Bourgeois!

This blog is just a reflection of what a majority of the Indian urban middle-class person will experiences. I might be just talking of a routine, a set of events, but in reality they represent the overall outlook and attitude of the bourgeoise.

It is today, the 2nd of May,  a Wednesday, a decently hot day, comparitively not that humid, thanks to the weather. Getting up early in the morning say 630 is close to impossible considering the fact that my holidays have just begun. Hence, anywhere between 830 and 845 is the wake up time, the alarm being the humdrum of the washing machine, the startling roar of the mixie, or the cacophonic honk of the bus, a road away. Still struggling to wake up after the late night cricket match, I somehow push myself to consiousness, only to realise that I have a number of tasks to accomplish during the course of the day.

The moment my dad realises that I am somewhere close to waking up, he starts giving instructions to what the tasks are. A big list is dictated, my mind half-grasping it. Midway, I start thinking how to accomplish these, losing out to hear the rest of the list. Father, however does realise that I m lost and reiterates the list strongly only to startle me from my reverie.

The moment after I place my toothbrush back, the coffee reminder is done. On the way I go to grab my cuppa, I am requested to urgently iron dads shirt and to sort out the clothes to wash.

I find my coffee, thank god still hot. I sit relishing the coffee, perfectly made, albeit the extra sugar and strong decoction. Two sips, and the bell rings, in an irritating high-pitched tone, purposely held long to indicate urgency. "Isthree" he calls out, the iron-man, both literally and metaphorically, who seems to have absolutely no idea of what patience means. Seriously reluctant to attend to the call, I stop having my coffee, I immediately start packing to to-be-ironed-clothes. Mom, dad and granny, sympathise  with me and ask me to finish my cuppa before I pack. Gobbling the decently warm coffee at a breakneck speed, I finally pack the clothes and give it to the stone-faced iron-man. Before even I say "Anna 16 Clothes", he usurps it from me and is already fleeing down the stairs. If it had been the month-end, I m sure he would have been a way more courteous, for his salary being due.

Chapter two, I jump in for a freshening bath, but not without instructions from mother I barely understand or even hear clearly. Thinking that its just some Yes/No question I keep saying the customary "Mmm..."s and "Mmm..hmmm"s. Then mom starts banging the door, I close the tap and listen to her intently, realising that she had actually asked for the soap water filled bucket for soaking clothes. With soap all over my body, I carefully, open the door ajar, place the bucket out. The bath continues after two more such disturbances- brother asking for his watch and father for his mobile-phone. I finish my bath, wipe myself half wet, dress up, get to the pooja room, apply vibhooti and start chanting, simultaneously listening to the breakfast call and some more instructions.

Breakfast, I have been accustomed to doing this rapidly fast, right from my schooldays when I had to avoid being late. My record for the quickest breakfast had been 38 seconds.  Father leaves to office, mother resumes to cooking and brother runs away to the neighbour kids house. 

I sit, relaxing with the newspaper, but before I could finish the 22 odd pages, I m disturbed 5 times, once for attending a desperate salesman, once to help the housemaid make a phone call, once for the courier, once to attend dads phonecall, where he asks for some phone number, or to read out a grocery list, and the most irritating part, when the Exnora garbage man comes, everytime only after I have a bath, I pick up the trash can and place it back. Usually, there is also a phone call or two, which is invariably a wrong number (predominantly asking for "Shanti Optics") or an unknown relative, or someone for who our maid servant works for.

Finally finishing the newspaper, I am asked to hang the clothes for drying. The next job is to get the "PAAL CARDU" (the monthly milk card) from the booth, with a low, rusty metal ceiling/sunshade which ensures a bruise or a scratch, howmuchever I try to avoid it. Waiting in line, I see senior citizens extremely meticulous, handing the exact change to the officer, often outsmarting him in calculating the bill, when the officer is still fumbling with the calculator. After this I am to pay the Electricity bill, where I find close to a dozen counters with five to ten people at each counter. As expected, my queue is the slowest to move. Here I see a different scene. Quite contrary to the "Thaatha" at the milk booth, the elderly woman here, miscalculates the amount, but is very confident of her calculation. There is quite a quarrel between the officer and the woman, finally the woman succumbs and reluctantly accepts her mistake.

The bill being paid, I walk back home, where I see Babloo or Ramya or some old buddy, who I start to share memories or daily cribbing with. Most of the time it is also gossip. Half an hour is gone, and thanks to the mobile phone, my mom traces me and immediately asks me to be back home.

Once back home, I m already hearing my granny giving her vitriolic and sarcastic comments to the poor servant maid often terming her to be a pachyderm. Some more household chores follow and I come and sit on the comp. Now the blaring starts, the TV serial that granny watches at close to infinite volume. To shun that sound, I competitively put some music on and start browsing or working, in todays case writing this blog.

The afternoon passes by and I hit the beach in the evening. When I come back late, I realise that I have not even done half the assigned duties. The look on my dads face makes me feel guilty. He never scolds, but it makes sure that I have been irresponsible after all. I resort to being more responsible and get back to the comp or the cricket match, only waiting for a similar day ahead.

Patience, perseverence, duty-boundedness, workaholism, ability to control ones feelings, sacrifice, helping tendency, self-work-accomplishment have become an integral part of the bourgeois way of living. Whatever happens, it sure is not going to change. 

There are lot more indignations that I feel to write about...They might perhaps appear in my next blog.