My Cupboard Complains

 It all began with the packers.  Everything that goes wrong in our house, if not blamed on the monkeys, is always blamed on the packers.  But it WAS their fault.  For mixing things up in big boxes, leaving them unlabeled and strewn all over the house.  Boxes that were too big and heavy for me to move, boxes that were too jumbled up for me to guess what lay within each.  There is more order in volcanic eruptions than in my unpacked boxes.

"It's okay,"says my husband.  "We're not here to win a prize for neat and tidy homes."  (This means, "I'm not going to waste my time clearing up this mess when I can work on a Coronavirus vaccine."). Fair enough.  And, usually, it's okay.  The inherent lack of order combined with the disorder my son brings each day into our house is something we live cheerfully with. (Garbage is not garbage, according to my son.  It is a thing of wondrous possibilities, which he must explore).

We moved in just before the Coronavirus did.  At a busy time, a few days before Diwali.  "Don't worry about unpacking, immediately" said my husband (which meant, "I have to go to Africa on Diwali.  We'll deal with things when I return.").  And so I just skimmed the surface of what lay in the boxes and put them away.  Of course certain emergencies required immediate action (like my husband realising a few hours before his flight that he had no sweater.  Finally, after much upheaval, we located one (and only one) sweater -the rest were packed in a completely different box in the garage.

It has now been almost two years since we moved.  Gradually I have unpacked, leaving the lowest priority and most voluinous items for the end.  These were undoubtedly my clothes.  Living in three pairs of clothes for a year brought a certain sense of freedom.  No choices to be made.  No accessories to choose.  Just wear, wash and repeat the process.  This served me well through the first pandemic year.  Until my clothes developed holes that grew larger and larger.

It was then that I unpacked and put away the rest of my clothes.  My cupboard is old and exceedingly beautiful.  It has spotless glass and coloured tiles on it and is made of ancient, gleaming teak.  But its design is such that I cannot see half the contents because the doors do not open completely.  To access these, I have to pull everything our, sift through the clothes and push everything back again.  Not practical but I love my cupboard much too much to change this.  And my cupboard (when it is not in one of its moods, loves me immensely too).

So I carefully put away my things but had no use for most of them because life was still moving at maximum simplicity scale.  The priority was waking up early, going outdoors to play, rushing back, cooking breakfast, checking internet connections, making sure we were in time for the zoom calls, cooking the next meal and repeating this process over and over.

It was finally only today that I gathered the energy to wear a saree.  I got my first saree when I was sixteen and I have loved wearing them ever since.  In my parents' house I was oblivious as to the demands of sarees- they demand to be hand washed, starched, sun-dried, carefully ironed and put away in the right place, next to the matching blouses and petticoats.  It is understandable that I have not been able to summon the energy to wear a saree for the last two years.

But today things were different.  Today I was determined to wear one.  And so I went confidently to the cupboard and pulled out my favourite colour- off white.  I love all shades of white and this white and blue one was what I would wear today.

But life had Other Plans.  The saree was perfect, but - no blouse!  I searched high and low and finally located the blouses tucked away in a corner, camouflaged next to a bunch of dupattas.  Whew!  But the problem was far from solved.  My cupboard, which once overflowed with white petticoats suddenly shook its head when I asked it to produce just one.  "Not possible," it said with a little sigh.  "You didn't put them in here."

Didn't put them in here!  I was aghast.  Where HAD I put them?

"Well maybe you did.  But - ahem- you have so many white clothes and they look all the same folded up that I can't tell," my ancient cupboard groaned.  "Here- why don't you take this nice- grey one."

Grey!  I shuddered.  It is a colour I don't like.  "Okay, how about- bright yellow, dark mustard, navy blue.."

I shook my head.  "Oh!  You're so hard to please," creaked my cupboard.  "Well, take this- it's a very old green one."

Green- I rummaged around.  Yes, I had a saree.  I had a blouse (did it fit?- whew! yes it did..).  Okay I could manage that.  "Thank you," I whispered to the cupboard.  "Don't mention it- ever again," it sighed.  I wondered.  Had I been too demanding?

Finally, after I got into my saree, I felt it had all been worth it.  Yes, there are mounds of clothes scattered about which have to be rearranged and put back.  Yes, I need to find those white petticoats asap.  Yes, I will have to wash this saree (but I am not going to think that far ahead).  Today, I am going to enjoy wearing my green saree with this cheerful red blouse.  A small triumph of perseverance in the face of complete clothes-finding chaos.  Even my cupboard approves of that.

It Rains!

 It rains, the Earth

Sighs in relief

 It has been parched

Beyond belief.

It rains, the trees sway

With the breeze

I watch the drops

Leap off the leaves.

It rains, the sky

Is all aglow

With fireflies'

Fluorescent flow.

It rains, I hear

The koel call

Nocturnal notes 

That rise and fall.

Faultless notes

That flit and dart

They echo deep

Within my heart.

It rains and brings

A peace so deep

My heart is full

I fall asleep.

"But, Do You Like It?"

 The eye of the beholder is always subjective.  This is driven home to me each time I see the amazing rug collection of my friend Danny, who travels thousands of miles to search for tribal rugs from Central Asia, some of them over a hundred years old!

This thought also comes back to me with some force when I deal with my seven year old son, Nayan, who hasn't strayed from home since the pandemic began, but whose eye and mind work very differently from mine.

This was reinforced during Nayan's music class, when the teacher would ask him, "Do you like these songs?  Which song would you like to sing?  How do you feel?"

Initially I found these questions rather odd for a regular music class.  "Leaving these decisions to a child is asking for trouble," I thought.  "Nayan is just going to take advantage of this or impulsively say something that he will be stuck with, forever."

But that didn't happen.  Nayan relaxed, sometimes he didn't even reply (and that seemed to be fine with the teacher); sometimes he couldn't give his reasons very clearly.  But during this process, there developed between him and the teacher, a kind of trust and understanding.   Nayan understood and respected the fact that he would not be pushed into learning music and that he was an equal and active participant in the class.  

He began analysing the songs he was to sing, watching all possible versions of them and saying to me, "This one is too fast, this is sooo slow, this tune is not correct, this pronunciation is funny.."  All this helped him learn to listen.

It was a lesson for me on leaving certain decisions to children and trusting them to find their way through the maze of perplexing possibilities.

This struck home again last night when Nayan wandered into his bedroom to sleep on his Very Own Bed.  Within fifteen minutes, he was back by my side, snuggling close to me and saying he couldn't sleep on his bed even though his favourite bear Samatva was by his side.  "No, he was not scared.  No, he was not disturbed.  But he just couldn't sleep.."  

This has been a regular feature with Nayan but tonight something tugged at my memory.

"Nayan," I asked the next morning, "Do you like your room?"

"Hmmm.." he was not sure.  "I can't seem to sleep there."

Looking at the room, I realised that it had none of Nayan's possessions.  Not even his toys (because he usually plays in the living room).  His name (which he had proudly coloured and stuck) was on the door.    There was a picture of tigers high up, looking down at him (because I love tigers) but, apart from that, the walls were bare.  The room was usually just used for ironing clothes during the day so there were piles of clothes everywhere.

"Let's begin," I said, "By removing these clothes and putting all the things that YOU would like into this room.

Nayan pondered.  "We'll begin with the aeroplane cloud that Appa drew for me," he said.  "We can hang it above my name."

There was a very convenient little nail so we could do that quite quickly.

Now Nayan is busy thinking of the other things that he can put up.  While doing so, perhaps he will spend a little more time looking at and getting to know his little room.  And someday, he might even feel comfortable enough to lie on the bed there and happily fall asleep...