I’m back. Back from the land of the Nawab’s to Peshwa land.
There’s a sheen of dust on everything in the house even though the maid has been in to clean once. The pigeons seem to have converted my balcony into a mass loo of some kind.
That’s just the new mess - the one I knew will be there waiting for me. That’s the one I’m prepared to handle.
What’s worse, my old mess also seems messier now that I see it after a month. The thing is, some bits of my home accumulate disorder slowly, over days and months, so slowly that I barely notice. I live with it all, in peaceful cohabitation, a kind of happy chaos.It makes the room cosy and ‘lived in’ or so I like to tell myself.
Clearly I’m not a cleaner. As long as my bit of workplace is neat and dust doesn’t come away when I put down my tea cup on the table I’m good.
If I’m away just for a week or so I won’t even notice anything. But when I’m away for a month, I see my house a bit like an outsider would, a rather judgemental outsider, I might add. And all the clutter comes leaping right at me.
There’s that side table that simply accumulates suff on its own, the rather worn out tissue box I’ve been meaning to change for ages, the medicines that need to be in the box not around it..… and so much more.
I’ve been cleaning, scrubbing, giving away stuff, arranging books, changing footmats, discarding faded towels - they fade away so silently I never even notice when I keep seeing them everyday.
All of this might have something to do with the fact that my mom’s and my MIL’s houses are always spotlessly clean and perfectly maintained. The two of them are bad influence.
I do need to get back to my comfortable messy self soon. This cleaning will be the end of me.