Five reasons why I hate housework

Housework’s one of those things not noticed if they’re done but noticed if not done. Yup you’ve guessed it.. it’s not my forte. It’s not something I signed up for when I decided to be a SAHM. I opted to be a full time mum and that I still enjoy.. well mostly I do. But housework.. not my thing. Unfortunately it comes with the territory. When the maid’s play hooky, which is often, you are simply expected to double up as one.

And so here I am maidless and venting, with a vengeance.

5 reasons why I hate housework

1. It’s unending
It really is. Like draupadi’s sari. Even with all the modern day appliances. Washing, cleaning, cooking, dusting, clearing up, making beds, putting clothes to dry, ironing, settling cupboards… on and on and on.. to infinity. And I’m not even beginning to include the kiddie stuff. It sucks one in like quagmire.
Corollary: It leaves no room for thought for anything else. You’re only thinking of the next task and the next one and then the next.

2. It requires an extremely high level of multitasking (which I obviously lack).
Sample this: I put the milk to boil and spot the Hrit’s beyblade near the gas stove (which he’d brought in for me to fix and I couldn’t because my hands were all floury). I fix the bey blade and go to give it to him in the kids’ room where I trip over a bunch of toy animals. I start putting them away till I smell … you’ve guessed it.. milk. Then it’s just happy mopping.
I routinely burn my veggies. Routinely. The other day I decided to sit it out in the kitchen and carried my book and beanbag there. Big Mistake. I was roused to the smell of.. right.. burning vegetables this time. Rush rush to salvage what I can.. Wash the pan.. fresh oil.. more cooking… aaaargh!

3. It tires me out without letting me lose weight.
Oh yes, it does. If I were to lose even half a kg a day doing all of those chores I’d do it gladly. Where’s the point of getting bone tired and not losing an ounce? On the contrary hanging out in the kitchen in close proximity to food spells pure danger. Plus you’re only too happy to eat what the kids are eating rather than making special low-cal stuff for yourself.. more problem on the weightloss front.

4. It spells the end of ‘quality’ time with kids.
No way can I spare the time for crafting with Naisha or trying out a recipe with Hrit. The dread of clearing up paint or picking up bits of paper.. prohibitive. As for the cooking, I just want to get over with it and get to the other tasks before the next meal comes along.
Corollary: It takes away the pleasure from otherwise pleasurable tasks…. like taking the kids down to play or putting them to sleep. While I’m telling them their bedtime story my mind wanders off to the dinner table that needs clearing or the kitchen that needs to be tidied.

5. It spells the end of ‘me’ time
Well you might catch some television while doing your ironing but reading, blogging, even an hour at the gym can be considered pure luxuries. (That explains just four posts in November and the increasing weight).

Housework makes me crabby and irritable mostly because I’m just not fond of it. How oh how do scores of women do it every single day of their lives without turning into complete harridans? I’m turning into one for sure. I’ve even taken the God’s to task… so there’s your proof.

Disclaimer: These are the ramblings of an overworked housewife sorely missing her maid, who is pregnant (the maid, not the housewife, Thank God) in her husband’s quest (for the fourth time) for a ghar a chirag. The post is to be taken with oodles of salt.
Thank You.

A little bit of this and a little bit of that

These past ten days have been pretty eventful…

1. My sister came visiting with my very gorgeous niece.
2. Hrit went down with a bad case of wheezing and recovered sufficiently to get back to school.
3. The maid quit.. just quit.. on a day’s notice.

Since this last event kind of overshadowed everything else, I’ll go in reverse order. I refuse, however, to dwell on it (maybe because I’ve found a stop gap kind of person.. yay!!! yay!!!).

On a happy note.. Hrit’s so much better, though he’s still carrying a wracking cough to school. The wheeze takes ages to go. Sometimes I wonder how he manages almost 8 hours at school and another few hours of play (which he’s not ready to compromise upon) when each breath takes effort. He does all of that and seems not to notice. Aren’t kids just unbelievable?

The most significant fallout of all of the above has been that I didn’t see the face of the gym for 1/3 of the month. Please do note I write ‘didn’t’ not ‘couldn’t’. Despite my sister pushing me to go, I just didn’t. The thing is as soon as my routine is disturbed I miss the gym. Not nice. So much for my September resolution . I guess it’s too much to expect that the weighing scale will be where I’d left it ten days back. Plan to go and check tomorrow.. even if it’s for a tiny while. The new maid needs to be trained and I need to be home with her when I don’t even know how long she’ll be around.

God grant me a good maid… please.

Mysterious girl



Pic courtesy
http://kashunutz.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2vygt8

…. That’s what you are even now despite our many years of togetherness. Each day I strive to know you better, to understand what drives you, what makes you happy, what upsets you. Each day I wake up wondering whether you’ll make it to our daily rendezvous. Each day brings with it a longing, a dread, an excitement, as I wonder… will she won’t she. You have many faces, but scratch the surface and your heart and soul are the same. You are the same.

There are days you arrive…. in style. You walk in with the ease born of long association, as if your arrival was the most natural thing. You fill my home with warmth and happiness. I settle down with my warm cup of tea and contentedly look on as you take over completely. I am mesmerized as you touch my home with your magic. Life couldn’t be more perfect.
Then there are days when you decide to stay away. As the clock ticks I strain to hear the music of the doorbell announcing your arrival. When I don’t I’m devastated. Yet I know you’re doing it for my good. Like the perfect mentor that you are, you want me to learn to survive without you. This is your way of equipping me for disaster management. As I gear up for the day without you my adrenalin starts pumping, the dread changing into determination. I switch into fifth gear with the pickup of the fastest car. With super speed I strive to fill in the void of your absence yet the hope of seeing you tomorrow never dies. You watch me proudly as I learn to take it all in my stride. Do I complain of your absence? No sir, I don’t. I can’t.
You coached me in the art of assertiveness. With the finesse of a master you make most unreasonable demands and watch keenly whether I buckle under the pressure. Many a time I failed you, giving in tamely. Yet you watch and wait … you see me metamorphose into a confident woman not afraid to speak up, to say what she felt, to say ‘no’ emphatically. You test me sometimes. You pretend to stomp off in anger only to return with a smile reveling in your protégé’s success.
You are the reason for my perfect fitness – my flawless personal trainer, that miracle coach who trains by not being there. The tyres have disappeared and my skin is glowing since you walked into my life.
You taught me the importance of family. You’re Indian to the core. No Western nuclear family would do for you. Your uncle’s, dad’s, sister’s, fifth son’s youngest daughter is as dear to you as your own son. She’s family. I’ve watched in awe at your large-hearted devotion as you drop even the most important tasks to run to their side at the sign of the slightest trouble. I know it hurts you to stay away from me but they’re family too and I understand. Not for nothing have you spent precious time training me. Each day I pray for their well-being, for peace in your family so there’s peace in mine for without you my family, my life is incomplete.
Pic courtesy
 http://kashunutz.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2vygt8

Today on International Women’s Day I salute you Sumitra Maushi, Sophiya auntie, Shanta bai, Puja didi, Meena tai, … Thank you all for teaching me to be self reliant by not coming in every day, for teaching me to say ‘NO’ each time you came up with strange requests, for getting me back into shape as I swept and mopped in your absence.

However I have a confession to make — despite your determined efforts to propel me towards maid-Nirvana my world continues to revolve around you. I still wait to welcome you to my home each day. May this bond never break, may we live happily ever after.

Maid in heaven

Mama says finding the perfect maid is tougher than finding the perfect mate. And she would certainly know what she’s talking about as she’s had a battery of maushis and didis for us since we were born.

First we had a Maharashtrian maushi at Pune who’d been (you’d never believe it) a construction worker. She was a sturdy fifty something lady. We were pretty tiny then but we’d tire her out completely as she’d be changing nappies constantly. She was quite alright, except that her afternoon siesta was sacrosanct. No matter what happened come 1 pm and you’d find her dozing off, tucked away behind the sofa or out on the balcony.

Then there was Surekha the Surly. When we first met her we thought she never smiled but she turned out to be fun. She used to come to massage and bathe us. Her wrestling matches with N during the massage were quite legendary. Despite the tiny mite that N was at a few weeks, she’d kick and push and make her sweat it out. Surekha was quite in awe of her prowess and used to say that when she grew up she’d be the kind who’d bash up the guys and come home.. What say N?? How did U like that?

I don’t even want to begin to think about Surekha. God… bhai do U remember how she would give us a bath? I positively HATED it when she doused us with those incessant mugs of water. I certainly made sure she knew how much I disliked it. How she made me howl! Now of course I love bathing… but that’s a story for another day.

Bhai U remember Ram Dulari?

RD as she was called by all of us, was, I think, the most hilarious of them all. She was this fair, plump, youngish woman straight out of the village. She’d roll in at 10 in the morning and by 10.30 her rug would be spread out and she would be in the midst of deep slumber… snores and all. Mama would go berserk yelling out to her. But what would really drive mama up the wall was RD’s assumption that each time we cried it meant we were hungry. So one wail and she’d come up in her typical sing song accent and her native dialect ‘bhukhane hain, aghane nahin’ (they are hungry, they aren’t sated yet)… and that would be like a red flag to a bull for mama no matter how much masi tried to cool her. By 5 each evening she’d lumber out yawning and scratching herself. Oh yes she’d scratch herself all the time. She’d say it was mosquito bites. She also blamed the poor mosquitoes for her endless snoozing. She said they’d keep her up all night.What irked nani most about her was when she nuzzled either one of us. I can’t forget her incessant telling offs to RD. As for masi, each time RD made an entry she’d only hum that silly song ‘O meri ram dulari tere nain katari’.

Her life seemed to be pretty eventful and something was always happening with her. She had a husband who was a rickshaw puller and who drank and gambled. One day she appeared with this huge black eye courtesy a fight at home. She was always asking nani for something – it might be something small like guvavas or lemons from the trees in our garden to something as big as a place to live in the compound.

Then one day she appeared saying her son in the village had fractured a hand and left. We can’t say we were sorry to see her go. Later, while on our next visit to Lucknow, we spotted her sometimes. She had the same smile on her face lumbering around in her elephant gait. 

When she left mama was paranoid about how she’d manage but like Bua nani says, whatever happens, happens for the best and so in came Sunita didi. Bhai you were her favourite, isn’t it? 

H: Um well… since you were so tough to handle I was automatically the favourite. But you’ve got to admit she was really efficient. Where RD’s clothes were all over the place, you’d always find Sunita didi impeccably dressed. She was really polite and so very responsible. While RD had to be reminded a thousand times to check for wet nappies Sunita didi was constantly there nappy in hand ready for a change. Mama tried to persuade her to come to Bombay with us but her mother didn’t let her.