Every time my mother leaves for her native place, a soft purry kitten dies. Hold that thought, PETA. Just got the metaphor wrong! What i meant to say was: whenever my mother leaves for Manipal, we find ourselves in a fix. It's only when she is not at home that we realise how important she is to everyone's survival—including the houseplants'. This time around, she will be gone for about two weeks or so. And as usual, my dad will pretend to take over only to give up within 48 hours and announce "To Each His Own, Boys" silently. Anyway, he's 66 so can't blame him for...being so smart. My brother is going to be smug thanks to his self-reliant techniques. He doesn't bother anyone, unlike us two. Regardless, several factors are going to bother us. The cobwebs, for instance. You see, if you don't clean them regularly, they become a part of your pessimistic life. Anyway, change is a way of existence too, right? You wish. In our house (no, no, not sweet home), nobody is going to enter kitchen anymore—except for water perhaps when one is dying of thirst—as each of the three fusketeers (read: fuss-creators) will depend entirely on outside food. The sparrows and pigeons are going to miss their morning nosh. The tulsi is going to curse us for not taking proper care of her. Milk shall become an alien food because it requires boiling and more importantly, the need to make sure it doesn't spill. The bathroom is going to reek of bachelorhood. Water is going to overflow and clothes are going to remind us that although May has ended, Indian summer hasn't. The fridge will continue to be our BFF but its biochemical status will change significantly. For what this 'change' is worth, i can assure that none of us are going to learn our lessons or treat my father's old wife properly when she returns. Fair enough.
PS: Three soft purry kittens dying in a year is not a big deal, PETA.