Still In Plastic

The chhadi is on the counter. The bag is packed. The alarm is still in plastic.

I asked one simple thing today. Is there a room for us away from the guests? Four hours for one text back. Four hours of me checking my phone while I iced a cake for some kid's birthday in Bandra.

And then the answer. Yes there is a green room. But guest movement is not regulated.

Not regulated. So anyone can walk anywhere. Anywhere I might be. Anywhere my stuff is. Anywhere I am sleeping tonight.

Yaar I do this for a living. I make rooms feel warm. I make strangers feel seen. That is my whole job. And now I sit in my own kitchen scared of a job I already said yes to.

The door alarm is right here. Still in plastic. Like if I do not open it, the thing I am scared of is not real.

I named the gap. On WhatsApp. In writing. That is something I guess.

Pata nahi. I am tired.