Umesh feels the heat
I, Umesh Rao, sipped my black tea and glanced at the online headlines. Not wanting to read my own news, I looked outside the computer and found my room so messy and dirty, with dust on the window railings. I stayed in the extension home as the owners left the house in my care—to experience anthropology in its tangible form in different parts of the world.
Memorial Park, Cupertino, California May 31st, 10 am read the billboard at Memorial Park. The park’s rolling terrain made me feel like Cupertino rested on a rocky hill. As I strolled in the park, I hit an immaculate corner with blocked names of people who went to the war and died. The patriots who believed the country stood tall and elegant to the adversities she faced and shined through every difficult moment. I read every name on the walk, walked around, paid my respects, and left a little pebble near one of the carved names as a memory. That was my first visit to the park, and the little patriot corner alongside the tennis court, dog walk area, soccer field, and kids playground attracted all the nearby residents. My home, a little studio behind the park, was an extension of the single-family home.
I rushed to get ready to work and as I was about to leave , I noticed, the wine glasses clinked, and papers were all over the room. The omelet pan burned and charred, dirty dishes lay across the kitchen island, and all the closet drawers were opened. I didn't have time to fix anything , just left a note to Juana, the cleaner and rushed.
My office is in market place, San Jose and it's about half hour from Cupertino. I didn't have time to breathe over the last few days, it's been work till 2 am , as our lovely accountant has messed up the balance sheets by adding a 2 USD extra on every order.
Juana took the key from the post box and opened the door, flabbergasted to see the unkempt home.
She opens the backyard, pulls a chair, and watches the dry plants with an exhausted eye.
I called Juana as she sits on the chair.
Clean the home, and don’t throw away the papers. Instead, pile them in a corner and throw away the dishes and utensils.
Okay, sir. She fixes the backyard plants, throws the utensils, cleans the kitchen, and arranges the worksheets near the shredding machine. It took her about five hours to clean the studio. She drops the key in the post box and heads home with a note of the cleaning hours.
It was late evening when I got back home. I stood there, mesmerized—the week’s worth of dirt had vanished like magic.
I pulled a table near the couch, opened my computer, and got the piled sheets of paper. Some were torn into bits and arranged quixotically. I freshened up, poured water on my face, and sat on the couch with my dripping face.
Mahesh opened the door and pushed me to the backyard for fresh air. We smoked in silence, watching the night sky.
How will you fix the numbers? Mahesh asked
One mistake on my end: I needed to track the cash flow correctly, it slipped out, I was busy with production work.
What’s the correction? Worse case, I sell my asset and put it back.
A home sale is the worst thing after not taking a penny of salary. I’m a hilarious, overly passionate enthusiast who seems hell-bent on burning through my ancestors’ gifts.
