Why I Like Doing The Laundry

by Zainab M. M.

Somehow, I always find myself living in a house with a lot of people. Before my marriage, I lived with nine others, and afterwards with six. All family, of course, but one too many. And it's not the fact that there are so many that bother me, but at some point, they start to talk and then expect me to pay attention and listen, and to prove it I also have to deign to reply. I have made my peace with the knowledge that in India, wherever you go, you will always be surrounded by a sea of humanity, as infinite as grains of sand. So, to placate myself, I decided to assign myself a special place in the house, just a small corner into which I can retreat and cocoon, even if it's for just 10-15 minutes of the day. All I want to do is surface from the sea and swim ashore, and observe the roiling waves from afar. When I was younger, I used to do it with a book, just shut off everything, lock up my brain and immerse myself in the fictional world that I held in my hands. Nowadays I do that with laundry.

The way my house is built, the verandah is the farthest removed from the rest of the house. If you close the doors, then it is as if the rest of the world has melted away, and there is nothing but you and your grey machine and a pile of dirty clothes. I never open that door until I'm finished, not even if my son is howling and banging to be let out (or is it in?). First, I take out the washed clothes, smelling like lime and flowers, put the next load in, and proceed to hang the other ones to dry. I enjoy that last task because that portion of the verandah faces an orchard. For ten, luxurious minutes, I get to soak in all the awesome goodness of God's handiwork.

Nature delights in my adoration, and like a pole dancer waiting to catch a patron's eye, puts on its best colours and struts its stuff. It showcases its most vivid blues and startling greens and sways to its own gentle breeze, along with the symphony of parrots, cuckoos and squirrels. A few crows also decide to pitch in as they take flight, startled by a sudden grumbling piece of sky in the distance, with the rising crescendo of my washing machine bringing the show to its climax.

I also derive a particular pleasure in putting in a load of washing. I have a very specific system for it, one that I will not let anyone mess up with. I will separate the ones worn occasionally to the ones worn daily, the whites from the coloured ones, the too dirty from the not so dirty ones. I get to witness the whole life cycle of each piece of clothing, from when it first arrives and is treated like a 'star', to when it is replaced by something fresher until it is finally only useful for cleaning floors. This whole process takes me about 20 minutes, and by the time I'm done, I'm ready to drown back into the sea again. But I have no regrets, because I know I still have a raft to return to when the waters get too choppy.

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Zainab M. M. is a part-time writer whose work has been published in The New Indian Express, Khabar Magazine, Introvert, Dear, The Indo-Gulf Times, Uneasy Lores (audio book), Macabre Tales (an anthology), Visual Verse, The Humming Notes, Girltellme.com, Sharing Stories, WRIPE-6, SweekStars 2018 Bundle, Beyond The Box, Women's Web, ArtoonsInn, Reedsy, Youth Ki Awaaz, etc.