I was merrily chopping ladiesfingers into inch long pieces and then slicing them through the middle one second, and the next, I had this realisation. I have become my mom. There, I said it. I have become my mom. I know most girls get to this point sometime in middle age and all one needs to do is accept the inevitability of ones genetic make-up and move on. But seriously, people, I have become mom.
Its the small things:
-> The irritation when my milk boiling vessel is used to make rice
-> The tendency to call a random milk boiling vessel as 'my' milk boiling vessel
-> The zen-like peace that descends on me when I enter my Sunday morning cooking task
-> The over-zealous-ness in creating one after the other thing in the kitchen
-> Wiping the counter one billion times
-> Seeking out Rin Bar to wash the wash cloth with
-> Lining the fridge with table mats
(in summary, a kitchen/cooking craze and possessiveness about things involved therein; and an obsessive urge to wipe counters and wash wiping cloths)
I wake up many days with a start at 5:00 am and run pell mell into the kitchen and can, in that half asleep state, make coffee and boil milk and set a pressure cooker (in preparation for the cook, which makes no sense unless, of course you recognise that you are up against some real strong genes that make you do these things). I run out to run. I run back and go up and down the stairs one billion times waking people up, and so on. I am full of energy at 5:03 am. I argue that anything in the nature of work is exercise and therefore good for me. Obviously, I have become my mom.
What a depressing thought - I know! I just have to close my eyes and think of her yelling at me every single day of my growing up years for cutting up paper, to really be depressed that I am turning into her. I used to love cutting up paper (still do, come to think of it, and no, mom does not, she loves to read though, she can read cut paper). I had a big blue drum in which I stored my 'creations' - things such as a clock I had made using ice-cream sticks, innumerable doll houses and chairs made out of toothpaste cartons, and my most favourite thing - a small mirror using the aluminium thing from the top of the Nutramul tin. Anyway, I was totally depressed thinking that I have become her, you know, I used to always get in trouble with her. She wouldn't yell much (not as much as I do, for e.g.) but seriously, dad was the good cop and mom was the bad cop always. And I don't want to be the bad cop, I suck at bad cop, I lose my temper and gain it back and am a total mess.
But then I entered the bedroom. Currently this is what is happening in here:
1. Bunk bed - unused as far as the bed is concerned (I get nightmares amma); shelves and study desk FILLED to the brim with a globe, several stuffed toys, bits and pieces of a kitchen set in plastic, and books in piles. I read Murakami lying up in the bunk bed on Sunday, its nice.
2. Chest of drawers - filled with undies and such. On top: two small wooden cases with cufflinks and generic jewelery(junk) belonging to husband; water bottles, coffee cup; mobile charger
3. Big wooden chest - saris. On top: Unidentified garbage coloured orange and green and books.
4. Study desk - oh forget it.
Every surface in this place is filled with stuff. I don't even know what everything is. The husband will waltz in on Saturday and accuse me of giving birth to this stuff. I personally think they belong to him. And also that they are spontaneously fissioning and making more of themselves. Its out of control! Ack! Something just got me! Gurg! Ack! Save me!
(at least this means I have not become mom. She would not hear of such a life. In her house, the top surfaces are so awesome, I feel like putting my cheek on them just to feel how nice it is. Though she would scold me for getting moisturiser on her wooden surfaces...)
