Tuesday, 23 April 2019

The neighbourhood

The neighbourhood was ummm, okay-ish . I express doubt , why? Because , my next door neighbour , touted as a celebrity ,was never home .

He was a singer , and earned piles of dubious cash . Paid all his instalments  in cash . The flat was fitted in with cane, wooden and wrought iron furniture .Floral wallpaper . He came and left , once every few months . In a whirlwind of high end cars and the smell of expensive perfume.

A girl with streaked hair , false eyelashes and a faked high pitched laugh ,accompanied him, occasionally , to the place with a bunch of short and ill fed cronies. A word hissed around . Mistress .

There were few midnight parties and few cake cutting birthdays.  A very public display of affection . Hugs and kisses before she left in her Honda civic and he in his Jaguar . It was scandalous in this prim and proper middle class society.

Once he send one of his "guys" to wash the house . He obeyed him literally and hosed the house down with soapy water . Put out all the cane furniture , buckets , brooms , doormats . Someone from the building complained when soap suds started dripping down from the roof of the lift , sparking fears of short circuit . The estate manager came and fired him . The chap left in a huff. His cane chairs are cosy for stray cats and the rest are drenching in the rain and  bleaching in the sun . For the last six months .

On the upside , I got to place my potted palms in the common area , with no one to object or trip over . The top floor balcony is one seamless mass of pooled gold in the mornings . I can see my kid boarding her bus from the neighbours’ turf and she can memorise battle dates and algorithms while sitting in the solitude of his balcony , accompanied only, very occasionally , by an irate cat.

No comments:

Post a Comment