It is almost nine-thirty. I have half an hour to reach Ulloor Junction. I will have to reach a bit earlier than that. Five minutes early will do. I need to hasten up and get things in order.

I walk back from the kitchen to the sofa. On the sofa are the things I had taken out from the kitchen to carry along with me. The bag is already open. I stuff the biscuit packet, the half-eaten banana chips packet, and the bottle of water into it. There are now two bottles of water in it. This should do.

I am reminded of taking a marker along. For that, I go to the study table and look for it among the heap of things that lie scattered. I can't find it amidst the books, notebooks, sheets of paper, and many stationary things. I think I saw it lying on the dressing table in our bedroom. I walk towards the room and enter it. There is no marker on the dressing table. I look at the other side of it. The red marker lies fallen on top of her makeup pouch. I pick it up, open it and test it out on my palm. A red thin stroke appears on it. The ink is thick and uniform. It means there is ink in it. I walk back to the sofa and dump the marker into it.

I ought to be preparing for the day ahead. I don't think it would be wise to come back home and go out again. I can use that time to explore more of the city. Or make posters and stick them wherever I feel is the best place. I can do something or the other.

I go to the study table and take out a bunch of white paper. This is for writing the message. They are plain A4 paper. They might not be visible from a distance. But maybe I can combine four of them into a single big sheet and use it to pass on my message. On the table, I see a glue stick. I pick it up. I know it won’t be of much use if I am thinking of sticking these papers on walls or any other surface. This glue will not hold it for long. Just behind a stack of books, I see a small bottle of craft glue. I take that also. This is better than the glue stick. But it will also not hold the paper for long. It might be effective on a smooth wall. But for that, I might have to empty the whole bottle just to stick a couple of sheets of paper. My only other alternative is to make use of cellotape. I search for it in the table. It is not here.

I go to the bedroom containing the TV and search for it amongst the other stuff that I have kept here. These are all the random stuff I have collected over the years - some random colored papers, empty and filled notebooks, diaries and fancy notebooks gifted by some of my friends, some colored pens and pencils, etc. I don't use them at all. Nor does she use them. They have been lying here from the time I dumped them upon moving into the house. I brought this stuff with me thinking I might use it at some point. They lie here, having gathered dust.

In one corner I find the thing I am looking for, a brown cellotape roll. This will do the trick. This is more than enough to stick those papers on the surfaces I will come across. The roll is thick. It should last me for some time. I pick it up and walk to the kitchen. I need to have a scissor to tear the tape. There is this small one we use to cut open anything in the kitchen. It lies on top of the fridge. I find it lying there and take it. I go back to the sofa and put them into the bag. I pick up the bunch of paper that I had left on the dining table as I was going to the bedroom and added them to the bag.

Tools. Next is tools. I go to the wash basin and open the cabinet below it. I pick up the only two tools I have in the house - a hammer and a flat screwdriver. Dad was telling me to take some more tools with me when I was moving into the house. I only took these two and said I will take some more the next time. By then I had hardly used these two tools that I forgot about them.

Amongst the two, the screwdriver has seen the most use. I have used it to tighten the handle of a couple of utensils. I think I have used it to pry open some containers. That’s it. The hammer hasn’t seen any action yet. I had brought it to hammer in nails or anything else. It was when I showed the hammer amongst the stuff we had brought that she told me of the clause in our rental agreement. The owner has specifically written in it against the use of nails on the walls. Due to this, we use double-sided tapes to stick things onto the wall and sticky hooks to hang something. They can't be trusted. So we have decided not to use them if we can. That is one of the reasons why our walls are empty of things. But that's okay. We like it this way. We are used to it. We like the expansive feeling it brings in.

I forget the most important thing I need to take along with me - the walkie-talkie. It lies on the counter beside the wash basin. I pick it up and turn it on. The familiar switching of tone greets me. After that, there isn’t any sound from it. I can hear the small grainy nose that is always present. I switch through the channels. The static crackle as I switch is all that I hear. All the channels are silent. I decrease the volume and stash it into the bag. It is fully charged. I checked it at night.

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I take out the mobile from my pants pocket and check out its charge. It has come down to seventy percent. It will last the day for me. I don't bother to unlock it. I saw there is no network available. That is enough for me. The network is not going to be available anymore. If I turn it into airplane mode, I can conserve more battery. But I don't do that. I leave it as it is.

I will have to take a big shopper with me if I need to collect some of the essential stuff I need to carry back from my outing. I intend to go to the supermarket and get my stuff today itself. I will have to take my car for that. There is going to be a lot of stuff. My scooter won’t be enough to carry them all. There wasn’t any obstruction on the road from the supermarket to Pongumoodu junction. A car had climbed onto the pavement and crashed into the wall of a car showroom. I had checked it out as I passed it. It had the same story to tell.

I go to the kitchen and remove the big shopper from the lower cabinet. I fold it small and stash it into my bag. The bag has grown in size. I lift it and check its weight. It ain't heavy. I keep it back on the sofa.

The time is nine thirty-five. It is time I had something to eat properly. I go to the kitchen and take the packet of bread from the counter. I pick a plate from the rack, open the bread and take out a couple of loaves from it. I smell it to make sure they are good to eat. They smell okay. They might be good for another day. I will then have to look out for any fungal growth in it before I can consume it. I open the fridge and take out the small bottle of chocolate spread With a spoon I scoop out a generous helping of it onto a loaf.

Being a big fan of chocolate, she was skeptical about buying this. Something got into her that day at the supermarket. We had just finished the bottle of peanut butter that morning. On seeing this bottle of chocolate spread I called for her attention and suggested taking it. She refused initially. She opined that this stuff was not good for our health and that we should not get them this time.

She is right. There are a lot of calories in this. Peanut butter is better. But the ones in the supermarket all have added sugar in them. She was referring to something that didn’t have these added sugars and was healthier. I don't think a chocolate spread can be tasty without added sugars. It wouldn’t taste nice. That's what I feel. Maybe they can substitute the sugar with something naturally sweet. Something that would compliment the chocolatey flavor also. Maybe there is such kind of products. I haven't seen them here though.

Anyways she was clear about it. I then told her if that is what she wants then let's do it. I moved on with the cart on the aisle. Afterward, right before checking out, she brought the bottle for billing. I looked at her with surprise. She said she was sorry for not letting me take it just because she was taking the decision of avoiding it. I reminded her that it was a collective decision for me. Her logic was right and I was taking the side of it. She made a sad face and said sorry again. I always fall for her sorry face. I hugged her and gave them the bottle for billing. It was great to see her sad face turn bright.

I wish I had a hot cup of tea right now. The kind she makes. With a tiny bit of cardamom in it. There is enough time to make myself a cup of tea. But I don't. I want to drink her tea. Or even the coffee she makes. I make the filter coffee. She makes the one with instant coffee powder or black coffee with locally ground powder. I don't make them as sweet as she does. Her sweetness level is apt. Especially for the black coffee.

Our local black coffee should not be confused with the kind you get elsewhere. It is definitely not an espresso. I think it is somewhat similar to an Americano. We take the required amount of water and bring it to a boil. Then we add the coffee powder according to intuition. She gets the feel of looking at the color of the brew. If she feels it is too light, she adds more powder. If not then she might even dilute it. Once it is brewed, she adds the sugar, dissolves it, and serves it.

I am a big fan of this black coffee. This is the one I would prefer after a hard trek or an exhausting day exploring some wilderness. If I come across a tea shop in a remote place, the chances of the shop having milk are less. Black tea and black coffee would be available. I got used to it on one of our trips into the heart of the ghats. It was a two-day trip that included some trekking. We were doing it as part of volunteer work. We had to visit a tribal village and impart some knowledge to them. Along the way we were collecting all the plastic waste, we came across.

As we traveled through the jungle we would come across these tea shops from time to time. The place was known for its coffee production. We ordered both tea and coffee at our first stop. The black coffee easily won over hearts. From then on, we would stop to have a hot glass of black coffee before proceeding on.

On one of our family trips, mom had filled a big thermos with black coffee. It proved to be an awesome addition to our trip. Midway, it rained crazily. We got stuck in one of the tourist destinations. We couldn’t get back to our car. The rain was really heavy. Mom had brought along the thermos with her. For the time we were stuck there, we took turns in drinking the coffee. By the time the rain slowed down and we left, the coffee was over. It kept us warm and improved our moods. I had almost given up hope in continuing the journey. The coffee brought me much-needed encouragement. We continued with our trip.

I finish the loaves of bread and dump the plate into the wash basin. I drink a glass of water and get out of the kitchen and into the hall. The time is almost nine forty. Time to leave for Ulloor.