayed his floor with the same. In short, he had puked, and now his foot was in it.
He got up and immediately regretted the action. The world spun in one direction, and his head in the other, as he staggered around to find something to get a hold off, other than himself. Thankfully, the world realigned itself to his sense of balance and he went into the bathroom to clean... most of himself. That concrete-mixer was really getting to him. Who in the world wanted a new driveway for the neighbour's cars anyway? And then the thought struck him that the neighbours did, and he felt very depressed by the simple logic of it all.
He needed coffee. Sugar-less coffee. Just cafe con leche as his Spanish girlfriend would've put it. Which reminded him. They were supposed to meet today... or was it tomorrow. Yep, definitely today. Things hadn't been going that well between them lately. She was finding his perennial lack of time, or seeming lack of concern for her quite irritating. Even when they were together, she complained that he looked so lost all the time, dreamy, sleepy... she didn't know how to put it. And the last time, when he had yawned right in her face when she was in the middle of an animated exposition about her work day, she had been really put off. She had gotten up and walked off in a huff, and it had taken more than one conciliatory phone call to agree to the meeting today. He had wanted to be the perfect boyfriend today, listen to everything she said, nod in agreement with a smile, inject the odd funny comment... the works. But now he had gone and got drunk and his head was throbbing.
He still had an hour till he was scheduled to meet her. He decided to take the coffee and walk to her office, maybe the air will help clear up his head. He had a cold shower, nearly died of hypothermia as a result, towelled himself dry, put on the cleanest clothes he could find, stepped around the mess on the floor and stepped out of the apartment.
She worked in an NGO, which took care of the orphans abandoned on Mumbai's roads... or atleast as much of them as they could. Why she had to come all the way from Catalunya to actively involve herself in this, was beyond him. He wasn't complaining though, they had nicely hit it off when they had met at the party for the Spanish ambassador, when he had thankfully been sober, and it had been good ever since. That is, till that last time... or the last few weeks in fact. And now she was angry. And today was the make-up day. And he was hung over.
The hour long walk through the fresh, polluted Bombay air did his head no good at all. Now not only was his head throbbing, but his feet were complaining and he was hungry, since his stomach had efficiently emptied itself out last night, and he had fogotten this thing called breakfast. Still, he was in front of the NGO's office, and he took a deep breath and stepped inside. He knew her office was on the third floor, she had told him that during one of the stories that he had been listening to. He reached her office and without knocking, opened the door, shouting 'Surprise' as he did.
She was not there. The office was empty. Probably stepped out for a bit, he thought. He stepped into the office. It was brilliantly lit, and very clean too, giving the office a look of purity, like some minor angel's office in heaven. He shut the door behind him and something struck him as being very odd. He waited a few minutes, and then realization dawned upon him. The room was completely silent! Either by a quirk of architectural brilliance, or accoustic magic, the room had become completely sound-proof. Not a single noise permeated through the white walls or the now-closed door. He walked around the room and settled into a couch, which looked wide enough to fit two people into it. He decided to wait for her, and settled a bit more comfortably into the couch. He found that if he pulled his legs up into a foetal position, he could really get a very nice orientation of his body parts. He did so, and his eyes decided that the best orientation for them, was with the eyelids down, and so they screwed shut. The white walls, the bright lights, the near-heavenly cleanliness, nothing mattered for Hari. All that mattered was the complete aural isolation that the room provided, and his brain acknowledged the fact by immediately switching off. Hari was out like a light, all puns intended.
Maria stepped into her office and let out a short gasp of surprise. There was a form sitting, rather, curled up on her couch. Then she recognised the unruly brown hair and smiled to herself. That can only be one person. She tiptoed into the room, hoping to catch him by surprise. As she leant over to place her hands over his eyes, she saw that that would not be needed, they were closed anyway. She went around the couch and knelt beside him. He was sleeping peacefully, not a care in the world. She knelt closer, and found what she was looking for, or rather, smelling for. One coffee was nowhere near enough to supress the smell of the bottle, or more, of yesterday night's drinks. She looked at him for a long time, just kneeling there and staring. Then she lightly ruffled the unruly brown hair, got up and tiptoed away.
As she went out, she switched off the lights too.
