I just returned after a leisurely walk when our watchman started chatting near the elevator.
A young man passed by. In shorts and T-shirt with arms tattooed, he looked handsome.
“Can you fix the tap?” he asked the watchman.
“I will be there in an hour,” replied the watchman.
After he left, I told the guard that the man looked smart.
“Useless guy,” came the reply. “His wife works hard and earns. This fellow just eats and sleeps, claiming to be a businessman.”
After two minutes, I noticed a sad-looking man entering the lift.
“His is a sad story. His brother died yesterday in hospital of heart attack. This man has come from India for the last rites.”
I was turning gloomy, when another elevator gate opened.
“Good morning,” said a cheerful face. The short Filipina, face covered in make-up, winked at the guard. She disappeared before I could pick my comb from the pocket.
“Enough,” I told the guard and stepped into the lift.
Another man with a Bangladeshi look entered. I reached my third floor apartment. He followed me and opened the next door. We have been neighbours for a year, but have never talked.
Anyway, I have to rush now and chat with my blog friend in Canada. I just love her.