The Jakarta Post - Weekender

A reluctant and occasional housekeeper at best, I have an abiding horror of all things domestic, which I’m convinced originates from some past life spent as an unwilling slave or overworked household drudge.

I was obviously either put to a slow and painful death for being an unwilling worker, or I outright quit the drudgery without giving them the mandatory one month’s notice.

As they say in my part of the world (India), what you don’t finish up with in one lifetime, you get to do all over again in some future lifetime; it’s called karma.

There is much to be said for living in Asia, with all the domestic help we take so much for granted. We’re also lucky, in a masochistic sort of way, to have these “times between maids”; an enforced revival of the closest most of us will ever get to any form of daily spiritual practice.

It works like a charm for me, as I found while sweeping the house today. You quickly devise a winning strategy to cope with the gruesome dust bunnies by sweeping v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. Trouble is, the slower you sweep, the faster your mind races ahead to the other 68,975 things you need to do in the next 15 minutes, when suddenly the meditative movement of sweep-sweep-sweep takes over. There’s just you, the broom and the dust bunnies, and nothing else matters any more. You are truly in the moment, aligned with the Universe, doing what you must do. And isn’t that also what spirituality is about?

Of course, the flip side to all this Zen-ness is sometimes mildly abusive. I've now started talking to the onions as I'm chopping them: "No, DON’T jump off the chopping board. OK?! This won't hurt, but if you jump off the *&^$%&* board and onto the floor ONE more time I am going get REALLY mad. I just mopped the floor, so please, just don't …”

And that's just the onion conversation. I have similar ones with the ice cubes (pop-out means pop out of the tray, not pop out onto the floor and slither off under the fridge to melt, dammit!), the garden hose (no, DON'T slip off the tap ONE more time, it's a 2-mile hike to the end of the garden and I've already done 14 hikes in the last two minutes)

And then the business with the washing machine. I haven’t operated it in so long I forgot which cycle to use. Of course, there’s no manual, because the machine has inhabited the planet longer than I have. So I hit #2 and check back after 24 hours. It’s still gurgling and shaking, and the detergent and fabric softener are still sitting in the little box-thingie where I fed them in. So if you see me wandering around sans clothes, you’ll know my machine is still holding them hostage.

The other thing one learns is that life revolves around the kitchen sink. As fast as you get through one lot of washing up, the dishes start to pile up again. I mean, how many plates, forks, glasses, pots and pans can two people possibly use in the space of, say one hour? Yes, and multiply that by about a gazillion.

So then, is this the first time I’ve been without a maid? No, I’ve been without help several times over the years. Have I never run a household before? I have indeed, for 20 years now. Possibly not the best-run or most efficient, but I’m still around to tell the tale, and so are my cats and a can of salmonella from 1994.

So while I do agree that a bit of mindlessly repetitive action can be a great spirituality booster, I think I’ll pass for now. Oh and by the way, do you happen to know of a maid looking for a job?

+ Priya Tuli

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