My Time My Own

 

A deluge of thoughts flood the mind, jostling for space, wanting to cohabit with the existing clutter and cobwebs that confine themselves to the cranny crevices in the cerebrum.

A simple jumble NUPDO refuses to unscramble itself; the head pounds, throbs, spins; it does every unwanted jig but does not yield the answer.

I monkey-jump to the SUDOKU which is featured just below the JUMBLE. The grey cells refuse to cooperate. I move on to solve the Crossword. It’s yet again another disaster. I don’t seem to get the simple 3-letter word for ‘obtain’!

“Have you had your morning dose of medicine?”

“Should I boil the milk and make the porridge, or will you have something else?”

“I’ve cut the fruits up and have placed the plate on the table. Eat them before flies feast on them.”

“Should I run the washing machine today, or would you rather wait for another day’s clothes?”

“Why don’t we try lunch at that newly opened restaurant today? It’ll be a good break for you.”

The silence of my surrounds is rudely broken by the barrage of questions, issues so inane and inconsequential, posed by JR, my spouse of 40 years! They leave me nonplussed, exasperated, frustrated and irritable as I settle down to begin my day, challenging the grey matter with an assortment of puzzles and brainteasers in the newspapers.

I wish to scream loudly, asking to be left alone in peace, just for half an hour till I’m done exercising my brains. A wild cacophony of sounds takes shape in my head and before my mouth can form any sensible words out of them, I see JR, stand before me, broom and mop in hand. His broad grin and indulgent looks do nothing to assuage my rising temper.

In the sixth decade of my life, do I have no right to live life the way I want, do the things I wish to – all at my own time and pace! Why do I always need to heed TIME – I see it as nothing short of Damocles Sword hanging over me! Why can’t my time be my own!!! 

Before my spiraling anger can translate to an outburst, sheets of the newspapers waltz all around the room, and flutter in gay abandon, caressed by a speedily rotating fan switched on to dry the floor.

Even as the scuffle between my head and heart reach a crescendo, the head beats retreat. The mellifluous voice of my all-time favourite musician, Bombay Jayashri, wafts through the air as wily JR plays our choicest album, “Brindavanam”, comprising compositions on Lord Krishna.

The plate of cut fruits taste sweet, the porridge is just the right texture and filling. The house looks sparkling clean, and perhaps I’m hoping to have some exotic dish for lunch at the new eatery. I have the entire day to solve any number of Sudokus, Jumbles, Unscrambles and Crosswords – JR makes it all possible. I’m glad I heed the heart more than I do my head!  

 

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