Miscellanea/Sylvia Khan
The Huns have been let loose on the unsuspecting hills of Mahabaleshwar
I am on vacation this weekend. I'm not going anywhere, not packing
up or locking up anything. I'm just home by myself. The horde
of Huns has been let loose on the unsuspecting hills of Mahabaleshwar,
and will stay there for the weekend, attended by their father.
So this is my time for a little indulgence.
There are homes where there is a pervading sense of peace and
tranquillity. Not much noise is heard and things are in their
place. Where, if you want a glass of water, you don't have to
look under the sofa for a glass. Our home is not one of these.
Someone once described our home as a cross between Churchgate
station at rush hour, and a live rock show.
That's not so far off the truth as I would like it to be. The
unsuspecting visitor is hurled to the wall by Gun's 'n' Roses shrieking
at him. By the time he realises that he's not the test victim
of some sophisticated new weapon of mass destruction, he wishes
he'd had the forethought to call his lawyer, since he has obviously
entered holocaust territory.
One of these raging screaming productions
is always on display in the common areas of our happy home. This,
despite constant entreaties to the brute brigade to commune with
their adored siblings in their own space. And all this is just
a few words on the noise.
Consider this. Nine people. (Yes nine --it's not a typo). Each one
contributes two or three pieces to the general clutter. What do
you get? Not a problem in an elementary math class, but a humungous,
bottom-incised-when-least-expected kind of mess. Nail files, half-eaten
sweets decaying quietly under cushions, books, (yes, there is
a downside to reading), screwdrivers and pliers forgotten, but
poised to puncture the unprepared.
It's all there. All over the house.
My children tell me with unshakable logic (and bodies) that if
it bothers me so much, I could just put it away myself. I do.
Sometimes. But try this every day, for nine people, some of whom
should be counted twice, not only on account of their schizoid
behaviour, but for the amount of junk they generate. It's not possible.
My dominant fantasies now revolve about lazing in bed, reading,
or watching a movie which doesn't involve oceans of red paint,
dismembered corpses, naked women or the next millennium. I dream
about listening to music that I love, and tunes not drowned out
by an eternal cacophony. But most of all I want to listen to the
silence between euphonic sounds. It burns me up that these are
things that most people take for granted in their own homes.
Oh, I do have those other urban fantasies too. The ones where one
can open one's window onto greenery - trees rather than mouldy
walls, or someone's loo. Someone you wouldn't want to hold a conversation
with in the lift, forget being a part of their morning ablutions.
Include some birdsong, a couple of flitting butterflies and the
stream gurgling gently in the background, and that rounds off
the picture.
But the immediate need was for some lazing, peace and quiet. Away
from the loving arms of my family. I decided to put the trees
and brook on hold, and go for the possible rather than the ideal.
"Darling you need a break," I said to my husband with
concern for myself mainly. Of course, he responded correctly. No
one ever says, "No I don't. I just slack off at the office.
I don't need a break." "Yes, I do," he groaned.
"Things have been so bad at the office, I'm really stressed
out."
"I have an excellent idea," I murmured in
my superb Marilyn Monroe imitation, "What do you think of
cool green mountains, swimming pool shimmering nearby, trees everywhere?"
"Where do I sign?" my Lord and Master said, laughing
in happy anticipation.
"Leave it to me," I replied. That's me - helpful, kind,
considerate.
I checked with the kids. No, they had no plans. Yes, they'd love
to go to Mahabaleshwar. Was I kidding?
I was not. I meant steely eyed business.
A few phone calls later, the hotel was alerted to my family's
imminent descent on them.
My whole world was quivering with anticipation.
Friday afternoon, at four pm., the car was fortified with petrol
and my children. My husband leapt lithely into the driver's seat
and bellowed for me. Would I kindly hurry up, I was making everyone
late, as usual. I leapt blithely into view, brandishing a red
bandana and a twelve inch grin. "I'm not going!" I warbled
tunefully, already the uncaged lark, "You guys go ahead and
have a great time!"
"Hey hey, who's going to organise our food?"
"Who's going to pick up after us?"
"Who's going to put together or swim gear and floats?"
"Who's going to pack for us?"
I was touched by their desire to spend quality time with me. I
gave them my best encouraging smile. "You are my poppers,
or if you find it too hard, you can ask one of the maids at the
hotel. She'll help you!" That made sense to them, they were
off.
They were off, and would be back in a couple of days, and I would
be glad to see them. But meanwhile, here I am. Hun-free. Noise-free
schedule-free and care-free. I'm on vacation.
Illustration: Dominic Xavier
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