Kanchan BalaniI want to start with some exciting news: my modest balcony garden is in full bloom and is attracting a fluttering parade of butterflies (!)
Shocked – I truly am.
From being a serial plant killer to successfully tending a tiny garden feels huge. Month after month of caring for these green babies, understanding their water and sunlight requirements, and being extremely patient has finally borne fruit—or rather, flowers.
Sitting in my little garden with a dog-eared book (please don’t kill me) on the table that I’ve been trying to finish and a mug of black coffee in one hand, I keep getting distracted.
Distracted by the sweet scent of mogra. And oh, wait! That’s three butterflies today (one more from yesterday)!
My mind is a thousand miles away.
The dhobi will be ringing the doorbell any minute now. I’m thinking of all the clothes that need to be given for ironing. Only a few at the moment, so best if I finish a load of laundry first. I get up to start the washer, and realise the garbage needs to be taken out. I start the washer. I remove the garbage. Now the bin needs a new bag. I replace the garbage bag. This was the last one. I add ‘small garbage bags’ to my ever-growing grocery list in Notes. And then my gaze lands on the dust that has settled on the fan above. It’s time to get all the fans cleaned. I quickly add that to my to-do list.
Without even realising, my half-hour reading break has evaporated. I get back to my work, leaving the book untouched.
In the evening, when my husband comes back home, he folds the laundry, sorts the ironing pile. Later, we order groceries together.
It’s a choreographed dance of domesticity, each step a reminder of the life we’ve built.
Halfway through the series Gyaarah Gyaarah (11.11) the other day, my husband remembers the electricity meter will start showing low balance anytime now. The recharge needs to be done right away.
While changing the bedsheet yesterday, I find myself thinking about how we are always either out of dhaniya or the existing one has turned into a brown mushy mess.
Chores after never-ending chores make up our whole damn life. Not a day goes by when I’m not thinking about them. Despite the hired help, these chores consume my headspace like a greedy algorithm. And sometimes it just gets a little too much.
Recently, I had a nasty meltdown. I had a really long work day. I wanted to make some coffee before my last client call. But there was no coffee in the house. Both my cats didn’t finish their evening meals. Reason: it was not their usual meal – a mix of dry+wet food. It was just dry food because the wet food was out of stock. This was the zillionth time I went on the app to check: Still Out of Stock. Ugh!
By the time my husband got back home, I was so done with the day. I was lying horizontal on the couch and I didn’t want to move an inch.
“I don’t get it how was my mother managing it all – home, a full-time demanding bank job, kids, all our nakhras,” I told my husband while bursting into tears.
The day’s accumulated stress poured out like a broken faucet: there’s no coffee at home, the wet food is still showing out of stock, there’s only one last bag of cat litter left, I couldn’t finish that damn book today, the dhaniya has gone bad again. I can’t keep up. Everything’s falling apart. I…
The next morning, my husband surprised me by preparing my favourite dish for breakfast – Goli Idli. Not to forget, it was accompanied by iced coffee. We finally had coffee at home. What a relief! Cat litter had been ordered too.
When it comes to domestic responsibilities, my husband doesn’t just help; he takes ownership, finding genuine satisfaction in shouldering his share of our household burdens. He’s straight-up a much better cook than I’ll ever be. I also usually fall short when it comes to keeping up with calls to parents, extended family, and common friends. And he’s always more than happy to take charge of that department. His weak spot: decorating or organising our space. An area where he gladly follows my lead.
Home isn’t just a place; it’s a living, breathing entity that demands constant attention. It’s the backdrop to our lives, the stage where our daily dramas unfold. These endless chores – the laundry cycles, the grocery runs, the dusting and the cleaning – they can be overwhelming. But, when you have a partner who understands, who steps up without being asked, the weight of these responsibilities becomes lighter.
Home then becomes a place where someone understands that sometimes, you need to be horizontal on the couch, ranting about wilted dhaniya. It’s where someone knows exactly how you like your coffee, where the burden of remembering and doing is shared. And in that sharing, we find the true meaning of home – a place where life’s little challenges are faced together, one distraction at a time.
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This work was written during the Ochre Sky Memoir writing workshop facilitated by Natasha Badhwar and Raju Tai.
