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Revolution!

an unlikely story of survival and acceptance of change…

Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to past and present are coincidental. No disrespect is intended.

It is a mansion with Doric columns, a sweeping driveway and rolling lawns a little too overgrown. And in it, I am holding myself captive with the woman I wronged.

We go about the business — and it is serious business — of survival. We cook, clean, wash, keep watch and stay in the moment. We do this mostly wordlessly, though due to the dictates of necessity, we sometimes break the seal of a numb silence.

For example, when we run out of water ( faucets dried up a week ago) and one of us has to go out to crank the gardener’s hand pump and fill buckets with brackish water. Or when the last candle sputters out, there is the usual instant of panic ( that’s one feeling repetition of which fosters no comfort zone) and one of us steals out to the front gate with money to send out for more.

Candles have become a precious commodity, rationed out strictly by a limited number of shops that are intrepid enough to open their doors. Retinue of staff has disappeared, some overnight, others gradually — and who can blame them — save one. It is our wizened gate-keeper.

Dear old Baba-jee! With his startling hennaed beard, and sturdy sheesham staff…