Attempt

Each attempt to sit and work got overshadowed by cleaning things. It sprung from misplaced things-images,notes,diaries,hard drives,pens, and SPACE.
Frustrations escalated and the body cringed inside. There were feelings like-shame,guilt,self hatred. How could I misplace important documents,hard drives? How could carelessness be so engrained? With each loss,there was delay.Delay in production,delay in thoughts,delay in effort. The viscousness was alarming. Deeply successful in trapping oneself in cyclic patterns.
Though the intention was always there to beat the cycle,but it was always greeted by defeat-with its tongue hanging out.
By the time all energies were gathered to produce something,all precious time was spent in finding things and soon it ended with time to make -breakfast/lunch/dinner.
Nothing got achieved. Just the dinner.

Studio Clutter

Clutter in the studio made absolute sense. It sort of ,was satisfying to see it . There was a justification to the mess around. I definitely knew where it had sprung from , how it happened . It took absolute responsibility of its arrival.
Made me feel proud in a way-for they were residues of a day of labour.

Almost

Before and after shots

Almost cleared,though would not be appropriate to say clean. The best efforts a seven year old could have done.

Being clear about personal spaces should be a well maintained habit. The (only) bedroom is often fought over-its my room says the daughter

no,its our room says the mother,even though I just sleep in it. There is nothing 'mine' in this room,leaving a dressing table. 

But how would one define a room? By who occupies the space or the furniture?Let me list the inhabitants of the room with the ownership

1)Study table-Brishti

2)Cupboard-Brishti

3)Book shelf/cupboard- Brishti

4)Small cupboard-Filled with toys of Brishti

5)Wall shelf-Brishti

6)Folding table/bed table-used by Brishti

7)Dressing table-me

8)Bed-shared

Should let the daughter claim the room I guess! 

Khalaara

'Khalaara' the punjabi word for 'clutter'. Though 'clutter' sounds quite sophisticated, it does not have the feel of 'khaalara'. 'Khalaara' resonates the spirit of the house,the people inhabiting,the moods and definitely the absent mindedness.
Khalaara springs up on its own. I see it as clues of traces of the day....how the room was entered,how I walked past which furniture,where I took off my shoes...
am quite used to khalaara...having grown up in a household with three siblings- two sisters n a pet dog...with mom managing mostly everything, especially with dad travelling endlessly- Khalaara ,is second nature to me. It starts in patches.Small bits initially-lying innocently. Accumulating by the third day to a larger pile. The pile though is not a mountain shape. It is,so to say a fallen mountain. The innocence level starts receding. By the fifth day it clutters the mind. Its strange for me that Khalaraa suits my visual language,but it becomes clutter in my head. The mind and space become one. There remains no place to sit on the sofa/chair. The shelves get filled up with 'I don't know how this reached here?' There is no memory of putting some of the objects there,yet they have arrived there somehow.
Though I know that they cannot reach their destination by themselves, the body refuses to take any action. Any action which transports any object. Denial wins perpetually. It enables blurring the vision. Khalarra becomes faded.

Feast of clothes

They partied on the weekend...the clothes. Some folded and washed,some worn and sweaty...the conversation seemed endless...there was no way I could be a part of it,though I was very tempted...should i put them in their designated places? that thought did cross my mind...for some pleasure I chose not to...being a national holiday-2nd October,everyone needed a break...

virender nagar,gali no 7

the by-lanes barked lullabies to slumber

quarrels disrupted the balconies

houses quartered created bogies

and the walls halved them further

streets became marriage grounds

and the elders parked themselves

till late night the hawkers sung

clothes tried drying in the shade

with two hours of sun in the front balcony

the plants have survived till now.