Each time I look at your washing line, I wonder how you manage to spread your laundry out so tidily. Every item of clothing stretched across the line and pinched at the ends with plastic pegs. Smooth and without a crease. As if you had ironed them before hanging them out to dry. This morning I noticed an extra vest along with the usual. It hung limp from the clips that held it. Curiously resembling a deflated balloon. Whose is it? Your father-in-law's, perhaps? How long will he be staying? I noticed that you had brought your silk saree out for an airing last week. Is there a wedding in the family? Are you going to be wearing your favourite mango-coloured blouse again? Remember to mend it because I saw a small tear near the sleeve last time.
Now that the rains have stopped, I hope you will start washing the blankets and pillow covers. They must've gone musty from the damp season. Do you still have the white sheets with tiny blue flowers on it? I liked them so much that I went to the store the very next day to buy the same ones for me. But they were all sold out. They're probably the only blues in your house. Because I know you favour reds and oranges. Except for that pale green chiffon saree that I saw you pick up from the washing line on the 23rd of last month.
Your little ones are growing up so fast. It wasn't long ago that I saw squares of cotton cloth being hung out to dry. Already, there are school uniforms. Do you ever look at my clothesline and wonder about me? Do you notice that there are no tiny frocks or little pants fluttering alongside the man's shirt and the woman's saree? You are probably too busy to indulge in idle speculation. Which reminds me, it was so windy yesterday that one of your handkerchieves was blown across the terrace and landed on ours. Is it alright if I kept it?