I was a normal child and a very normal teen until one day a bug bit me and infected me with a deadly disease. The disease of being a cleanliness freak. I would stay sad till all surfaces in sight were clean, spotless and sparkling bright.
In no time my fanaticism changed to an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I tried to cleanse my heart, my mind and even my soul of this tiring ailment, but it only grew with time. I can’t stand even a single hair lying lazy on a white tile or marring the glory of a wash basin. It has to go the minute I see it. Even if I were to spit, I’ll race to get hold of the brush, get the wash basin to a sparkling state, then go ahead and spit in it.
It’s a sad state to be in, but no-matter how hard I try I have failed to stop myself from getting mad about cleaning the house. The bathroom tiles don’t satisfy me with being plain clean. They need to shine and even sunlight should make them appear as reflective surfaces, else you’ll see me scrubbing them more than my own body while I am in the bathroom.
The other thing that irks me to extreme are creased sheets. I can’t resist my temptation to stretch and tuck a sheet ( even if it not in my own house let alone my own bed) that I have actually been spotted doing it even at my friend’s place and on a few occasions even in the hotel rooms we’d stayed in.
The best part of it is, I never wait to seek help. No, I can’t wait for even the next minute, nor do I expect our domestic help to clean up things to this perfection. If I have to judge others I am content with any level of cleanliness till cleanliness exists. It’s my personal liking and I love handling it myself.
Be it any hour of the day, if I am expecting guests in the house, I’ll make sure everything from furniture to crockery to walls,windows, robes, washroom and every other thing/place in the house is spotless clean. The outcome, I am often tired to extremes long before the actual event. But I simply can’t help it.
I don’t like mess. You’ll see me arranging things anywhere and at any hour of the day or night. I literally try to command my mind and hands to stop and to take it easy. But in no-time thoughts like, ‘come on it’ll only take a minute‘ ‘why leave the mess for others to clean up’ or worse still ‘ what if I’ll need something urgently and it won’t be available being lost in this mess?’ and the result, you know it well.
The worst case was the day I got back home from the hospital after giving birth to Pari. I went to the toilet and was taking longer than I normally should. My mum soon smelled something was wrong, she called out my name and asked, “Are you OK? Should I come in?” when I replied, “everything’s OK” without waiting she added, “don’t even think of touching any of the cleaners or brushes.” On being scolded and threatened, in no time I sheepishly opened the door, biting my tongue hard to resist from telling her that I was actually doing something on the lines she’d been dreading.
The song on my mind: