No cook, no clean
No scrub, no dust
No chop, no feed
No wash, no sweep
No mop, no fry
No enter house, no what, no why
Sorry, Thomas Hood and my readers, for that bad parody of a good poem. This morning, Raju and I planted nine trees – a date, two lemons, a peepal, a guava, a papaya, a sweet cherry, a Singapore cherry and a gul mohar. Also a pineapple, a lemon grass, an aloe vera and some monsoon lily bulbs.
It rained last night, so the air and the soil were soft. I had made tea for Raju earlier, so that I could relax after he left, in the cool, breezy shade of the honge tree. Oh, bliss!
I wish I could stay outdoors all day and never get into the trap of housework again. Are you listening, my messy and eternally hungry family? Are you listening, my constantly demanding to be eaten vegetables?
Let me just loll here between planting trees. ‘Here she lies where she longs to be,’ as RL Stevenson almost said.