I walk home when it’s pouring cats and dogs, get an ice cream cone and proceed to lick it clean without having once thought about drying my hair.
I play in the rain, roll in the muddy water, come home and take a hot shower and end up with oh so pink and wrinkly fingers.
I go for a Himalayan trek in December, sleep in just a normal sleeping bag and go for a walk at 4am in the snow.
I do all these and I’m good as new.
And then I try cleaning my home – parents visiting – and catch a cold. I have a problem with dust. God knows I have a problem with dust. In particular with the sort that gets into homes. I’m fine with all that swirling mass in the streets and the smoke and air pollution and carbon monoxide concentration in the air – I’m Indian, see! But the first whiff of dust at home, and I’m all watery eyes and running nose.
To add to my woes, my voice has just turned hoarse. And when my voice is hoarse, it doesn’t seem to get all deep and sexy as I’d hoped. It merely alternates between squeaks and croaks with a nasal overtone.
And this is where I love my company. I don’t need to sit with tissues strewn all around me, freezing to death at the temperatures the maintenance guys would decide upon once they know I’m sick. I can work from home.
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