My decision to discontinue my 8-hours daily job, after my second child seemed to show up big differences in me. 2 years on and no signs of getting out of the house and rush to the office. What a relief. But wait. Something was terribly wrong, somewhere. I was turning into a big bully at home.
In the pretext of housekeeping leisurely I was turning obsessive. Tiding up the entire house meant a must do ritual to wash my cursed sin of having some disorder. I did not mind doing the bed a hundred times a day. Disorder eh? Apparently I was going through an higher version disorder of OCD. Obsessive Cleaning Disorder.
In my school days I always believed in cleanliness. It sprints in genes for me who is born in family of priests. Cleanliness was holy. I could dust away the study table each time I passed by. Watering the garden meant washing every leaf of my granny's greens. I could not tolerate a speck of dust on a leaf. One fly on a chair, and I would bull doze the person sitting on it. House flies should be banned from entering my house. Else vampire inside me would spring out pestering me to turn into a treacherous murderer. Often I would turn into spider man evacuating the cobwebs on the walls, jumping over high windows fighting with every dust particle settled on it.
Clearing up cupboards, shelves and nook and corner stuff was my favourite task. Stacking up stuff to be thrown away, waiting for no body to watch me and then quietly tip toe out to do away with the dump. This was an art. And then turn my mute on and turn deaf when other members found stuff missing from their cupboards.
From then messy places and dust filed in as my sworn enemies. I could not stand their presence with mine. But it never happened that I was cursed having a disorder. I was often applauded and cheered by older members of family. What a girl my mom had raised. Cleanliness is holiness.
Much before the honorable Prime Minister of India declared Swach Bharath abhiyan, I myself practiced it. Surroundings of my house would be cleaned by me promptly. We then dint have trash bins on every road, yet I would showcase my leadership capabilities and do away with trash in local bins.
I continued racking up my plaudits even when I got married. My in laws were at once impressed with my love for mops and brooms. One speck of dust and I would sprint to reach it, pause with screeching halt and whack it venting out all my vengeance. Doing up my house was my mission 24 X 7. Even an egg shell would not be wasted but used to decorate my money plant. Each morning my plants would have holy bath, shine clean and bright to dance like Raveena Tandon of Tip Tip Barsa Pani! Why, I had always decorated my office space with plants.
Sigh! The windows, the walls, the furniture they all feared my whacks.
There was a method to my madness.
Steadily, the realization came upon me. Yet, I continued on my mission with all my enthusiasm. I had all the support required.
The year we moved to this giant sand pit called Qatar, life dint ease much for me. Similar bull dozing and cleaning continued. The occasional sand storm added to my pitiable state. Dust storm meant war for me. I would zoom around my house with mop excavating heaps of dust bullying every family member to stay grounded on the couch till I concluded in accomplishment, my surgical strike on my enemy.
Life is going on so. Normalcy is not too different as every day I am seen in different avatar. Some times behind curtains, under the cot, over the windows, picking up ants in the backyard or so. And the kitchen fears my scrubbing and spraying. The refrigerator is hot with anger. I ridicule it's shine each morning by over doing my scrubbing. Each time the door of dish washer or washing machine opens, I see demon's mouth wide open yelling at me "lady we know our job well'. My neighbour however is overjoyed by my zealous cleaning. Ask why? Not convinced by just watering my door step, I clean theirs too. Poor water bills are now embarrassed at my obsession.
But my family has accepted my disorder as it is. What a pity.
Unfortunately, it cant go on like this. I had to come out of it. Immediately I sprang to the fridge, picked up my cola and logged into blogger abandoning all my chores. What a relief. I almost want to take a oath not the whack my furniture again or hate the dust for no fault of it.
May be I should leave the house alone and get out to office. Whenever my husband lovingly says, Sushma start visiting office often and assigns me some work, my criminal mind calculates what he may think...."God knows what cleanliness awaits today and one day my wife will excavate all my life's secrets off my ward robe, fabricate a nice tale into what stuff we wanted and what we dint. And throw my treasures right in trash".
Ouch. Apparently he has declared me an PhD in OCD.