“Tarey Diwali thai gai?” This question greeted me sometime last
week as I was going down in the lift. I scratched my head in bewilderment…then
the hammer of comprehension knocked me between the eyes. Shoot…its THAT time of
the year…. Everyone I know will be working their posterior off to clear out the
mess of the previous year and make their abodes clean and pure to welcome
Goddess Laxmi. How I hate this time! It is so difficult to work against my innate
messy nature to clear out my home and life. I hate to sift through the piles of
stuff hoarded by me and mine. Having to decide to chuck away what we haven’t used
in a while (which happens to be most of it) is very difficult and since I’m
unwilling to pull the plug, I have to rearrange it, or should I say ‘stuff it
back’ again with the promise to wait one more year to decide. Oh God I cannot
do this. I am no Hercules and this Augean stable is not for me to clean.
All year long, there are knicks and there are knacks and
there are brics and there are bracs that have found a place in our heart and
thus our home. Be it a funny stone that my elder daughter picked up at school
or a few sequins and pom poms that my younger one picked up from the navratri
ground…we have a place for them all. I am prone to collecting colourful, plain,
hand made, machine made, textured, smooth, shiny, dull…all kinds of papers that
I see…wedding invitations, colourful advertisements in the newspaper, coloured
pages from magazines…etc. That itself is not so much of a problem, what creates
a lack of space is the cuttings left over from any craft project that I
attempt…I just CANT throw it away…it stays in all its shapeless formless snippety
stringy glory for further explorations of art in the form of collages or if
nothing…then to be made into a pulp for papier mache…and believe me, a year
long worth of this collection is humungous.
So anyways, last week, on being interrogated about my
progress through the mess, I gave a noncommittal shrug and quickly stepped out
of the lift at a floor I had no intention of visiting, and waved good bye to my
tormenting inquisitor. Brooding over it, I thought I should definitely bite the
bullet and attack the mess, if nothing it will set a good example to my kids
and they in turn will not face such an interrogation with dread. Not that my
mom didn’t set a good example. Her home is so spic and span all year round that
I wonder what she does in the week of Diwali cleaning. Neither dust nor mite
dares to step inside her home. Her cupboards and wardrobes are so well
organized, though I haven’t actually caught her at it, I’m sure she uses a
ruler to set things straight. Comparing it to my wardrobe, my wardrobe is a
cascade of love. You open it and my pile of clothes, with an embarrassing public
display of affection, engulf you in their group hug. The only way to escape
this is to open the door partially, pull out what is needed or stuff in what
needs to be in and slam the door shut, all in a fast count of three. Voila! Her
store room is a sight to behold, so organized: a place for everything and
everything in its place, you could get stuff out of it blindfolded. Whereas if an
adult steps into my storeroom, he or she would beg to be blindfolded, a totally different reaction from a kid, who
would pull up his sleeves and have a ball in the mess without making any
difference whatsoever to its condition. If I didn’t look and sound like her I
would be sure that I am a changeling.
Let us come back to the floor where I disembarked. With the flight of stairs paved with good
intentions, I started on my uphill journey back to my floor and each step that
I took weakened my resolve. By the time I reached home, I had decided to
maintain the status quo. I loved my home. I loved my possessions, all of them.
I’m not being selfish. I know that my neighbours clear out their homes and give
the discarded stuff to the needy…I don’t think anyone in this world needs my
collection of trimmings nor would they appreciate the baubles collected by my
magpies. In our little apartment and our big hearts we have made place for
everything we have treasured over the years. Maybe one day I’ll find it in me
to part with it all, and maybe not. I’m happy either ways and I’m no longer
ashamed of it too, infact, I’m proud of it.
Today , after sending away the spiders adorning my ceiling
with their beautiful intricate webs on a short vacation, my family and I are
ready to welcome Goddess Laxmi to our humble abode in all its cluttered glory.
We wish her and you a HAPPY DIWALI.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Multi Avatar Award: MAA
I have decided to bestow upon my stooping shoulders, the
much coveted, ‘Multi Avatar Award, the MAA’. I believe, even though I hear no
cheering or claps for me yet, that I deserve this award. Maybe at the end of
this ranting, there would be a thundering round of applause for my quick
transformations.
My ‘oh so dependable’ cleaners have been on leave since Holi, and the usually shunned chores have fallen into my unwilling lap. Usually I run scared from the dusting-cleaning-mopping-washing duties and get a temporary cleaner, willingly paying close to a month’s pay for a week’s job. This year I decided to take the bull by the horns and face my demons on my own. The truth be told, I couldn’t find a temporary help, even though I was willing to empty out the coffers. So coming back to the point, it’s been a week now, a long tedious week, that I have been zealously dusting, vigorously wielding the zadu at the dust that dares to enter my house, bending on my knees to the persistent dust that dares evade my trusty zadu and mopping the unsuspecting bugger off the floor. As if this was not enough, the beds need to be made, and however inviting the newly made bed may look, enticing me, asking me to play truant to my chores, beckoning me with its softness, doing a Menaka to my Vishwamitra, I have to strongly turn my back to it and advance towards the bathroom, equipped with the bottle of Harpic and my other cleaning weapons that are the arsenal of my cleaning lady avatar, to bravely fight the mould and scum. Half an hour later, the battle won, I emerge with a triumphant smile and a sweaty brow and take the troops to the kitchen. The first day I stood aghast at the mountain of vessels that the cook had left in his wake. Do I even own so many vessels? Did I order a meal for the entire building to be cooked chez moi? I lift the lid of one of the vessels with apprehension, my mobile in hand, thumb almost pressing the speed dial for my mom’s to ask her to not cook today, possibly for a week, when I see a just about enough quantity of sabji staring at me. So many vessels used to cook this dainty amount of food? Well, since I did not want this task to fall in my lap too, I just shut up and picked up the scrubber. Now I’m immune to the mountain of vessels and tackle them with enviable speed.
Today, these routine tasks dealt with, I get into the shower and emerge in my working woman avatar, quickly don the working gear and head off to the office, fantasizing about a nice cup of hot coffee and some time to myself resting my toosh on the comfy chair, maybe swiveling it and staring out of the window. But reality hits hard. I stagger into my office to see an irate hubby. Yes we work together. Our marital vows of 50-50 sharing of work load are unfortunately restricted to the office, the household work slipped through the crevices when we were planning our future together. And of course due to the biological potential that I have, the child bearing and rearing too kind of ‘obviously’ became my domain, hence was born my mommy avatar. I had this amazing brainwave when I was carrying my second daughter. It would bring about a social revolution, and I am going to present this idea and try and sell it to the Almighty when he calls me over, wherein the husband and the wife both are blessed with this biological potential and it is simply a matter of luck and high fertility that either one gets to carry the baby! Whoa, I can already feel myself swept off by a tidal wave of ‘ayes’ from all the harried mothers that I know. But I’m digressing, as I was saying before I flew off the tangent to this lovely fantasy of mine, I stagger into my office to see an irate hubby entertaining my clients, those very clients who I was supposed to meet, I checked my watch, half an hour back to discuss the house that I was designing for them. With a smile pasted on my face and my fingers crossed, a mental apology to my parents who raised me to be always truthful no matter what, I launch into a detailed description of the traffic jam that delayed me. I could see that no one was taken in, and with a sheepish smile pulled out the drawings of their dream house in my dream weaver avatar. Midway through the discussions my phone beeped its daily ‘kid’s pick-up’ alarm and with a leap and a bound I was out of the office, thrusting the bemused clients and the drawings towards my better half ( I grumpily question the half) and hurried into my mommy avatar.
Homeward bound with my chattering magpies in the car, trying to make sense of two garbled accounts of the day from two tired and hungry girls, both extremely excited to tell all and both wanting to be the first to do it, I smartly turned up the volume to an ear blasting level and let ‘anjaana a a a anjaani e e e’, or whatever crap was pouring out from the radio, diffuse a potentially volatile situation. Believe you me, after the day I had and the day that was facing me and the whole last week added to it, I was in no position whatsoever to slip on my arbitrator avatar, a diplomatic diffuser of fights. With a mental pat on my back at these bright ideas that were helping me still retain the ‘bestest mumma’ title, I decided to take the help of the TV, my Moriarty when it concerned the kids, to make lunchtime a surprisingly peaceful event for me and a surprise treat for the girls. The kids settled in for a nap, I donned my washer woman avatar and attacked the pile of laundry hiding its grubby self in the basket. Leaving the washer dryer to do its tumbling, having an hour on hand before the folding and ironing would start, I slipped into my gardener avatar and tackled the pots on my balcony. Soon a cry of ‘mumma’ brought out my favourite, the mommy avatar, and I was hugging my little one, who has this lovely habit, that I hope she never gets out of, of hugging me tight, with arms and legs, like a koala and showering my face with kisses as soon as she wakes up from her nap. The elder one, not wanting to be left out of the hug, joined in with gusto and we all tumbled on the bed. I thank God for such precious moments of the day that help me keep my sanity and set my priorities straight. My girls provide me with surprise hugs all day long, I would be in the middle of one of my tasks when, with a synchronized shout of ‘one-two-three’ they would launch themselves at me and enclose me in a ‘tighty huggy to recharge mumma’. I count myself amongst the luckiest of beings. The mommy duties of supervising homework, chatting about the day, listening to grievances and trying not to advise( a phenomenally difficult task) et al dealt with I nudged them out of the door for some outdoor play just as the phone tinkled. Premonition, intuition, hunch, omen, call it what you want, I knew it was my runaway cleaner. Bingo! ‘Bhabhi, avi gayo chhun, kaal savaarey aavish’…….too overcome to say anything, the news not penetrating through my thankful brain, I just mumbled a ‘hunh’ and hung up. Slowly the news sunk in, the day seemed to brighten though it was close to sunset, the warmth spread into my shocked body and I punched the air…I did a jig…i danced around the hall with the phone clutched in my hands like a mike…I sang a song…I guess I got full fledged into my batty avatar.
So now I leave it to you to decide if I get the award or not.....Yippee…Oh thank you for giving me this award…I share this award with all the hardworking and under acknowledged MAAs…
My ‘oh so dependable’ cleaners have been on leave since Holi, and the usually shunned chores have fallen into my unwilling lap. Usually I run scared from the dusting-cleaning-mopping-washing duties and get a temporary cleaner, willingly paying close to a month’s pay for a week’s job. This year I decided to take the bull by the horns and face my demons on my own. The truth be told, I couldn’t find a temporary help, even though I was willing to empty out the coffers. So coming back to the point, it’s been a week now, a long tedious week, that I have been zealously dusting, vigorously wielding the zadu at the dust that dares to enter my house, bending on my knees to the persistent dust that dares evade my trusty zadu and mopping the unsuspecting bugger off the floor. As if this was not enough, the beds need to be made, and however inviting the newly made bed may look, enticing me, asking me to play truant to my chores, beckoning me with its softness, doing a Menaka to my Vishwamitra, I have to strongly turn my back to it and advance towards the bathroom, equipped with the bottle of Harpic and my other cleaning weapons that are the arsenal of my cleaning lady avatar, to bravely fight the mould and scum. Half an hour later, the battle won, I emerge with a triumphant smile and a sweaty brow and take the troops to the kitchen. The first day I stood aghast at the mountain of vessels that the cook had left in his wake. Do I even own so many vessels? Did I order a meal for the entire building to be cooked chez moi? I lift the lid of one of the vessels with apprehension, my mobile in hand, thumb almost pressing the speed dial for my mom’s to ask her to not cook today, possibly for a week, when I see a just about enough quantity of sabji staring at me. So many vessels used to cook this dainty amount of food? Well, since I did not want this task to fall in my lap too, I just shut up and picked up the scrubber. Now I’m immune to the mountain of vessels and tackle them with enviable speed.
Today, these routine tasks dealt with, I get into the shower and emerge in my working woman avatar, quickly don the working gear and head off to the office, fantasizing about a nice cup of hot coffee and some time to myself resting my toosh on the comfy chair, maybe swiveling it and staring out of the window. But reality hits hard. I stagger into my office to see an irate hubby. Yes we work together. Our marital vows of 50-50 sharing of work load are unfortunately restricted to the office, the household work slipped through the crevices when we were planning our future together. And of course due to the biological potential that I have, the child bearing and rearing too kind of ‘obviously’ became my domain, hence was born my mommy avatar. I had this amazing brainwave when I was carrying my second daughter. It would bring about a social revolution, and I am going to present this idea and try and sell it to the Almighty when he calls me over, wherein the husband and the wife both are blessed with this biological potential and it is simply a matter of luck and high fertility that either one gets to carry the baby! Whoa, I can already feel myself swept off by a tidal wave of ‘ayes’ from all the harried mothers that I know. But I’m digressing, as I was saying before I flew off the tangent to this lovely fantasy of mine, I stagger into my office to see an irate hubby entertaining my clients, those very clients who I was supposed to meet, I checked my watch, half an hour back to discuss the house that I was designing for them. With a smile pasted on my face and my fingers crossed, a mental apology to my parents who raised me to be always truthful no matter what, I launch into a detailed description of the traffic jam that delayed me. I could see that no one was taken in, and with a sheepish smile pulled out the drawings of their dream house in my dream weaver avatar. Midway through the discussions my phone beeped its daily ‘kid’s pick-up’ alarm and with a leap and a bound I was out of the office, thrusting the bemused clients and the drawings towards my better half ( I grumpily question the half) and hurried into my mommy avatar.
Homeward bound with my chattering magpies in the car, trying to make sense of two garbled accounts of the day from two tired and hungry girls, both extremely excited to tell all and both wanting to be the first to do it, I smartly turned up the volume to an ear blasting level and let ‘anjaana a a a anjaani e e e’, or whatever crap was pouring out from the radio, diffuse a potentially volatile situation. Believe you me, after the day I had and the day that was facing me and the whole last week added to it, I was in no position whatsoever to slip on my arbitrator avatar, a diplomatic diffuser of fights. With a mental pat on my back at these bright ideas that were helping me still retain the ‘bestest mumma’ title, I decided to take the help of the TV, my Moriarty when it concerned the kids, to make lunchtime a surprisingly peaceful event for me and a surprise treat for the girls. The kids settled in for a nap, I donned my washer woman avatar and attacked the pile of laundry hiding its grubby self in the basket. Leaving the washer dryer to do its tumbling, having an hour on hand before the folding and ironing would start, I slipped into my gardener avatar and tackled the pots on my balcony. Soon a cry of ‘mumma’ brought out my favourite, the mommy avatar, and I was hugging my little one, who has this lovely habit, that I hope she never gets out of, of hugging me tight, with arms and legs, like a koala and showering my face with kisses as soon as she wakes up from her nap. The elder one, not wanting to be left out of the hug, joined in with gusto and we all tumbled on the bed. I thank God for such precious moments of the day that help me keep my sanity and set my priorities straight. My girls provide me with surprise hugs all day long, I would be in the middle of one of my tasks when, with a synchronized shout of ‘one-two-three’ they would launch themselves at me and enclose me in a ‘tighty huggy to recharge mumma’. I count myself amongst the luckiest of beings. The mommy duties of supervising homework, chatting about the day, listening to grievances and trying not to advise( a phenomenally difficult task) et al dealt with I nudged them out of the door for some outdoor play just as the phone tinkled. Premonition, intuition, hunch, omen, call it what you want, I knew it was my runaway cleaner. Bingo! ‘Bhabhi, avi gayo chhun, kaal savaarey aavish’…….too overcome to say anything, the news not penetrating through my thankful brain, I just mumbled a ‘hunh’ and hung up. Slowly the news sunk in, the day seemed to brighten though it was close to sunset, the warmth spread into my shocked body and I punched the air…I did a jig…i danced around the hall with the phone clutched in my hands like a mike…I sang a song…I guess I got full fledged into my batty avatar.
So now I leave it to you to decide if I get the award or not.....Yippee…Oh thank you for giving me this award…I share this award with all the hardworking and under acknowledged MAAs…
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