When I switched off from work today these words that you are about to read were floating in my head. It happens. Random words just get together, form a chain, then sentences…and soon a paragraph, which rolls into a page and then another. But this amazing feat of imagination happens rarely. Most of the time, trying to write something is pretty much like sitting on the toilet seat and waiting with agony and pain after you had had too much wine the previous night.
Speaking of wine, today is Friday. As soon as I shut down my laptop, I was torn between two choices on how to spend the rest of the evening- to pop open a bottle or to start scrubbing and cleaning the house. I looked around. A heap of washed and dry laundry is on the sofa waiting to be folded. Wet countertops because M did the dishes and then wiped the water with a wet towel. Every. Single. Time. Luckily, this is the only thing about him that annoys me. I also noticed a few strands of hair lying on the floor. I am amazed that with the amount of hair I find while vacuuming, I have anything left on my head. Earlier I used to blame M because he had long hair too. He obviously used to deny it. And then, as if to prove his point, he asked me to shave his entire head. He even offered to shave mine, which I wholeheartedly refused. So, now, it’s all on me. I cannot even blame my neighbour’s cat because her fur is short.
I hate to clean on Fridays. Friday evenings are meant for lounging like a buffalo. Letting every fibre of your body unwind and drowning yourself with a little grape juice until it’s way past dinner time and then you eventually decide to order the same thing from the same place, for the n-th time. But I cannot relax in a messy house. When I let my hair down, I have to do it right. The house should be clean and sparkly. There should be candles, essential oils, a warm bath, and zero things on my schedule for the next 12 hours.
That is why a few months ago, I decided to clean every Thursday. Because for me, Thursday has no purpose. Monday is for moaning. Tuesday is for settling into the week. Wednesday is for the midweek mini celebration. Friday is for welcoming the weekend. There is nothing for Thursday. So, I wanted to give the boring Thursday a purpose. It seemed the perfect day to clean for the week. I would do the laundry, wipe every visible surface, water the plants, shout orders and instructions, sometimes lose my mind; you got the drift. And voila! Before dinner, everything would be done, and I can just somersault my way into the weekend.
I did this for a few months. I was so happy. I had two solid reasons to be in a hyper-happy mood the next morning- the end of the week and waking up in a crisp clean house. I could pour my morning coffee without a worry in the world. I will look around and smile. Satisfied that a well-deserved Friday evening in an organized and neat house is on my way. And nothing cleaning-related on the list for the weekends. It was a dream come true. Our weekends were wide open. New possibilities were on the horizon. It was exhilarating. We could do and plan anything we wanted. Gardening in the sun, a trip to the beach, picnicking in the park, everything was our oyster.
My new revelation however was short-lived. Turns out, of the limitless possibilities, all I wanted was to do a light cleaning on Saturday nights or Sunday evenings because then I would not have to do a deep cleaning the next week. With cleaning off the list on weekends, there was hardly a list. I was bored and cranky. I would roam around the house looking for things to do. Even Netflix failed to rescue me. On one weekend, I decided to cook an elaborate meal just to pass the day. On another, I went for a run in the rain at 8 pm because I had nothing better to do. Most times, I would find new and weird things to arrange and clean- like my make-up bag, the space behind the bookshelves, random wires. See how my brain works? Need to be a clean freak is a bane to my existence.
I envy M sometimes. Although we both share the same level of accepted cleanliness, he does not keep thinking about it all the time. I know because I asked him once. Nor does he keep thinking about what to cook. I feel it’s mostly the women who are conditioned to think like this, at least in the society that I grew up in. M is not bothered by a few strands of hair on a corner. He will vacuum and believe that it is not needed for another two weeks.
I read somewhere that women end up doing all the household work because they are not satisfied with how others do it. It is true. We either do everything on our own or re-do things after they have been done. So, to maintain equality I have started accepting how M does half of the work, even if I am not entirely happy with it. I accept it. I do not criticise or point out. I wish I were more like him, in this area; and occupied myself with the real important stuff. Like the war, or the latest Twitter meme.
To try to be a sane person, I decided to ignore all the unsightly scenes around me today, and I sat down to paint instead. It is my new thing! God knows how long the obsession will last. But I get lonely when I paint. I feel like talking while I paint. So I called a friend to just ramble on, while I swoosh and swash with the brushes. I told her that I might be asked to teach a cooking class, as part of a charity program and needed options to try at home. She is the cooking queen of my life. She tells me things in a way that I can follow to create something. I am low-key proud of my cooking skills but compared to her, my skills are a joke! While she pulled out one innovative idea after the other, I filled my blank page with colours and hope.
After our long rambling, which at one point turned into a one-sided desperate rant, we decided to call it a day.
The two options stared at me again, but I am not bothered now. I thought of the catchphrase M uses to calm me down- Everything will be done tomorrow. So, I took a deep breath and decided to cook something easy for dinner. While the pan was on the gas, I went to dust and wipe a few things. Upon my return the pan got burnt with oil. I hope the cooking queen and the people who comes to my cooking class, would not read this. After staring at the blackness of the pan and questioning life and my existence, I got up to throw out the withered flowers from the vase. After that, I inspected my plants and even managed to pull back some of them from the brink of death, with a magic potion called- water! And lastly, made notes on works to be delegated to M. Because everything else will be done tomorrow. By someone who is not me.
I am finally having my much-deserved Friday evening now. Lounging on the sofa (more like an elephant!), and concentrating on the important stuff- like turning wine into words.
khimpidutta 