It almost didn't happen. Priya and Small were fighting like cats and, well, cats. Even yesterday, as the moving van rumbled into my house at some 10 am and I blearily put things together, it almost didn't happen. Even after they carted a Godrej, a fridge, a dressing table, a flat screen tv and another fridge up four floors, that's eight flights of stairs, it almost didn't happen.
So I held my breath and my counsel till we signed the agreement and handed over a shitload of money to the landlady. And even then, we were slightly grumpy. We were so used to our homes, where dust would magically vanish, where people cared enough about you to nag you about dinner, where the hot water tap didn't sputter and hiss at you, where things were already in their places. So we each retired to our own rooms, doing therapeutical things. I made my futon into a chair, slipped the cushion over it and plugged in an earthen lamp on the floor. Priya set up her computer and put a teddy bear on her mattress pile. Small arranged and rearranged her beds till she had the perfect angle to watch television. And then Small and I went out like the good hunters and gatherers we are to bring food to our household.
People should really make ready-made houses. With like, cooking utensils. And a mop and a broom. And even the Scotch Brite and Vim by the sink. Small and I went a little insane with our shopping--buying two identical toilet brushes, and Zero-B for the sink and a broom and a dustpan and a soap tray and cheese spread. God. Then we went to her mum's house and picked up four bottles of water. (We're now down to half a bottle. Mental note: buy water.)
Anyhoo, so there was wine involved and by the time we got back, Priya and her boyfriend had hired a maid (called Lata, who's apparently very nice and has agreed to cook, clean and wash clothes for a bargain price). Only there's nothing for Lata to do just yet. Only sweep, which I hope she's done today (Mental note #2 :Check if maid has swept). And I had company--thank you for being first guest, Monica--who watched, amused, as I swept my room, very badly and collected dust against the walls and made my bed. (and this is the point Blogger has allowed me to recover till, despite the fact that I have now written this post four thousand million times). So, yeah. Making my bed always helps me feel settled. At home. The familiar bedspread, the brand-new lavender sheets, the pillow that has your cheek indentations so you can find your happy spot as soon as you turn in. I love my bed. I love the way it looks all homey.
And so, we have moved in. Other stuff remains to be done. (Mental note #3: Remind Small to call the cable guy. Why can't I call the cable guy? Coz I'd twist myself into knots trying to figure out a time convenient to both of us, while Small will just pick a time, call him, get both of our TVs done and find out about wiring up my laptop. You see why I live with her?) Our sweet little minibar fridge which loves us and tries really hard to be a big grown up fridge, holds only bottles. So our big fridge has gone to be repaired which means, aaaaaaaaaaaargh, more money will have to be spent. I'm sooooooo broke. This sucks. I'm used to being wealthy.
I have also become complete domestic goddess--unpacking yesterday at the speed of light, cleaning up in the kitchen and fixing our drawing room so it doesn't look so abandoned (eM's little handy hint: An old curtain in a pretty shade thrown over a folded over sleeping bag makes a decorative, yet useful, floor cushion.)
I'll stop, was up till 4 am and then woke up at 10 this morning and I've pulled some muscles in my thigh from dancing up and down those fucking stairs. But, (and just once) yay, me!