Well, the building is NOT seething with drug addicts, I am happy to say. I’ve met Pete a couple times since that first day and it was just a friendly “hi” in the hallway, nothing more. He certainly looks miserably ill though. His brother Trevor is about the same height but otherwise entirely different to look at: blond hair, sun-tanned complexion and no sign of starvation. He’s a carpenter by trade and roars off early in the morning, in his great big Dodge, to get to the construction site where he’s currently employed. In addition, he has a gleaming black Harley Davidson and a bright red Porsche sports convertible!

Settling in has taken all my attention. The friends with whom I normally stay when I’m in the US sent me off with three containers of cooked food to tide me over the shock of fending for myself. It’s not exactly a shock. Just a bit odd that there’s no one else making decisions around here. If I want to eat ice-cream at tea-time or pizza at 3am ... yes! I can. I mean, at home in Delhi, The Partner (TP from now on) and I decide every day what the cook is going to make for us at breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s not very difficult, because neither TP nor I want anything fancy. It’s papaya/toast/eggs for breakfast, rice/dal/two veggies for lunch, soup/salad/fruit for dinner. Every day.

Here, however, I not only have to decide what I want, I’ve also got to buy it. Hmm. I’ve hardly ever done that. Some people love going grocery shopping and other people don’t. I belong to the second category. But when you’re living alone, there are no options. Either you do it or no one does it. Stark! So the day after I moved in, I took a little walk up and down the main thoroughfare, called Broadway, to check out the facilities. A few shops and restaurants, the Police Station, the Post Office, the Town Hall, two churches and a school. And a few residential homes too, a little further up the road from where I am.

That’s it. No big grocery store within walking distance. Instead, on the other side of Broadway from me, there’s a little shop called “LEO’S”. It sells all the usual things you might find at a convenience store, such as chips and biscuits plus a small selection of fresh veggies and fruit. Before going in there for the first time, I made a list: bread, butter, milk, eggs, cheese, coffee and chocolate.

I entered the place feeling like a spy from a universe where no one buys their own food. I felt I had to hide my sense of inadequacy in order to seem ‘normal’. I picked up a half litre of skimmed milk, one dozen eggs and a packet of butter. Then I went looking for bread. There were sweet loaves, raisin buns, packets of tortillas and stacks of yellow sponge cake. No sign of long, rectangular, ordinary, everyday sliced bread.

I was sure it was hidden away somewhere but I didn’t want to ask for fear of being exposed as a visiting alien. So I bought the sponge cake instead. And then, out of sheer nervousness, I filled up my basket with three flavours of chewing gum, a container of frozen guacamole, one tired cabbage, a tin of coffee, air-freshener, baked beans, marmalade and soya sauce. Then I paid in cash and scurried back across Broadway feeling victorious and defeated, both at once.

My kitchen has a four-hob cooking range and an industrial-size fridge but no toaster or microwave. So for dinner that first night, I had slices of charred sponge cake instead of toast. Plus two extremely greasy fried eggs made in melted butter and a chunk of rock-hard bright green guacamole which refused to unfreeze in a timely fashion. For dessert I had cherry-apple chewing gum. Followed by coffee — or anyway, the smell of coffee. I had forgotten that I didn’t have brewing equipment when I picked up the tin.

No matter. My first meal in solitude was wonderful. Why? Because the best part of being alone is … no complaints!

MANJULA PADMANABHAN author and artist, tells us tales of her parallel life in Elsewhere, USA, in this fortnightly series.

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