“I don’t think we will need that blanket until after June.” I said to R the other day, while opening the bedroom windows for some air. All the fans in the house were whirring at top speed – or at least, trying to – and the number of bottles in the refrigerator had noticeably increased since we moved in.
“I would keep it somewhere handy.” R sounded cautious. “I have known Pune to be as moody as my wife.”
Moody or no, the very sight of the blanket was making me sweat. I proceeded to neatly pack it away in the bed-cabinet. “Shall we go out for ice-creams this evening?”
A few hours later, we sat by the window in our living room, dressed to go out but hindered by circumstances. The sky was a speckled-grey, overcast with clouds of all shapes and sizes. Rain came down in large drops and if the thunder was anything to go by, showed no signs of abating soon.
“It is no longer hot enough for ice-creams.” said R, after the rain had softened. The man doesn’t know much about ice-creams. “It always is.” I explained.
Early this morning, when the first birds started singing, I sprung awake and sat up in bed. A light breeze was blowing in from under the door; the sun had started its ascent. However, the beauty of dawn was half-lost on me. I missed my blanket.
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