The morning’s message is clear— there’s no point in choosing between my two contrary selves. As I prepare the lemon tea,day-dreaming about your buttocks (that look like the hills of the Aravalis) the kitchen clock and the dove behind the exhaust fan sing me a duet of industrial-eco reconciliation: tic gur-gur toc gur-gur tic gur-gur-groo tic gur-gur toc gur-gur tic gur-gur-groooo