I have my own (erm, rented) place now, but, for the most part of my life, I have lived at home with family. Back home, I have a little room to myself, actually a cantina of sorts, for I have always been dazed by how it houses all the mélange and sundry within its confines; books, clothes, sport gear, shoes, cards, posters, trophies, gadgets et all and still manages to pleasantly hide the ruckus it actually is.
In my mind I have always liked to imagine that I was an orderly person living in a clean dwelling, an illusion which was often thwarted by the reality of my room which ended up looking, from time to time, like a recently bombarded 2nd world war bunker or that dilapidated 14th century fort. The first signs of welter were often swept under the mental carpet with nonchalance until I was repeatedly confronted by the sorry state of my room, after which I usually embarked on a hopeless task of GI-ing my abode, hopeless, because I knew it was so Herculean, I would never be able to pull it off.
The endeavor almost always commenced on a Friday evening that I wasn’t partying with the agglomeration of almost everything that I thought was out of place (or needed to be cast away) on my bed! The scene usually resembled a busy street dug up by the municipal authorities to lay a cable or refurbish a pipeline with the traffic going nuts. By the time I could figure out everything that needed rearrangement, it would already be bed-time, oops, I meant couch-time! Yes, this was usually the beginning of my 2 day camp in the drawing room, the couch doubling up as a bed in the night (afternoon and erm, morning too, sometimes)
Saturday and Sunday were spent discarding a ton of items, but the mess on my bed was so Brobdingnagian that my cerebral process mapping ‘where to accommodate what’ would always come a cropper. Come Sunday evening and the first harmonics of maternal maunder resonated in the house and manic Monday was ushered with mommie dear going berserk over my bedroom bedlam. I'd gulp the ignominy as I quickly showered, stuffed my breakfast and dashed off to work promising my mom that mission impossible will be accomplished by evening! I secretly knew that mommie did a great Tom Cruise and thanks to her my room unfailingly had a semblance of a livable quarter by evening with most items tucked away in areas I didn’t know existed or stacked away in a manner pleasing to the eye, until, well, the welter started all over again a few weeks thereafter!!
It is this fear that stems from the thorough knowledge of how otiose I can be with restoring a ruffled-up room that ensures that I keep my place in perfect shape all the time, so much so that most pals who visit me find it hard to believe that they are in a bachelor pad. Now you know!
In my mind I have always liked to imagine that I was an orderly person living in a clean dwelling, an illusion which was often thwarted by the reality of my room which ended up looking, from time to time, like a recently bombarded 2nd world war bunker or that dilapidated 14th century fort. The first signs of welter were often swept under the mental carpet with nonchalance until I was repeatedly confronted by the sorry state of my room, after which I usually embarked on a hopeless task of GI-ing my abode, hopeless, because I knew it was so Herculean, I would never be able to pull it off.
The endeavor almost always commenced on a Friday evening that I wasn’t partying with the agglomeration of almost everything that I thought was out of place (or needed to be cast away) on my bed! The scene usually resembled a busy street dug up by the municipal authorities to lay a cable or refurbish a pipeline with the traffic going nuts. By the time I could figure out everything that needed rearrangement, it would already be bed-time, oops, I meant couch-time! Yes, this was usually the beginning of my 2 day camp in the drawing room, the couch doubling up as a bed in the night (afternoon and erm, morning too, sometimes)
Saturday and Sunday were spent discarding a ton of items, but the mess on my bed was so Brobdingnagian that my cerebral process mapping ‘where to accommodate what’ would always come a cropper. Come Sunday evening and the first harmonics of maternal maunder resonated in the house and manic Monday was ushered with mommie dear going berserk over my bedroom bedlam. I'd gulp the ignominy as I quickly showered, stuffed my breakfast and dashed off to work promising my mom that mission impossible will be accomplished by evening! I secretly knew that mommie did a great Tom Cruise and thanks to her my room unfailingly had a semblance of a livable quarter by evening with most items tucked away in areas I didn’t know existed or stacked away in a manner pleasing to the eye, until, well, the welter started all over again a few weeks thereafter!!
It is this fear that stems from the thorough knowledge of how otiose I can be with restoring a ruffled-up room that ensures that I keep my place in perfect shape all the time, so much so that most pals who visit me find it hard to believe that they are in a bachelor pad. Now you know!
3 comments:
"Semblance of cleanliness" were my exact words too! http://jollyjaya.blogspot.com/2009/03/turbo-clean.html
toh, maa da laadla sudhar gaya..
Yeh kaddu bhi na! :p
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