She knows that I like my first cup of coffee in bed at eight everyday, but she didn't turn up till nine this morning. When I went to investigate, the cook tells me that she is sleeping. She choked back a sob. This sharp query came from the one whose husband was getting a facial too many these days. I blew him up then and there, ji.
Maids are impossible to find.
Summers passed thus and winters arrived, but Bibbo's deadly form needed no shawls. Her mistress would sit draped in a priceless Pashmina right next to a heater and still be shivering with cold but not Bibbo. Seasons did not affect Bibbo. Her body with its generous curves still followed its own limpid rhythms and her long braid with its colourful Patiala parandis moved slowly to and fro upon that impregnable behind. I'm trying hard to convince her now to take lessons in sewing and knitting, forget about reading.