The water smelt funny. It tasted funny. Probably some anomaly, I thought, as I drank a litre. I had just got back from my zumba class and was parched. I eyed the Pepsi can in the fridge longingly. No, I told myself, it’s unhealthy.
It was almost 10 and office punch-in time called. I picked up my towel and started towards the bathroom door when the calling bell rang. It was the society guard. “Madam, please don’t drink the supply water. It’s contaminated. Don’t even use it for bathing,” he told me.
“Contaminated? How?! I just guzzled a full bottle! And I have office to attend. How am I supposed to take a bath?” I asked incredulously.
“No Madam, you can’t. You will get rashes. Some other chemical got mixed with the water instead of chlorine. You should not bathe in it. For any other bathroom purposes…” he let his voice trail off.
I ignored the last bit and proceeded to ask him: “When will the water be back?”
He shrugged and continued to look at me blankly.
The perks of living in a high-end society, I thought drily as I thanked him and shut the door. No matter, I told myself, there’s 6Ten, the society store of East End Apartments. They’ll deliver all the bottled water in the world - I was a privileged customer, they had said sometime last week.
“Hello, 6Ten?” I asked. “Could you please send me two 20-litre Bisleri bottles? There’s a water problem in the society and I am…”
“We’re sorry, Ma’am. Demand is high and we are out of water,” came a hassled voice from the other end. “But we’ll send you what you need as soon as we get supply.” The line went blank.
Was I imagining it or did I just have déjà vu about a disconcertingly similar conversation - or the lack of it - with Airtel customer care a few days back? It had ended with my porting to Vodafone. Maybe I should take a cue from that - and this time try a store that did not call me a privileged customer.
Credit: Daily-devotional.org
“Hello, Golu Stores?” I asked. “Could you please send me two 20-litre water bottles at East End Apartments?”
“We’re closed for Eid. We cannot send anything at the moment.”
Goddamit!
I peeked into the fridge. Just one bottle left. How many times had I told my maid to keep ALL SIX bottles filled?! This wouldn’t do. I had my dogs too. I could already see them panting, thin threads of saliva hanging from the corners of their mouth. Their water bowl was empty.
I weighed my options. Neighbours? Could they spare some till I managed from elsewhere? “You think?” the voice in my head sniggered. Not after I had reminded them last week that their leaking air-conditioner wasted at least two buckets of water a day - not to mention form a mini, mucky swimming pool where it dripped. No, help wasn’t coming from that quarter. And I’m not the most social resident in the society. So I had not bothered getting to know the others in the building. “Hi, I am the neighbour you never knew existed. I could be a thief - or a ghost, if you believe in the supernatural - but could you please give me a glass of water?” didn’t seem like the most viable ice-breaking line.
But wait, there was Tathagata! Or Tag, as I not-so-lovingly called him. He stayed in Noida Sector 15A. He would be able to help!
“Tango to Charlie!” came his voice from the other end. “What is the need of the hour? Let me tell you I’m out of whiskey today.”
“Water. I need water,” I panted. The effect of that one bottle was starting to wear off. “And I need a bath!”
There was a short pause and then he said: “Sure thing. Come over. I get a feeling the details can wait.”
I hadn’t felt such love for him in a long time. The last time was when he had brought me a double-scoop black currant ice-cream from Baskin-Robbins when we were kids. That was only till I found out he had got it licked by the neighbourhood dog.
Anyway, cut to the present, within 10 minutes, I was sitting in a cab, with my two dogs, a bag with fresh clothes thrown in - and the chilled can of Pepsi in my hand. Unhealthy be damned!
Happy drinking!
