The Curious Incident of the Mouse in the Night-time

The mere thought of going outside in Delhi used to exhaust me. It is a city that demands energy and constant attention. Though this time around I walk out the door without thought, I’ve gotten lost at least twice a day because I’m distracted by entire families balanced on motorbikes, or wondering how I managed to break off the mirror on my car in NY when in these tangle lanes of traffic, six cars across, no one seems to be breaking anything (knock on wood!), or I’m staring at myself in the rearview mirror trying to figure out why being in rickshaws makes me so freakin’ happy. Considering I didn’t know how to walk home from White Plains Middle School (it’s down the street) for the first year and a half I went there, I guess it’s somewhat miraculous I’ve even made it home each day.

On Sunday, I moved into my apartment. Only problem, I’m still living out of my bags. Apparently my “bedroom” is actually the “drawing room,” which was just a big open space, so they’re building a wall, door, closet, etc. It’s somewhat unclear why this wasn’t taken care of in the first half of the month that I was paying for without even being here, but I’m trying not to get stuck on that. Carpenters have been here every day but are moving way too slowly. There’s now a wall (that doesn’t go all the way up to the ceiling), half an armoire, and no door. It just seems like they should be able to just get it all done. Then again, perhaps I’ve been conned by the unrealistic world of Reality TV. On HGTV and TLC, they redesign, rebuild, and redecorate entire rooms in an hour (okay, I guess it’s usually two days, but I’d take that too). But I’m managing with room- and bed-hopping.

Brief description of the roommates:

Payal—a fashion marketing student and some-time model. My first introduction to her was after she’d fainted in class because she hardly eats. A bit of a party girl who always knows the right way to do everything. Every time I leave the house she insists I not pay more than whatever given amount for the rickshaw ride. I don’t think we’ll ever be best friends, but she’s fun and sweet most of the time. I’m counting on her to be my guide to the hip Delhi social life.

Namrata—a graphic designer who works really long hours. She’s the mother hen who takes care of everything around the house, makes sure we eat, and all the rest. I’m trying not to think about how she didn’t tell me my room wasn’t ready (actually non-existent) until I was already here. She’s into photography, too and wants to spend Sundays on picture-taking tours of the city with me.

Elizabeth—an American woman from Michigan, who lives in Denmark with her husband now. She’s doing research for her Master’s thesis on the effects of popular film on middle class, urban youth and generational clashes on sex, love, marriage, etc. She lived in Nepal for three years studying with the Tibetan Buddhist teacher, Chokyi Nyima Rinpoche, who taught on my study abroad program. She actually traveled with him to Bodh Gaya when I was there, so we’ve spent hours together before even though neither of us remembers the other! She’s just here until the end of October. I think I’ll miss her.

The day I first met my roommates and came to see the place, a mouse ran through the living room. Now, I consider myself to be fairly rodent-tolerant. God knows, we had our share of mice in Providence. As long as they don’t poop near my food or go too far out of the kitchen, I’m willing to just coexist. Sunday night, I slept on a mat on the floor of the room Namrata and Elizabeth share because it was hot and they have A/C. I woke up in the middle of the night because I felt something crawling on me—something with four little legs and a long tail. I kicked my legs around, tried not to scream, and eventually convinced myself I’d probably just imagined it. Later, the same little feet scurried across my hand. I jumped up and pushed my way onto the bed with my roomies. As my heart finally slowed, I resolved to buy a nice, tall bed the next day after work, no matter how much it cost, because no way in hell would I be sleeping on a mattress on the floor with dirty Delhi mice climbing on me. Just as I’d fallen asleep, Elizabeth screamed. The mouse had been stuck in her hair! While we tried not to retch, we considered the options. Nowhere else to go. If the bed wasn’t safe, where was? Should we close the door so it wouldn’t come back in or leave it open in case it hadn’t run out? We found some bizarre contraption in the living room that’s supposed to be a trap and rigged it up with some bread. It was after 4 in the morning by the time we settled back in bed. I dreamt of killing mice, which somehow also involved my little cousin Lulu and Mary Louise Parker (I have my theories about why, but that’s another story). As I dreamed about crushing a really big one, the same tickling on my leg woke me up. I reached down and felt the nasty creature just sitting around on my leg. I kicked and he flew of the bed and ran out the door. He got away.

This story is getting much longer than I intended so I’ll throw in a “Yada, Yada, Yada” here. Fast forward to the next day when Payal screams and comes running into the kitchen claiming an enormous rat had just run into Namrata’s bedroom. She went in with a broom and said she wouldn’t come out until he was dead. Eventually, he ran up the window and clung for dear life at the top. Namrata and I stared fascinated. Elizabeth claimed she could have no part in a rodent murder (it’s a Buddhist thing). I started to feel bad for the little guy (he was, in fact, either a normal sized mouse or a baby rat). Eventually, Payal got him to jump out the window. I missed it, but we all choose to believe he’s still alive and is now simply wise enough to leave us alone. We keep the bedroom doors closed at all times, though—just in case.

More about work and such tomorrow.