Through unsubtle baiting my mother made me a reading child. I read in the dark and on moving cars and lost some vision. I read before tests and lost many marks. It gave me tools to judge everyone so harshly that I got lonely and under-confident. All her fault.
I had traded my three pound breakfast for the laundry service that morning and taken the long walk to the supermarket. One has to be careful when the weekend approaches if one believes in buying one's own drink.
I averted my gaze from the rows of apples and stoically replenished my stationery. Walking out with the bags sagging from fisted palms ,my legs sighed.
Oh who is it going to hurt if I tuck away one apple from the shelf?
No. My hunger does not give me a right to the food.
But my hunger isn't three day old or many generations deep.
I am not writing in outrage. I am merely curious if you have realized the precise nature of our predicament. The micro-realities that shape one’s big decisions.
I could walk to my friends place in ten minutes through a narrow bylane. I have to instead take the longer, well lit, car congested road .For women can’t afford to take shortcuts especially after dusk. On vacation we can’t save precious holiday time by taking a night bus.
Our time is less precious.
Our belief in the clear green rationality of public transport breaks down. We must make do with painting dustbins from home. We are friendly with rich boys who have cars that can drop us home. We don’t even like them.
We cannot afford our convictions.
We join spinning classes to tone our legs. This involves paying an arm and a leg to pedal wildly on a stationary bicycle for twenty minutes. We know that using our mobile bicycle or merely jogging would get us the same results but we must forget this fact.
Our life has hidden costs.
We rent apartments close to our working place. Where the air is noxious, rent is steep and buildings mostly ugly. Unbroken panorama of steel and glass.