Washing cloths is something I hate but can not live without. When I do that in the most conventional and primitive way the elements of my body anatomy warns me of rebellion. I do not have a washing machine and neither I am happy with what washing machine produces.
As a person who perspires a lot I let my cloths do a good job of absorbing the same. Besides I have nice smelling pheromones that make me not really feel uncomfortable about my cloths stinking.
Gone are those days when mom used to wash my cloths. I am amazed at the patience an average Indian woman has towards washing cloths and dishes. A mare thought alone of involving these two makes me cringe in fear. I am not talking about those women who live in the cities aided by technology assisted devices to take care of these chores are those who are rich enough to hire maids. It’s the small town women folk… especially house wives whose self abnegation devote their time and life for their family. They just now house a loving heart but have strong hands and mountainous patience.
Now I started washing my own cloths long back. The greatest paradox that kills me on either side is I love to wear heavy cotton cloths like denims. They feel so nice and comfortable and last my abuse in heat, sweat and dust. But the day I need to dunk them in a bucket of water makes me witness my own impending suicide looking squarely back at me.
And some times I placate myself extolling the benefits and virtues of muscular exertion that comes my way like a blessing especially when I am too lazy to work them out. Believe me… it’s the best exercise for my shoulders as they stretch and bulge in handling heavy garments that become further heavy by being wet. And my back bone supporting the jib crane like posture of mine and some times my derriere loses it cushioning properties and I scream ouch if the session goes too long.
The first stage is sitting in the torture chamber namely bathroom… that’s where I wash my cloths. Now days I became a little shrewd in washing cloths when they are in minority and allowing not them to become mountains. The soaping scrubbing wringing takes all of my accumulated energy. Then comes second stage where I try standing on my own back from sitting on my own ass. And to watch the confluence of my own sweat with dirty water draining down is an ambivalent emotion. I stand proud… Ouch… with my back screaming at me for the perennial abuse and I dip the cloths and rinse till the good old sticky soap leaves the sides. Bucket after bucket I rinse cloths till I find water clear enough to make me feel satiated in my lone venture.
As I load buckets with fresh water… rinse cloths in them and get the water dirty and dump the water in drain and again and again… then dump dirty water. I can not describe in words the pleasure to see each of my tormentors… Err… I mean…each of my garments comes out of bucket pristine clean and gape at me in embarrassed glee.
Enough… Now what???
Now what about cloths dripping??? I have a brilliant idea. I hang them in bathroom only. Drip drip drip… Tip tip tip... All night they lose their wetness and in the morning they are ready to get ironed.
By the way.. I always stock my cloths neatly preserved in some case. I hate loads of cloths hanging from hooks in my room.
Gosh… That’s what I do about my cloths and its hygiene…
What about you guys???
As a person who perspires a lot I let my cloths do a good job of absorbing the same. Besides I have nice smelling pheromones that make me not really feel uncomfortable about my cloths stinking.
Gone are those days when mom used to wash my cloths. I am amazed at the patience an average Indian woman has towards washing cloths and dishes. A mare thought alone of involving these two makes me cringe in fear. I am not talking about those women who live in the cities aided by technology assisted devices to take care of these chores are those who are rich enough to hire maids. It’s the small town women folk… especially house wives whose self abnegation devote their time and life for their family. They just now house a loving heart but have strong hands and mountainous patience.
Now I started washing my own cloths long back. The greatest paradox that kills me on either side is I love to wear heavy cotton cloths like denims. They feel so nice and comfortable and last my abuse in heat, sweat and dust. But the day I need to dunk them in a bucket of water makes me witness my own impending suicide looking squarely back at me.
And some times I placate myself extolling the benefits and virtues of muscular exertion that comes my way like a blessing especially when I am too lazy to work them out. Believe me… it’s the best exercise for my shoulders as they stretch and bulge in handling heavy garments that become further heavy by being wet. And my back bone supporting the jib crane like posture of mine and some times my derriere loses it cushioning properties and I scream ouch if the session goes too long.
The first stage is sitting in the torture chamber namely bathroom… that’s where I wash my cloths. Now days I became a little shrewd in washing cloths when they are in minority and allowing not them to become mountains. The soaping scrubbing wringing takes all of my accumulated energy. Then comes second stage where I try standing on my own back from sitting on my own ass. And to watch the confluence of my own sweat with dirty water draining down is an ambivalent emotion. I stand proud… Ouch… with my back screaming at me for the perennial abuse and I dip the cloths and rinse till the good old sticky soap leaves the sides. Bucket after bucket I rinse cloths till I find water clear enough to make me feel satiated in my lone venture.
As I load buckets with fresh water… rinse cloths in them and get the water dirty and dump the water in drain and again and again… then dump dirty water. I can not describe in words the pleasure to see each of my tormentors… Err… I mean…each of my garments comes out of bucket pristine clean and gape at me in embarrassed glee.
Enough… Now what???
Now what about cloths dripping??? I have a brilliant idea. I hang them in bathroom only. Drip drip drip… Tip tip tip... All night they lose their wetness and in the morning they are ready to get ironed.
By the way.. I always stock my cloths neatly preserved in some case. I hate loads of cloths hanging from hooks in my room.
Gosh… That’s what I do about my cloths and its hygiene…
What about you guys???
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