Two afternoons back I closed, as in, bolted and locked the gate, on the gaggle of repair and renovation workers. Yes, the electrician, his assistant, the carpenter with his own staff of two or three, the painter, who thankfully was a lone-ranger, but his solo performance meant days stretched into weeks, and he was still pretty much around with brush in hand—had taken over the house. They had invaded the place nearly replicating the termites that had wormed their way into the closets, nestling comfortably midst socks and scarves, grazing over three, if not four, door-frames, generously nibbling away at the borders. (If one could catch the look of even a single termite, it would, to my eyes, be of a cat that got all the double cream!) Speaking of these belligerent occupiers, the only way to rid them was, to bring in the pest-terminators, armed with their drills and sprays. Yes, they too, stayed on for longer than promised. Hopefully, with a fingers’ crossed face, you’d think that their prolonged busy-body presence would ensure the elimination of the vermin—a la Pied Piper. Shall return to this crew shortly, but first, to talk about why these troops were engaged. The room which houses me has not only a bed, two sink-into sofa chairs separated by a coffee table, a T.V., a study table bearing the burden of a computer, printer, books, stray papers, pencils, a flask and some mismatched stuff; a corner is reserved for “contemplation’’ with the cutest little Ganpati, gladly sharing space with a red rock, brought ages ago, from the mountains, besides some gray seashells. In other words, this place, more of a multipurpose room, than a bedroom…Over the past year, however, the paint had started peeling, walls had become moist, they whimpering for help, lest a flood did them in, the floor-sweeping curtains now appeared to have a hang-dog look, and its turquoise green colour came across as too noisy. Yes, waterproofing and a couple of licks of paint, the cry of the hour, but me let hours spill into days, and days pour into weeks and months, almost making it to an entire year, before I did anything about it. Now, don’t ask me why, especially after I must tell you that the room’s appearance had quite literally started terrorizing me! Yup, so mornings would lug me to the dining table where I’d carry my papers, and phone, for “doubling up’’ as a computer (the laptop, had out-of-the-blue, decided to hang up its boots!) and settle down there till it was time to lay breakfast. In the evenings, I’d head to my mother’s room to companionably watch the news though my fingers would itch to take control of the remote to get on to some Netflix series…heading to my own premises post-dinner to sit comfortably in the dark with lights off to tune into something of my own liking, on my own set. (Yes, darkness hid those in-bad-shape walls!) And then it happened! My faithful, ever-there T.V. went kaput, not prior to, silently fizzling out, picture fading away before quite literally dying on me. One could say that this goggle-box (wouldn’t dare to call it idiot-box!) spurred me into action. Yes, the room needed a complete makeover, this could not be deferred any longer…And it could be done within a week, went my easy, five-finger exercise calculation! Two Painters from the much-touted Urban Company marched in. And so, commenced the operation: measurement of the room, the pints of paint involved, water-proofing magic that goes by the brilliantly thought up name, “Dam Control”. Shade cards for one to pick out different colours, to make it suitably dressed, and finally, the amount you’d have to cough up for this shimmering transformation, quite equivalent to a king’s ransom. The Company Painters, after having you transfer half the amount, go off on a Roman holiday, with their phones switched off, of course! When you have to break the bank in the process, you decide to go in for a 55-inch T.V. and yes, a wooden panel with shelves and drawers, a must. Yes, you are brimming with excitement, wistfully wishing you hadn’t missed your calling, and become an interior designer, while going through swatches of drape fabric! And that is the beginning of bidding b`bye to your life—the entry of these craftsmen. The chief carpenter informs you that he’s actually a Timber Merchant, but he fancies woodwork, and so that’s why he’s at your service. Fine. Soon enough, post-termite operation, the painter is scraping the walls, readying them to be plastered with buckets of water-proofing emulsion. Yes, in five quick days, he’d be handing over a brand new room, this while slurping the milk-tea, you make 5 times a day for the flock, they leaving, the drained-to-the-bottom, glasses all around for them to break, unless, yours truly, picks them up. Forgot to mention, that bananas and biscuits too accompany the chai and Limca. Yes, a satiated belly hastens the pace of work, but in all honesty, you do so since the belief is that while under your roof, one is sort of responsible for them, as kind of guests…The “Timber Merchant’’ cannot find the right shade of wood despite scouring the entire market, his team can’t report to work since they are all down with a collective ailment, while at the same moment he blurts, “how about getting a bookshelf curated?!’’ This while shoving an American catalogue of the latest wood-art in your face! And then what do you do when sighting he and his team sawing their boards and plies over your floor, screws and blades, pliers and hammers denting it irreparably…Ah, that’ll be taken care of by the mason, the brushed-off response to your, wall-to-wall wobble-in-the-voice, panic! (Now, however did a mason make an entry!) Carry on, you are instructed—go, buy the flat-screen, so it shall be drilled into the wall. Remember, the T.V. cabinet has to yet see the light of day! Stripped of curtains, waiting for tailored ones, you sleep, for a near month, with glaring light flooding in at the wee hours of dawn…An electrician brought in for renewed wiring, without you knowing, rips open the adjoining walls. “Old wiring needs retirement’’, the perky announcement. In between, when the painter, with not a terse bone in his body, colours one wall pinkish peach and the other tomato red, what are you supposed to do?! Where went mild mint-green and picket-fence white?! The donno expression thrown back, wants you to go, not on anti-depressants but anti-rage medication.
Yes, 48 hours later, the dust hasn’t settled since you fret the onset of a migraine. And yes, whoever said, “Fools build houses, and wisemen live in them!’’ couldn’t be more prophetic!
(Dr Renée Ranchan writes on socio-psychological issues, quasi-political matters and concerns that touch us all.)