I wake up in the morning and there are voices in my room.

That cannot be. This was the ITC Sonar Bangla at Calcutta, and I always leave a "do not disturb" sign outside my door before retiring. Yet there was no mistake, there are voices in my room.

My body  is tethering at the narrow borders between sleep and wakefulness, half numb from the series of unscheduled late nights that I've been having of late, reviewing documents in connection with a deal that we are in the process of closing out at Calcutta. These days when I sleep, I sleep like a log. My eyes are tightly closed, and I don't want to open them and snap the slender tendrils of sleep holding me back. I want to rest for at least another hour, snuggled in the warm comfort of my bed before I rise to face the onslaught of a new day. Please, please, please this has to be a dream, has to be a dream, has to be a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream...

But there is no mistaking it, there are voices in my room - a man's and a woman's - and they are arguing, I can hear them clearly now, almost yelling at one another, arguing about child custody or something.

And they are arguing in MY room.


I snap open my eyes and jump out of bed fully alert, all sleep and fatigue momentarily banished.

And then the truth dawns.

Oh, hell.


Point to note for the future: Henceforth, remember to switch the television set off before going to sleep.