Harpic Blues: When I Moved Houses.

Of course you have moved before. Houses. Cities. Flats.

Moved in. Moved Out.

A couple thing. A flatmate thing. A college hostel thing.

I moved too. I was glad.

Not because the old place was any worse, or the new place is more exciting. But because for the first time, in 18 months of corporate life, where “who I actually am” is as distant a memory as Greenland, and what I do… is as plain as bread-butter-and-water, and WHAT I am is…. Well…. I don’t knot.

But this move is where I was me all of a sudden.

I felt the same trepidation, when I moved out of Calcutta to college some eight years back. Glad to leave. Scared. Confident. Blessed. Well wished.

So there I was, a single woman, moving houses. Starkly single. And so evidently a stupid woman.

A scene where I had to stop being a woman-living-alone-in-delhi…. And I went after work (post 8 pm) to a dark ungodly shady worse than a bustee truck stand to look for a lorry. The thecka close by was in full swing. And the men reeked so much, they didn’t bother to stand.

When I hunted cartons at 10 pm. To deal with labour wala- newspaperwala-mistrywala-bisleriwala-liftman-cleanerwoman-cookerwoman-‘lectricwala-pipewala-brokerbhaiya-blahwala-whateverwala-thisawala-thatawala-thelawala-rationwala-subzeewala-“gaddi-saaf-karne-ji?”wala…..

When I watched the girls buying salt, cooking oil, atta andallthat …. I knew not what lasts for three weeks and what lasts for months. So on my debut salt-atta-cookingoil trip…. I kept mum, and was the dumb-blonde-man who just lugged the stuff up to the flat. ( of course, paid too…. As I was doing finances)

I was man enough for all of this. To deal with men who I used to be scared of. To talk in a language I would cringe at. To be blunt. Cheap. Shallow. Unrefined. To save wisely. To negotiate . To choose.

There was also a time when I was hopelessly woman.

Where I spent two hours looking for a plumber , when my kid cousin told me that I actually needed a carpenter. NOT a plumber.

Where I asked Bee…..”What is that thing, which you put into the cistern, and when you flush the toilet, blue water comes out???” ( Harpic Blue)

When I went to buy a curtain, with a correct estimate of colour and all, but inspite of being told repeatedly (and glared at) I bought one, and not two…. Because though I have a phenomenal sense of direction, I have no sense of dimension. Do I need a chair at my Desk? How do I arrange my lamps?

And then I oscillated to be man enough to figure out how to fix wiring for the lamps, I was also man enough to figure out how to fix a plug point for my Laptop, and hook the third plug point to the invertor.

I was childish too. I converted my wardrobe/ closet / what you call it to a bookshelf. So now I ACTUALLY ( really!!) have a mirror paneled wardrobe with books, and a fancy wrought iron rejected laundry chest full of clean clothes.

My shoe rack is now a lampstand, and my Bean bag is refilled.

I had no male friend to be around just in case.

But yes, I indulged in a conversation with the cook. How she cycles to work. Her previous and other work experiences. I didn’t ask her about her husband and kids. I didn’t ask her if I could borrow her cycle some time. She was being Professional. In a sweet, friendly way. She made me a cup of tea, when I didn’t realize I needed one. She comes in to work. Like I go to work.

I learnt, that even though they are maid servants, I can do more than be a friend to them. I can respect their privacy . And allow them to have their Sunday off. Because it is a Sunday . and if I don’t work,they have a right to put their foot down too.

I learnt that my flatmates are young people who are what they are because of the things they have to do . Not because they are from Tamil Nadu or Timbaktu. Not because of their educational background. Not because of what music they like.

For one brief minute I stopped. As I looked at us, three females being man enough…I wondered what they were thinking, and how they felt. Did they miss a dad or a brother to do the mans work. But we had work to do.

I am glad I moved because I did EVERYTHING that I was scared of. I was looted at certain points. I was smart. I was prudent.

I this was a decision that has NOTHING to do with adult supervision and all. Yes, all my life… there was SOME ONE to talk things about. To think of. To consider. This time, it was a decision I took in 36 hours . I could have done with a discussion with the Mother or the Aunt, but instead…. I threw caution to the wind. AND that is why I was scared. Unsure. Not blessed. Not well wished.

I had no approval, I had no second thought, no “let’s talk about it”…. No one to consider, no one else to include in my scene, and no one to give me a “look” at the appropriate times

This was my move. Where I tested my patience. Where I tested my gift of gab, and didn’t just nod my head . Where I went back to being streetsmart, sans the hesitancy that a cityrefined slickness that a 25 year old has. Where is my finances were like a house of cards, you can build it up, poof it down, and still have a set of 52. Not more. Where I was possibly selfish in little matters, but it really didn’t prick.

I did the same old mad things. Afternoon heat. I spoke bangla to rickshawala, labourwala, Haryanvi with the daal-atta-masala wala, gujju with my flatmate, a Bhojpuri “yesyesyes” with a maid. I drove a car. I Lifted heavy things. I made knots. I used duct tape. I flexed a muscle, and strained my spine.

I did call the mother to throw a tantrum, because I couldn’t allow anyone else to see me do that.

And the last thing, when I washed the smudged kajal off, and cleaned the dirt stuck to my nails….. I stared at a young woman, who is not grown up yet, but would be able to do a good job of it when she has to.