So here’s a lighter look at life in these somewhat grim times. Seattle, where I live, always seemed kind of isolated. Tucked up there, left-hand corner of the Pacific North-west, Washington state is gorgeous.
Rich, green foliage, the Cascade mountains and deep sapphire blue waters.
But honestly how much natural beauty can one drown in? A girl can suffocate in this pristine, sterile clean air.
I’m a city girl, give me the madness of Karachi, New York or London any day. I miss the noise and endless array of familiar faces.
Imagine this, then: Corona arrives and life gets quieter, calmer and lonelier. Suddenly I realize what isolation actually feels like.
Plus, Hubby loves the thought of getting rid of clutter. Problem is, he thinks that everything is clutter
The reality of the situation began to weigh in slowly but surely. First, Hubby’s office closes shop (we must discuss him at length later, he’s terribly interesting).
He announces that he will be working from home now. A week later, my teenage son’s school closes. He will be studying (not really) from the house now.
I feel frozen in time. My daily routine has been struck in a big, bad way.
So normally after the boys (Hubby and son) went off in the mornings, I would curl up with some choice carbohydrates and chai and watch Pakistani dramas, the equivalent wonder of which has yet to be found. I would top this up by watching my favourite YouTube show Something Haute where these two sweet people, Aamna and Hasan, review the dramas which I’ve just watched. So first I watch the dramas, then I watch reviews of dramas.
Seattle streets as Coronavirus fears take hold
It’s all very riveting and much cheese-toast is had throughout, making my thighs even chunkier than they already are.
But things are different now. There are determined-looking men around. Husband trying to work and son trying not to study.
At first I decide that Hubby may be the perfect alternative to my favourite dramas.
I lean wistfully over him, my long hair trailing romantically over his lap-top screen and I attempt to talk about life. These talks about life are interspersed with questions such as whether he is still thrilled (no less) to have married me. It’s a kind of one-way dialogue.
Hubby just carries his laptop from room to room, looking stoic and stern alternately, only settling down when I’m no longer hovering. This annoys me, so I pursue son and attempt to home-school him.
A Bulbul among flowers
Both men in my life look hunted and a bit harassed. This makes me sad.
My thighs are benefiting, however, as I can’t really curl up with cheese-toast with Hardworking Hubby around.
After many monologues about life and love, we decide to clean the garage. Or rather Hubby decides that we need to clean. This could be an escape from my meaningful diatribes.
It makes sense though. After all, if we were going to be quarantined, we should accomplish some constructive tasks.
Plus, Hubby loves the thought of getting rid of clutter. Problem is, he thinks that everything is clutter. As we unpack an ominous number of boxes, Hubby gets baffled not just by cute little stuff in unexpected places but by anything whose utilitarian worth he cannot immediately understand.
Since we’ve moved a lot, we have many boxes.
Much of our beloved clutter has accompanied us to our new place. Most of this involves paper and candles.
The assorted variety of papers belong to all of us. The candles (all different sizes of meltedness) belong just to me. Hubby is convinced I have enough ammunition to burn down a town.
As we unpack, these candles crop up in interesting places: my lingerie case, my cutlery box and sometimes between a slightly chipped cup or two.
So unpacking goes something like this:
Hubby slashing open boxes with the verve of a... hmmmm...never mind that... He takes out a vase.
He peers at it, baffled, mystified and asks me if we want to keep it, all the while allowing the object to hover dangerously above the trash can.
Hubby looks at me with hope.
I let out a plaintive wail and have to explain the sentimental value of the chipped bowl.
Truth is that much of our chipped, torn merchandise represents memories from long ago, from continents and cultures tucked somewhere in my far memory.
Hubby understands, looks at me tenderly and puts the object back in a safe place.
The real victims of his steely gaze are the new, shinier things which have no fuzzy memories and little utility.
All decorative objects are held lovingly right above the trash can. Swinging like a pendulum while I protest.
Fortunately, Operation Garage comes to a halt. To be continued, on another “self-isolated” day.
As we emerge into the sunlight from our rather damp garage, I find myself thinking that Hubby really does not like ‘things’. Perhaps that’s why all visits to the mall (when one could actually go to the mall) were met with such steely resistance.
He says we don’t learn and keep tempting fate by taking him shopping. I think we are just hopeful.
Now dear reader, please understand that we only take Hubby to the mall when we absolutely have to.
And a few months ago, we really had to.
A new mattress had to be chosen for our bed and so, of course, his input was necessary.
An old grandma type sold us the mattress. It was fairly quick as we wanted to leave as soon as possible, before the demons came out of Hubby’s till-now sweet ‘bulbul’-like persona. Bulbuls (for non-Urdu speakers) are plump birds of song and mirth. Hubbikins is neither plump nor full of mirth but on a good day he seems ‘Bulbulesque’ to me. Crazy little thing called love.
Sweet grandma at Macy’s mattress department wondered why we didn’t want to hang out, amidst the plethora of cushiony mattresses at Macy’s Home and chat about her new grand-child. The West Coast operates on a fairly relaxed pace of life.
But we knew better. We did not want to ruffle Bulbul’s feathers or rock his (unnervingly) calm state of mind. So we did not engage chatty Grandma type for too long.
Amidst all this, Hubby did look hopefully at the mattresses and say “Kuch neend si aarahi hai”.
He has the ability to take cat naps at will and is often filled with a deep desire to sleep. Mattress purchased, we bundled Hubby out of the shop and off he went, to slumber sweetly at home.
A picture of peace and congeniality.
Away from the scourge of consumerism and objects for sale, Hubbikins is a mellow, cuddly little fellow.
But for now, thanks to the Coronavirus, there are no trips to the mall or anywhere else for that matter.
While it is a time of fear and uncertainty, the truth is that as we navigate this new path through life, it clears up a remarkable amount of clutter for us.
With restricted movement and limited engagements, there is an absence of both flutter and clutter.
I am beginning to see what Hubbikins has always known: some enforced distance from miscellaneous aspects will allow us to wallow in the beauty of the present, of the simple immediate around us. It is the radiance of the ‘silence incarnate’.
