You remember Monica? Of course, she is not someone one would forget. You either know her or you don’t know her. So for all those who know her, you would know what I mean when I say I tend to be a Monica at times.
I prefer things to be clean. But I am not overly obsessed with pen caps lying away from the pens and magazines lying here and there. My mom takes care of all that. Sometimes I act as though I’m possessed, as if Monica has taken over me. I go on a cleaning spree and mercilessly trash everything that I think I don’t need.
This strange phenomenon, similar to selective amnesia doesn’t occur often, especially when my mom is around. You ask my mother about this, she would probably say, ‘There is something strange with Ashwini. I keep telling her time and again to clean up, she doesn’t listen. And then one fine day, I got out somewhere and when I come back I find her room sparkling clean.’
The problem here is that, when people ask me to do something, like cleaning up for instance, I prefer to let that fall on deaf ears and continue with Temple Run. But when the angel inside me keeps reminding me continuously that I have a responsibility to clean up my room, I ensure I take it up and finish it then and there. Considering that this angel’s voice comes to my aid only when I’m home alone, no one is there to appreciate my work. Sigh.
When I finally decide to make the room look presentable, I mercilessly throw things that I feel are not of use anymore. And I don’t stop with just one room, I clean up my study, arrange all my files and books, proceed over to my dad’s shelves and clean them up too. Then I turn to my wardrobe, match all the dupattas with their respective sets, match all the earrings with their pairs, throw away broken accessories and then fill up the bags with a set of clothes that can still be used, by someone else and pack it neatly to be given away. Dig out my favorite tops that have been hidden by the latest purchase and keep them all in one particular order so that I don’t miss out on the not-so-recent-ones. And once I’m done with the cleaning, my rooms wouldn’t look out of place in the otherwise neat household, courtesy my mother.
A few months back, mom was away for a while. So that meant I had to spend considerable time alone at home, till my dad got back. Those days, the spirit of Monica stayed with me for the longest duration ever, sometimes even the whole day, provided no one else was around. I remember cleaning up the terrace when my maid couldn’t come for a day, I remember cleaning the windows and arranging the showcase in another order after having carefully cleaned them all.I remember giving a water wash to my car and two wheeler too. My mom cleans the house regularly so the dust doesn’t accumulate. But I do it once in a while, so the change is noticeable, it clearly shows that some cleaning has been done, but unfortunately no on except for me notices that.
That minute, when I see a clean room or a clean table or a sparkling clean vehicle, the satisfaction I get from that is something that cannot be compared to anything else.Those are the days I enjoy playing with the vacuum cleaner than with the iPad.
And as I type, I notice there is a small mark on the laptop screen, now where is my dusting cloth?