Strangely Selective Safai

"Maybe it's the time of year - or maybe it's the time of Man?"

Well - safai men for sure!

This is one of those archetypal posts for Diwali. Written in 2016, it could have been for just about  any recent year in this chaotic life of mine. Let's just hope that in 2020 we get to create a new archetype and provide readers with a new and far more reassuring and delightful form of entertainment. I have fought the good fight for way too long - it's time for a well-earned win!

I wonder at these discrete acts of “safai”(cleaning) that open up some zones of the house while others remain in darkness. What is it about dust and dirt that they level down so perfectly but invariably refuse to depart as one? Are they the ultimate demon or do they come to impart a profound lesson. Writing hasn’t been working as well as I wanted these past two days. My head is in a whirl as this is the fifth or sixth rapid-stream I managed to trap and lock away on the page for posterity. Even your next moment is posterity. And it is already the remote past before you can even look it in the face. But sometimes you never confront that posterity as you stay indefinitely in your freeze.

The senses are bombarded as the eye picks up the little things that need to be shifted around and put in their places. The things that need to be doled out to these boys/men for cleaning so we don’t miss out on anything. The pockets of dust Param missed because he worked in the dark and had very little time to do that stupendous task that had been waiting for him all of four months.

Today I have a kitschy table all of six feet by four and loaded to the very edges, like an Old Curiosity Shop in its own right. Come to think of it this might make a hit as installation art! There are some attractive objects on it, some intriguing ones, some nondescript and quite inappropriate on any kind of table. Some are in clusters of like colliding with like, while there are zones with more disparate contenders sparring for space. There are little pockets of dust that snuck away from the sweep of Param’s fingers. There are tell tale signs in grooves. But all’s good. And there is room and opportunity on/in this fascinating 6x4 mall for a fair amount of Diwali prep.

This storage-cum-kitchen-cum-dining-cum-study-cum-dumping table has metamorphosed over the years. It has played more roles than any table could have dreamt of. I’m sure no kid can ever come up with the autobiography of an old table for a school essay of the sort that this one seems eager to pour out every time it awakens from somnolence with a clean-up. It suddenly comes to life and I start to hear stories from the past and the future.
I have pictures of it draped in fancy cloth and set with exciting dishes and crystal goblets awaiting my mom’s 70th birthday dinner. It is whispering to me to get going so I can celebrate and organize a 60th birthday repast for myself. It tells me I don’t have a lot of time. It asks me whether I can dig out the heritage linen that has borne the brunt of many delightful feasts. It asks whether there will finally be room to set the rosewood chairs around it, with new seats fixed all over again out of some material that King Rat doesn’t feel like pouncing on and goring with his fangs.

It is dreadful to have a hand that says “don’t clean up after yourself, I am waiting for my moment of revenge”. Indeed my hand is in a continuous state of revenge. You realize how often you need to wash your hand or get it wet or dirty it up when you are the sole arbiter of your fortunes. Once in a while I sneak in my own revenge using my ingenuity and the weapons gifted by my Devas - Sailesh, Paramesh and the two Ravis. And numerous other friends and help mates who rejoice in my glory, though they may be struggling to balance their own lives.
Indeed there are times when I feel the whole world is rooting for my book, for the perceived and projected glory of my home where past meets future in a cocktail that nourishes as it excites. The battle of the table and its rescue from demons that have captured it, continues. This Kali Puja the battle will be enacted in part all over again, in the ever-recurring hope that by the next one, the battle would have been won.

Somehow, from some hidden recesses, the heritage home is emerging in slow but sure rebirth! Enjoy the pictures. I leave you to figure out just what kind of art installation/exhibit/shop/fairground/warehouse this may be. It looks a cross between Northern Park pre Puja and Northern Park post-Puja and a pantry being emptied out before the pest control arrives. Just what phase of evolution/devolution this may be is only just revealing itself. Enough to say it is an archetype, a dynamic mandala for much that has happened and much that will happen yet.

PS1 The hand that finds periodic mention, has been assailed by all manner of allergic rashes

PS2 Karan Vohra has said "The picture is so nice". Y'all had better appreciate it!