The Stairway

Time is passing far too quickly. Is it really March? This realization makes me shudder, as I compare it to how frustrated I get watching the upper echelon here allow everyday life to pass them by-not noticing the impoverished soul barely existing on their front stoop as they step over him, for example. As I am only here for a mere six months, I don’t have the “luxury” of just stepping over anything. How often do I ascend and descend the same set of stairs, or pass by the same lonely neighbor without really acknowledging the experience? Hence, the recent exercise described below…

This afternoon, I attempt to truly absorb my surroundings as I walk down the four flights of stairs leading from my apartment, willing my senses to fully engage. As expected, my sense of smell is the strongest. Within seconds of stepping out my front door, I am acutely aware of the smell of rotting trash (oh, South Asia).

Halfway down the first flight, I'm warmly met by the delicious smell of cooked fish (Mental note: invite myself over for dinner at that flat, pronto!) Around the corner, my deep inhale quickly turns into a gag-reflex as I am assaulted by the not-yet-cooked fish smell coming from another neighbor’s kitchen. Relief comes at ground level where the pungent fish smell is replaced with the intense
dust/smog/black air that I breathe in daily. That is the smell to which I am most accustomed. I don't even know how to describe it. It is just how we smell. Everyday. Even for weeks after returning to the States.

Coming home a few hours later, I make my way back to those stairs. This time, I choose to take in the sights and sounds, often just as varied as the smells. My neighbor, a kindly older gentleman, gives me his usual, heartfelt wave from his perch on a bench just inside our gate, where he sits conversing with a couple of aunties from our building (who wave, as well, though much less exuberantly).

A simple curtain blocks the entrance of the apartment at the base of the stairs. The room behind it is bustling with activity, as usual. Off to the right, I peek towards the door of the family with the yellow lab puppy, hoping to catch a glimpse of wiggly Bruno. No luck. Intent on trying to see my puppy friend, I almost miss the friendly wave of the sweet auntie, who watches the world from that curtained stoop. I hope she doesn't feel like an afterthought.

Back along the stairway, my ears meet with the clatter of dishes being washed as the sound bursts from several doorways. A range of musical genres, from South Asian women singing traditional, doleful melodies to the latest Western hip hop tune compete through other doors. Conversations in Hindi from a few different flats overlap, which makes me chuckle.

I unlock my door, still smiling – oh, so much character in this, my new home. I walk through the door and my smile drops, instantly. That smell of rotting trash I’d noticed earlier? Yeah…it’s my apartment. Whoops.