I rinse the toothbrush and put it away. While the coffee is dripping in the kitchen, I apply shaving foam on my face, and examine the blade. No rust yet. Just a few hairs from the last time. I open the tap, put the blade under it, and look up at the mirror to see my face under the small fluorescent lamp.
And I think, if only I was holding a cigarette between my lips, this could be a scene from an award-winning movie.
Travelling in the Metro, I see a formally-dressed executive, talking to someone on the cellphone. Just behind him, I spot a woman and her son sitting near the window, and talking about the day ahead, in Marathi.
And I think, where are the subtitles?
I see people standing outside a lift in our building, and I instinctively go and ask one person – is it a queue for people with the SMS?
Now that MAMI is over once again, I need a fix of more movies. Sigh, withdrawal symptoms.