I AM THE SLAVE OF SOMEONE CALLED KAMLA KAPUR


Yesterday, as I was air drying all my Cashmere sweaters to kill the mold, I said to myself: I am the slave of someone called Kamla Kapur. She likes to buy stuff and then I have to take care of it. At first I wanted to rebel and stop being a slave. That didn’t quite feel right. What? Give away all the sweaters? They are pretty and keep her warm, too. I am bound to her with my flesh. She already knows how hard it is getting for me as I age to take care of her stuff, and is buying less. Well, that is all I need from her – this consideration for and awareness of my flagging energies. And since some stuff is necessary for life, I will devote myself to taking care of it, for her. So this morning when I was wondering what there was to do – I reach such points during the day when the body wants to move and feel ‘productive,’ – I said to myself, let me be her slave for a few hours. Since I have to be one – who was it who said in MOBY DICK, ‘who ain’t a slave’? – why not do it consciously? She is indeed very appreciative and grateful, and quite willing to lessen my loads.   

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