The Skies Are Opening Up

I posted at 4.49, smartly forgetting to tag Mathangi Krish, Gouri Dange, Paromita Vohra.

Here are the constraints: Exactly 500 words, write entirely in present continuous tense.
Title the piece: The skies are opening up
The skies are opening up
And how!
I am wondering about long term maidless survival. I am managing to clean and cook and launder. (Laundry courtesy washing machine. I am daily offering to all the washing machine gods my sincerest prayers that it may survive these critical weeks, since it is aging and not in the best of health). I am also managing to have an aching back, I am also realizing exactly how pampered my existence used to be. I am also wondering how my mother used to manage a household of four (my brother was away) without any help at all until she employed Sampoorna, a beautiful, ebony skinned Tamil woman, who would clean the utensils and mop floors bending from the waist down, like an inverted V. My older nephew, visiting from England at all of eleven months (along with his parents, of course), would be utterly fascinated by her. I am also remembering my sister and I being slaves to said mother during our holidays, while our father headed the domestic supplies department.
I am wondering when kneading the dough and cutting vegetables became tasks which I outsourced to the helper, with a concomitant increase in salary, of course. Along with drying and putting the clean dishes and utensils back in their rightful places, and then, the last great bastion of my domestic ‘independence’ (ha bloody ha) dusting the house. I was always the person wanting her thingmajigs to be at the precise micro-angle at which she chose to put them on whatever surface she so desired. I am now preferring to have the said thingmajigs and the surfaces they rest on clean. I am now willing to be ignoring imprecise placements.
I am also wondering at the amount of money we are to be saving by no longer having malls, restaurants and cinemas to visit. I am thinking that it can be quite substantial.
I am seeing that the pigeons who are sharing our colony with us are asserting themselves a lot more these days: they are dancing the Tandav in my pots and messing up the front balcony despite my coming out, several times a day, with a jhadoo in my hand and shouting “Ae, ae, hutt saale.” with total disregard for gender and species appropriateness of said epithet, or decorum. I am also seeing my late lamented parents nodding their heads sadly at each other at this breach of linguistic etiquette. And then I am also remembering family history, and thinking that I will be forgiven. The ancestors of these pigeons used to be tormenting my parents as well, by building nests in the verandah skylights, strewing debris all around, as well as dropping the occasional egg. They were chased away, but more politely, being addressed as ‘Ae Kabootar’. I am also remembering the time when my soft-spoken, gentle father chased a donkey up the hill. I am thinking that I am glad they are not here today, in this Covid ridden world.