Now that Santosh is away, I have the entire room to myself. And now it increasingly resembles the bachelor's typically thunderstruck living place. The floor is dingier than the streets. The bed sheet is covered in layers of stratified dust. My luggage from the previous trip still lies in an alcove. My pillow cover needs a thorough wash. The wardrobe is hopeless. The drawer is in complete disarray, important papers lying recklessly strewn across. A watch lies unwatched on the floor. My books lie scattered all across. My clothes are unwashed; those that are remain crumpled and unironed. Some clothes are dangling from the washing lines, forgotten and almost forsaken. The shelves are flooding. The buckets are empty. The CD's lie carelessly.
I feel unusually sullen.
I don't have the will to set things straight, but procrastination won't make things any better. There'll be a flurry of activity this weekend.