Short ‘N’ Snappy

– WMM

Restroom, restless room

The Woman from Madras Musings recently attended a terrace party. It was a rather nice one, for there were many friends that she hadn’t met in a long time. The food was delicious, and even the sky was fairly clear and had many stars. Everything was going swimmingly well until WMM had to answer ­nature’s call.

The washroom was one of those state-of-the-art affairs. It was of the sort that WMM tends to panic in, for she finds new-fangled bathroom fittings very non-intuitive. Perhaps MM readers also have these experiences from time to time – moments of sheer despair in a bathroom at a hotel (or worse, someone’s home) where the fittings are entirely alien and one blindly fiddles about with the knobs and buttons while praying to god that something goes right. The bathroom at this particular party was on another level altogether. It lit up the instant WMM walked in, indicating that it was fitted with motion-sensor lighting. It was a beautiful place, obviously designed by a professional hand. WMM felt the stirrings of trepidation and was soon proved right – she didn’t know how to lock the door once it closed. She turned the lock this way and that, but no comforting click sounded. WMM had to give up after a while and spent the rest of the time in sheer terror that someone might walk in, all the while with one foot firmly against the door. She resorted to coughing loudly every few seconds, hoping that it would serve as an indication of occupation to those seeking to use the facilities. Then, things got worse. The lights went off – perhaps, WMM thought, the motion sensors required some movement to keep the bathroom lights on; and so it was that she found herself on a porcelain throne, loudly coughing and flailing her arms for sheer mercy. The only silver lining thus far was that the flush mechanism was blessedly familiar.

Then, it was time to wash the hands. The sink was quite capacious, but the tap was a revelation – instead of being affixed to the sink, it was suspended from the ceiling. It was quite a lovely fixture actually, arguably a piece of modern art in its own right. WMM appreciated it, but was also left mystified as to its secrets. A few moments of keen observation helped her identify a thingamabob on the countertop to be the lever that operated it. She turned it left first, then right; she tried swivelling it around, and at one point even tried pressing it like a button. But no matter what she did, water flowed in a thin, slow stream from the tap. WMM decided after some time that it was good enough to wash her hands in and that was that. It was after she exited that she realised that the door was mildly translucent – meaning that her shadowy antics were on full display to anyone standing outside. WMM waited for the prick of embarrassment, but it never came – she was among friends after all, and they knew full well that she was challenged (threatened, really) by most forms of plumbing, traditional or new. A friend later told WMM that the bathroom lock had in fact been broken earlier that evening, which WMM supposes could be the reason for the mischievous lights, too – maybe they’re not motion sensor after all, but programmed to stay on as long as the bathroom was locked from inside. If true, that would admittedly be quite clever.

Unfortunately, WMM’s bad luck with plumbing didn’t end that day. The very next evening saw her at a friend’s home, where – as she soon discovered – the bathroom has a wonky flush that doesn’t stop until some mysterious thingummy is pressed. WMM was unaware of this fact until she used it; she stared at the flush for a full twenty minutes before admitting that it showed no signs of stopping. She had to make a surreptitious phone call to the Better Half and summon him for help. WMM was then made the brunt of jokes and banter for the rest of the evening.

It will be some time before WMM can gather the courage to use the facilities anywhere but home.

Ulterior interiors

The Woman from Madras Musings wonders if MM readers have noticed how very ideal architectural designs are. Whether a villa by the beach or a highrise in the city, the proposed designs depict the building to be located in a fancy area surrounded by lush greenery and connected by smooth roads upon which ply fancy sedans. It’s only when one visits the actual site that the reality makes itself known.

WMM and the BH are currently working with an interior designer for their home. The proposed themes are pretty indeed – no complaints there – but the chap keeps taking the liberty to add creative elements when depicting the view outside; there are bunches of happy, pink bougainvillea, winding vines of honeysuckle, soft golden sunlight streaming in the windows and the like. WMM feels it is her moral duty to constantly remind the BH that there is no hope of such landscape materializing outside the home – the windows will look bleakly upon a bland, concrete terrace where every evening a congregation of ladies regularly conduct washing exercises with near military dedication. There will be no bougainvillea or sparrows – instead, there will be clothes flapping away on clotheslines, messy lines of electrical wires, and dust rising from the traffic on the street.

There is a room that looks out on another neighbour’s garden, where WMM has spotted mongooses gambolling about rather prettily. However, she was told by the designer – rather tersely, she thought – that though accurate, this is much harder to bring into a design mock up. Oh, well.

Work ethics

The Woman from Madras Musings was staring down the barrel of a very busy day. Thankfully, she had one particularly efficient chap in her team who was amenable to getting things done whether they were his responsibility or not. He buzzed about hither and thither like a bumblebee, completing tasks in less than half the time and coordinating with everyone else. WMM was feeling pretty pleased until a co-worker asked to see the chap’s forehead. It seemed like a particularly strange request until he swept aside his hair to reveal an angry, red bump. It transpired that he had an accident on the way to work – his cab had been at the tail end of a pile-up at a traffic junction, and he had bruised his forehead in the incident.

WMM felt terrible for having given him so much work, some of which required physical effort. She asked him why he said nothing about this, and he replied something about wanting to be committed to work. Assuring him that health was another matter altogether, WMM shipped him off to the doctor. Thankfully, the wound was shallow and he returned beaming with a band-aid on his forehead.

Please follow and like us: