Retirement

When I retired at 70, I persuaded Sam to go on a Yatra, a journey in search of a Retirement Community that would look after us in our old age.

Sam had retired a few years before me and was not keen to move out of Chennai , our home for many years. He tagged along to humour me, sure that it would be a holiday of sorts.  Another wild whim of mine , or so he thought . He packed for 3 days and I packed for 30.

I fantasised about a life where I did not have housekeeping or cooking. No Staff to take care off.  No maids, no drivers, no watchmen, no gardeners.  No car, no traffic, no rush , no hurry. No phone, no doorbell. No juggling moods and tantrums and AWOLs

No more marketing. No more fridging . No more curry stained Tupperware containers with missing lids. No more leftovers pushed into the dark recesses of the fridge, often forgotten, resurrected or reincarnated many moons later. No more juggling space in the fridge.

I dreamed of small helpings served on plates before us, whisked away when we finished. No sink overflowing with dirty dishes.  No washing up, no stacking, no storing. Dirty laundry picked up, washed, ironed and folded away, neatly in our cupboards.

I had it all planned. I would spend the rest of my days sleeping, reading, writing and watching TV.  A lady of leisure with time on my hands.

When I get to Heaven, I decided I was going to ask the Good Lord above to give me Front Desk and Reception. I would wear lipstick and loll around in high heels and bling.  And flutter my eyelashes.

No more Kitchen and Housekeeping for me.

 

 

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