A Writing Quill

  It was Sunday. I hoped the world would stand still, and I would not be required to get out of bed. I had never been so lazy on Sundays, except when I had to reduce my cabinet to essentials. Each shelf meant a separate row for each variety of apparel that belonged to me. The sarees would stand still, supported by the hangers on the right corner. The jeans were supposed to be hung down too, while the t-shirts were to sit quietly near them. The salwar-kameez and the kurtis would lie happily on the lower shelves. And the office attire, consisting of trousers and shirts, would be in a descreet section inside my three-door almirah. These were the images of the wardrobe inside my head. In reality, The sarees were clumsily stacked one upon the other. The jeans, salwars, kurtis, and T-shirts were crammed inside two shelves like a mixed vegetable dish. It took me so much pain each morning to search for the correct pair, and every day, I was determined to declutter my wardrobe early...