Archive for August, 2009

25
Aug
09

no easy task

By aanch Leave a Comment
Categories: Family, Life and Thoughts

This Sunday my governess decided to take an off. JLT (just like that). So obviously mommy dearest hoped that her children will help her in house work. Bro quickly buried his nose inside his thick accountancy books under the pretext of studying for his forthcoming CA exams (me thinks its Complete Aaram). So yours truly was left to do ‘household chores’.

Washing utensils was the easiest task. What took its toll on me were the sweeping and swabbing. It was nothing but sheer hell. Bending on your knees trying to get the dust out of nooks and cranies. The broom seemed heavy to hold albeit to me it resembled a hockey stick that I couldn’t for the life of mine manoeuvre. All this under the watchful gaze of mom who could spot dust in places I couldn’t. And they say eyesight fails with age :-(. To top it all you have a cheeky younger bro who in a very sadistic straght faced manner tells you that sweeping is good for your abs. At least this way you’ll get some exercise. Imagine the results…do it daily and soon you’ll have a swelte figure. Grrrrrrr…I am happy being healthy and lazy.

With great heaving and hoing and standing under the fan to cool off, I managed to sweep our 2 BHK flat (wow am I glad it’s not bigger than this). Then there was the swabbing where I cheated. I mopped partly standing and leisurely pushing the mop from one end to the other. My funda being if the floor is wet it means its mopped. Why take so much of trouble? After all this I plonked myself under the fan making a great show of all the back breaking, sweat trickling work I had done.

But this entire  rigmarole got me thinking about my mother, governess and all the women for whom this is not a one off choice but a daily chore. Cook, clean, wash, wipe the routine doesn’t change ever. The place may vary from parent’s home to in-laws’ home (and in some pathetic cases even children’s homes). But the nature of the job doesn’t. Be it the mistress of the house or the maid…it’s hard work all the same. Standing in the sweltering kitchen, slaving over the gas all day all this while catering to numerous requests from family members, taking care of children, etc. etc. Phew..that’s some task… And still we look down upon home makers with a disdain that wants to put them to shame for being at home and not being career women. For not contributing financially…for choosing the home and hearth over a plum job.

So hat’s off to all the home makers. For doing what they do, day in and day out. For giving us spic n span homes, hot meals, washed and ironed clothes. And most importantly for giving us a home we look forward to coming back to every day. Thanks ladies. Thanks mom and Ratna Aunty.

07
Aug
09

the hills are alive…

By aanch 3 Comments
Categories: Life

This exercise was called Free Style – in the sense that we had to write anything and everything that came to our mind. The idea is that when you begin to write, the pen should not be lifted off the paper or the finger off the keyboard. So if for example I was writing – my name is Aanchal and (suppose I get stuck and don’t know what to write next, I must keep writing ‘and’ till my thoughts clear). So it would be – my name is Aanchal and and and and and and I work at 3. It needen’t make sense, you are excused if you don’t follow grammar, spellings, sentence constructions, etc. The only condition is to let your thoughts flow freely be they structured or chaotic, meaningful or nonsense. This exercise is supposed to help one get rid of the writer’s block as well as allow all the thoughts that are in your sub conscious to come out. It is said that the philosophers and seers of yore indulged in this exercise as a result they were able to come up with stuff that would otherwise not have occured to them had they consciously thought of them.

We were asked to think of a beginning and then write continuously for one minute without lifting the pen off the paper. So here it is…

The hills are alive with the sound of music. Music from the nearby factory sirens informing workers that it is 9am. Music from the nearby fields as the tractors move through them. Music from the bullocks ploughing the fields as the bells round their necks softly tinkle. Music from the road as vehicles blow their horns, as the wheels sctrach the asaphalt or an occasional rash driver screeches in a hurry. Music from a bunch of picnicers who have come to the hillside for a weekend getaway. Music from a stero blasting from a nearby resort playing the latest chartbusters. Music from the kitchens of pots and pans and tempers flying. Wow so much of music to enjoy. But is this how it was meant to be?

And then it was time’s up :-(.

07
Aug
09

traffic snarl

By aanch 1 Comment
Categories: Life and Thoughts

I know this is coming in piece meal basis and many of you may have lost the thread to it but am determined to complete the entire set. So here’s continuing the articles from my writer’s workshop. This particular exercise was divided into 2 parts – in the first part we were asked to write all the words that came to our mind when we thought of a ‘volcano’. In the second part we had to use those words (or as many of those) to describe a traffic jam scene. So here goes…the underlined words are some from my volcanic list…

I was riding down the Western Express highway and found a serpentine queue of vehicles. Drat…a traffic jam. I will surely be late for my date. Remembered good ole Murphy and his law, “whenever you are in a tearing hurry, you’ll meet with a traffic jam”. Since I had no option but to wait, I stepped out of the rick to assess the situation. And what do I see?

There was thick smoke billowing in the air. A mob of angry onlookers had gathered. The embers were still red and once in a spurt there was an orange yelllow flame that leapt out. The mob was turning aggressive and the cops couldn’t contain the raging protests that were erupting. Soon they would go on a destruction spree devastating public life. The root cause of this trouble was a dead body charred and roasted beyond recognition. The burnt body was still hot to touch, but I could feel the mob’s blood bubbling. Once it crossed boiling point it would uproot public property. With no intention of being caught in a warring situation, I told the rickshaw driver to take a U-turn and go the other way.

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