Kamal Ghorui
“It’s time for change!” Kamala announced decisively. I looked up with alarm from the couch, where I was browsing the morning newspaper. I wondered if she was talking about recumbent husbands or incumbent politicians. She was blissfully uncaring of both, and was referring to the curtains that looked slightly worse for wear. “And while we are at it, let’s make some other changes to the interiors. We could look for new sofas, get a new modular kitchen, modernise the bathrooms, with some bright tiles and fresh sanitaryware.”
I am all for change, provided I’m not paying for it. In an attempt to block her move for radical change, I tried countering with the cliché that the more things change, the more they remain the same. But she was very determined that change is the only constant. And quickly clarified that she was referring to home interiors, not politics or the recent elections.
I tried deflecting to gentler remedies. Maybe if we ran the curtains through the washing machine, things would look brighter, and give a fresh perspective on the domestic scene. Home Minister was not impressed. “The entire fabric is in tatters – it needs more than a washing machine to clean up a curtain that has outlived its utility.” As my children got ready to quietly leave the room, I tried taking an exit poll to pump up my numbers. But they refused to offer support, even from the outside. They were still recovering from Mother’s Day on social media, and walked out humming, Tujhe sab hai pata meri maa!
Mother knows everything.
I decided it was time to bring the curtains down on this discussion. Change was inevitable and I needed to accept facts. It was curtains for our existing drapes, and a fresh new approach to the décor had been elected unanimously. There was no point in postponing change, and I decided to be the change I wished to see.
Meanwhile, Blinkit Bhaiyya was at the doorstep with the day’s groceries. He had gone home to vote and was back at his job within a week. I thought for a moment about the change in his quality of life – after the dance of democracy. He smiled gratefully, as I paid for my parcel and told him to keep the change.
END OF ARTICLE
