The queue at the grocery store snaked its way past the magazine rack, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. My basket overflowed with the usual suspects—a bag of wilting spinach, a forgotten loaf of bread, and a jar of the cheapest strawberry jam. My mind, on autopilot, drifted to the never-ending to-do list churning in my head: fix the leaky tap, send that pesky little letter (already overdue by a few weeks), call my mother. The overflowing bin mocked me from the curb, a plastic mountain threatening to topple over with yesterday's news and banana peels. I sighed, the familiar weight of domestic monotony settling on my shoulders. Laundry lingered, dishes piled in the sink, and the never-ending battle against dust seemed futile.
Beautiful piece, Piyush.