It’s 12:48 in the afternoon, and there’s bird song. I never noticed this before, all the afternoons I’ve sat at my desk during this time. We are so absorbed by our everyday hum drum life we have forgotten to stop and listen to the birds.

Today is relatively cooler than usual, eventhough there is not a single cloud in the sky. The sun blazes down happily on a world in lock down. Our dog thinks we are on holiday, he is happy and fattened up on all the love (and food) he has been recieving these past few weeks.

My mother leaves a mug of steaming koththamalli on my desk. A resounding thud insists I must drink it while it’s warm. OK, mother. The herbal smell infiltrates my room, the mug sits next to a card of Panadol. The irony. Aryuveda vs western medicine.

The garbage truck came to our area today, no curfew for them. Our garbage bag weighed less compared to pre-curfew times. I held our dog back while my mother carried the bag outside, requiring no assistance.

I’m not hungry yet, maybe I’ll go put the laundry out to dry. The birdsong has stopped, maybe the birds are taking a little afternoon siesta. Instead I hear two airplanes fly overhead.

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