Condo living

9 a.m. The doorbell rings. It is the garbage man come to collect the trash. I open the door, resplendent in my face mask of besan-haldi-dahi. Which means my face is a gooey yellow mess. The door of the opposite flat opens. There stands a gentleman of indeterminate age, clad in red boxer shorts and red singlet, long hair flowing loose, beard flowing likewise. After one horrified start each, we politely ignore each other’s presence. If we encounter each other in the lift later on, we will nod a greeting politely and leave it at that.
The garbage man is either used to such sights or is going to have a good guffaw later---because he keeps a straight face too!