Dustbin

Velachi hates old stinking dustbins. Especially in the monsoons when things rot quickly as the way feelings rot once, you stop paying attention to them. It is the same irritation. Her dustbin always overflows because she hates to empty it regularly in a larger one across the street. Why add more stink to the road? Actually, it is just that she avoids the important dirty job like she avoids many others. For example, crying for herself while watching a film or otherwise. But today she had to empty it after three weeks in 6 plastic bags. She had to stuff the bags with her hands. Crouching down in front of the dustbin, in a fresh white light of the tube light, she saw all the three weeks again. Just a few hours back, in the afternoon, Velachi had thrown a cup noodle cup with a biscuit rapper and a banana peel. Her lunch. It had rolled down from the heap and now the ants were eating it. When she picked it up, all the ants ran around the dustbin, some climbed up her feet. She angrily pressed and rolled her fingers over them. That ended their lives.

There were actually other options around the dustbin. Cigarette stubs, cooked chilies from the curry, curry leaves, milk packets and few hair strands...