The chair

Aachi's Spot

When I first walked into this house at 16, I had nothing to call my own. Everything in this house belonged either to my betrothed (now husband)'s parents or him. The copper bottom vessels with inscriptions of my nuptial dates were my father's dowry to my in-laws. I had no books, nor toys or keepsakes. His almiraah barely had space for the wooden trunk I'd lugged from the 'teshan', which was filled with two silk sarees packed neatly between a layer of the worn out, dozen cotton sarees, some bangles, and earrings - all heirlooms (or hand me downs) of my Amma. The only "thing" (if you could call it that) which was mine was my morning routine -  waking up at the crack of dawn, pulling out one of the softened loose cotton sarees and replacing that space with one that had just been washed, dried, ironed and folded, prepping breakfast and chai for my parents in law before they woke up, readying the pooja samagri for morning aarti, and when my accha (FIL) was up, oil massaging his legs as he sat in his spot, the sturdy wooden rocking chair, by the living room window, having his tea and reading me parts of the newspaper, between sips. The morning sun spilled into the living room, and lightly onto me from behind his silhouette, as the smell of warm mustard oil filled my lungs.

Years passed, our lives changed, but my morning sessions with accha stayed the same. That is until he passed away peacefully at the age of 87. The morning after we lay him to his final resting place, I found myself mindlessly performing my morning routine like muscle memory and found myself at the heels of the chair, with my little bowl of mustard oil and no leg to massage...! 

Now at 70, I look around and wonder how much has changed. The hall is now adorned with pictures of my children and their families, their awards and accolades. Our home is now filled with gadgets working on 'all talking to each other through that intrrnet thing.

"Acchi's in her spot", yells Neha (my 12 yr old granddaughter) outloud to her mom as she brings me my cup, setting it in front of the chair on the windowsill and readies my oil for my morning massage.

Hours before the Open House

I'm running tremendously behind schedule today and it feels like every idiot who has never worked in renovations and interior decoration has tapko-fied directly into my lap. It's me, hi I'm the proverbial khajoor. 

"Rakesh bhai, showing 3 baje hai and abhi tak  hall ka painting khatam nahi hua!", I sigh, walking past the living room and entering the bedroom, with my phone screen on the checklist app. The electrician hastily fixes the ceiling fan and drops a dust bunny onto the newly laid out beddings on our staged four-poster bed. "Maqsood bhai, thoda dhyan se, yeh bhade ka hai" I shake my head as I walk out, checking some items off the bedroom and attached bathroom's lists, and adding four more items to each. 

"Kab khatam ho ga ye kaam yaar!", I groan, pointing at a new wet spot on the ceiling of the balconette with my bald and slightly bleeding index finger.

As I emerge into the living room, Shera and his badhai tolli are gathered around the grandfather chair, wondering how to carry it out into storage. "Yeh yahi rahega", I bark, "antique hai".  As they step away to finish other errands, I sit down on the chair for a second, to catch my breath. These old havelis are to my clientele like lights to a moth. They're all about the "heritage feels", "correct lighting for their instagram reels", "vaastu", and what not, and I'm not about to let Shera take my honey trap away. 

As I absently adjust my hips, the chair creaks, jerking me back to the checklist. It's 2 hrs until showtime!

My hideout

They always do this. They think I will just oblige and do whatever they demand of me. Even bruno gets to choose where he sleeps and he's a dog!

"No playing outside until you eat all of your broccoli"

"No cartoons until dinner" 

"Be more like didi" 

"Be home by 6pm" 

"Be in bed by 8pm!" 

And on and on they go, nagging me. I don't have any say in what I eat, who I meet, when I sleep, how I dress up...down to the flipping haircut. I look like a mushroom from super Mario bros! And now they're insisting I come say hi to chachi's family, looking like this gobhi?! No way in hel...i mean heck! 

Let them look! I'm going to stay put in my secret spot. You see I've found the perfect place to hide. I got them; made them think I left the house angrily. So they're all out in the society looking for me. Hehehe! This spot too, is so well concealed. You can't see anything hidden or stashed behind this chair, the way it's positioned beside the windowsill and sofa. That's why I always hide my vegetables, especially bhindi, here during dinner. I can make a beeline to the kitchen to trash it once everyone is done with dinner and washing the dishes. 

Mumma is back and is pacing around the room calling the security guard! Good, next time she'll think twice before making me look like a bush! Thank god, I stashed my coloring book here, I'll scribble until the coast is clear!