Living space

Living Room, retro rooftop terrace apartment, New Delhi.

I just had dinner with my landlady downstairs. She's a real character. My mum snorted over the phone the other day, over the fact that I relocated to gain emancipation from family obligations only to run into keeping a little old lady company.

So today we have gorgeous curry, mung dhal, onions soaked with lime and yogurt with boondi (crunchy crouton-like thingies) with hot rotis, basmati rice garnished with shah zeera (cumin) finished off with fresh sweet mangoes.

She lost her husband who was a pilot tragically from a plane crash 7 years ago, and is a little lonely. So we talk about her redecorating the house (which happens everyday, with the carpets switched around and side tables moved about) and we practice my Hindi together.

We sit on the balcony watching the life on the street, sipping hot tea with choti elaichi (green cardamons), then I excuse myself in Hindi, saying that the meal was lovely but I am tired and need to rest.

Sab kuch bohot accha laga, dhanyavad.

Back up to my living room, and am grateful for the quiet time and my own company. It's so long since I have been on my own.

And I am loving every second of it.