Domestication

28 Mar

 

It happens. It happens when one moves out of home. It’s natural. It’s one of those things that astounds even the most tomboyish tomboys who never thought themselves capable of making tea, forget anything more “complicated”, in their words. I think we’re born with it because that innate button in us switches on when we decide to shift gears and take on newer roles in our life. It’s something a lot of us enjoy, to a large extent, irrespective of what a headache it might actually be. Because there’s a sect of us that will spend that last waking moment dusting those last dust particles off or doing whatever it is that keeps you from the need to just snuggle in bed and pass out, or pass out minus the frills of even changing. Right? I for sure know more than just a few who do, indeed belong to this category, and my mum’s right on top of that list. But I just don’t get it. I think that dust particle will eventually perch right back to where you uprooted it from and so, yes, I’d rather hit the sack than go teary-eyed on dust particles at odd hours. No, I don’t think I have a domestication problem. No, I don’t think I’m dirty, even though my mum may think otherwise (clearly). And no, I’m not apologetic about sharing my space with dust particles or unfilled water bottles for the night. Of course, needless to say, it’s the sense of absolute freedom that allows us to run our homes the way we want them run by creating a new sense of order and a set of rules that helps the entity of what our idea of a home should be, stay intact. It’s the joy in running the show that gets headily addictive, so much so, that we crave to get back to our home and routine after visiting parents. Or so I’ve seen and heard.

But there’s another case of forced domestication that occurs as well. It happens when your folks travel and leave you in charge of the scene, so to speak. While this is a good mix of newness amid the existing structure, it still comes as a rude shock because it’s forced. For lazy people like me, it’s one of those forced domesticated cases that keeps crawling up my back unannounced. Don’t get me wrong. It’s exciting. Because for someone who hasn’t lived on her own, it’s quite the welcome change. However, its welcome in my life is ever so short-lived. It’s exciting from Day 2 onwards because it’s weird on Day 1 when ma travels. She takes quite a bit of all our sunshine with her. So it’s a better time for all of us (the sibling, the pigs, the plants and even the maids) from Day 2. But come Day 5 and the concept gets a bit old. Because really, is there anything better than coming back to a spic and span home that smells so amazing and looks so spotless (I don’t know how–maybe ma dusts when she’s not dusting as well) and has food and groceries and feels alive, laden with sunshine and functional in general? I know, I’m pathetic. Very pathetic.

Anyway, so this forced domestication is on right now. The brother and I have quite some experience in this field because you just have to become domestic-smart if you have a mother who works and travels, you know? And I think we do okay. Except maybe at keeping those dust particles at bay because that’s the first thing that stands out to my mother when she steps in. Moms just have microscopic vision for this sort of stuff. I think that’s what it is.

So this Friday has been one of those days that I’ve waited to have in the longest time because I really do thrive on alone-time. But so much had to be juggled and I’m all set, which is why I’m here, writing my woes out to you because I won’t blame you if that’s what you think this is; some lame woeful rant. The laundry’s been done, the clothes hung out to dry, the house swept and swabbed (by the maid), bathrooms cleaned, piggies fed, plants watered, surfaces (and crevices) dusted, and everything in between. I also had just about enough seconds to manage to a quick run to the terrace because the sky decided to be prettier at sunset. At first I thought I’d skip it and focus on what was at hand but then, after a while, that run to the terrace was beyond my control. I think their theme for today was watercolours on canvas. Anyway, let’s see how long this getting work done streak lasts.

IMG_9570 IMG_9568 IMG_9569 IMG_9577 IMG_9578 IMG_9579 IMG_9582

 

This is why it’s the perfect evening. We’re all doing our own thing before we (the brother, pigs and I) settle in for the night. There’s manchow soup so apt for the soul. It’s a complete mood lifter as I have a burst of pickled green chilies pop in my mouth, accompanied by just the right amount of salt in a lovely, light, garlicky broth. That goes with a side order of music and writing – I’m pretty set. There’s more Chinese food waiting for a bit later. The pigs more or less spend their time being passed out and not batting an eyelid because we’re family and they have the luxury of time to do so. It’s summer. It’s what I would do if I lived under the shade of plants and was coated in fur.

On a completely (and maybe not so) different note, today has also been a day of eating out from start to finish.

IMG_9549 IMG_9548There were rava dosa cravings so Adigas happened for breakfast. And then, I think Mexican food is my newfound love because this is the third Friday in this month that I’ve snarfed Mehican food down. Because I’d had my share of burritos the past two weeks, I figured I’d have tacos today. And so I had not one, but two. Vegetarian ones, but still.

God help me. And this beautiful budding relationship between Mexican food and me. Or maybe I think we’ve decided to commit to each other already. *shrugs*

I guess this comes in with the forced domestication bit as well; the thrill of eating the world of junk from outside minus having to feel guilty about not having home food because you never really got off your ass and made that homemade food.

All said and done, I don’t think there will ever be better Domestic Goddesses than our mums. Ever. No matter how tomboyishly tomboyish they may have been once upon a time. ;)

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