Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure. I am taking the liberty of making Albert's lines mine. Not like Albert would care anyway. He doesn't know I exist. He doesn't know that I read his entire book in one go, while shitting. I had an upset stomach that day and I needed to read something out loud to drown out my immodest farts.
Mother said I should do something about the noises; they are not letting her eat. Fair point, I said. So I dragged Albert with me to the loo each time. Anyway, I know that Albert won't mind me taking his lines because people on various internet forums have pointed out that these lines don't convey Meursalt's anxieties. So they can't belong to him – he has disowned them. I am, therefore, going to make them mine. They convey my anxiousness. Like I was saying: Mother died. Not my mother. Madhav's. Madhav is a man I have been in love with for the past three years. He is married to another woman. He has soft, brown, comforting eyes and is a devoted husband.He is an accountant at a biggish firm; it is a steady job, I think. He likes to dance when no one is watching. He is a trained dancer and has a fake stage name for when he does dance shows. No one knows. Not his wife. Not his father. Not his mother. Well now that she is dead, that bit doesn't matter, does it?
I spend my days thinking about Madhav. There are days when I can smell him. He smells like soap. Not your regular Pears or Cinthol. He smells of those organic, aromatic soaps that cottage industry workers slave over. He smells like honey with just a little hint of vanilla. One day when I was busy day-dreaming about him, the smell came to me. Out of nowhere. I went to the medicine store, down the gully where I live, and sniffed every soap bar they had before I finally found the smell I was looking for. I bought twelve bars of that brand. My mother was furious. I had to buy a bottle of Benadryl for her. But I ran out of cash.
My mother is a bit of an addict, though she won't admit it. But she simply can't fall asleep without it. I guess I could have bought a bar less. But the bill had already been prepared and I did not want to inconvenience the guy at the counter; he leads a fairly boring life. Making bills after bills, maintaining account books… I know how bored Madhav is at his job too, despite his fairly high profile designation. But Madhav has taught me how to empathise with guys who have clerical jobs. So, it is fine. I will deal with Aai tonight and I will go and get Benadryl for her tomorrow. My Aai, unlike Madhav's mother, is a hyperventilating maniac. She is a Benadryl addict and a Vicks VapoRub addict too. And she is a snob.