Water time in Pandharpur: ten things nobody says out loud

About me

Your building has the same siren mine does, the valve turning at six. Ten things happen in my flat after that, and only two of them involve cleaning. Counted out the way the buckets are counted. ONE. THE PIPE KNOCKS 💧 Air comes through before water does, so the pipe bangs twice inside the wall. That noise wakes me up better than anything else. I am on my feet before the second bang finishes. TWO. THE SWITCH STICKS The switch needs a thumb pressed hard on it before the motor catches. Holding something down until it starts working is what I like best about that switch. Two seconds longer than needed, always. THREE. THE FIRST BUCKET Cold water slaps the bottom of a steel bucket and comes straight back up at my knees. My skin tightens all the way to my shoulders. Nobody sees that, and a body like mine going unwatched at six is criminal. FOUR. THE DRUM 🪣 Eleven mugs to the brim and I count each one out loud. By the sixth my back is wet and whatever I am wearing has given up. By the eleventh my mind has moved far away from water. FIVE. THE BENDING Full buckets do not lift themselves, so I bend low over the tap. My back does a shape there that a man would not forget. The empty flat gets it for free every single day. SIX. THE TANK GOES OVER 🔥 It fills, it hesitates, then it pours down the outside wall in one wide sheet. Everybody shouts wastage. I lean on the window ledge and let it run, because a thing that cannot stop is a thing I understand. SEVEN. THE WET FLOOR The bathroom turns into one flat mirror and my slippers stay outside. I walk through barefoot and print those wet soles down the whole passage. Those prints are an invitation nobody has taken up yet. EIGHT. THE MOTOR DIES 💦 Silence hits the whole building at once when the pump cuts out. In that silence my own breath gets loud and uneven. That is when a bare neck starts asking for company and the drip keeps the timing. NINE. THE DRIP, and TEN, whatever follows it. The tap keeps giving one drop at a time into an empty bucket and refuses to quit. Ten is not written down anywhere, but it lasts longer than the other nine. That full drum will still be standing whether you come to this door or open yours.

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