Writing on the wall is fear

Sometimes I really wish that I can’t see things clearly. I mean literally, especially on weekends when my part-time help gets full-time rest. I don’t keep this is a secret, my obsessive and compulsive desire to keep everything clean are (in)famous – house and car are among my favorites. You must have figured out by now, the blindingly obvious reason why I wish for occasional opacity. 

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be far from being a cleanliness freak. While growing up, I was a constant target of my mother’s ire for not keeping my room clean. Now though, the tables have turned – my mother feels intimidated by how clinical I am when it comes to cleanliness.  Maybe it’s true what they say - that you become more like your mother when you grow up.

So when did this transformation begin? I think it was around the time I got married. I am assuming all the married women who are reading this have experienced this routine – throwing wet towels on the bed and using half the collection of kitchen utensils to make a cup of tea are just a couple of examples. After years of nagging, I managed to produce a reformed man and tidy house. But this was not going to last.

In a short span for a year and a bit, I have come down back down to reality. At just 14 months, Smera seems to taking revenge on behalf of her Grand-mother and Daddy.  Try as much as I will, she has this uncanny knack of messing things up – she truly is her Daddy’s girl, just like the way I used to be (refer to second paragraph!). I have this premonition that some day soon Smera would discover crayons and transform herself into a baby Picasso, using the white walls as her canvas and the colours to express herself.

For the obsessive compulsive cleaner in me, the writing on the wall is clear – there is going to be a lot of writing on the wall.