I woke up early,
Maybe 3 a.m. or 4.
I don't know.
I didn't check my phone.
It felt like
There was still
Some night left,
So I went back to sleep.
I woke up again,
Got ready for work—
In shirt,
Finding belt,
This and that—
And accidentally
Stepped on the chilli
On the floor.
I moved on,
Thinking someone
In the house
Might have missed it
While cooking or something.
It'll be gone,
I said to myself.
Then I went to work.
I came back,
Unpacked my stuff
And all that.
While going to rest
On the sofa,
I stepped on
The chilli again.
"Nobody cleans properly
In this house,"
I muttered—
But loudly.
And then it hit me,
Like an iceberg
To the Titanic.
I live alone.
There are no appointed maids.
It was me
Who mistakenly
Dropped the chilli
On the floor.
And I am the one
Who's supposed to clean it.
I realised this
Much later,
Somewhere in
The matrix of life:
Most problems,
Small or big,
Are often because of
Something we have done.
Although some things
Just happen—
For the love of Matrix.
And we are the ones,
Sometimes the only ones,
Who have to get ourselves
Out of them
And deal with the problems.
Chilli on the floor.
