I am not one of those that finds happiness and delight confining themselves to the house during holidays and spending time on household chores. My brother. Paul, should be my mother's pet for. in spite of his devotion to studies, he finds time to help her in her household tasks. I subscribe to his view that all at home must cooperate in doing these domestic chores - cooking, mopping, ironing etc, and also the task that I detest most - dish-washing.
I leave most of the tasks to others to allow them to live up to their maxims regarding cooperation at home, but I seem to have a penchant for cooking and I enjoy this. My mother is the chef at home; but she is not the only one. Often my dishes, though I let myself be guided by instinct rather than by any thought or plan, turn out to he delicious and, what more, appetizing even to the weight-conscious members of my family. I don my apron on Sundays when we make sure that Mum is absolutely free from all work so that she can relive her carefree days at least once a week. However, she seems to like to be in the kitchen and help me when I cook.
Cooking, as they say, seems to have some therapeutic value. What I often succeed in accomplishing are preparing vegetable dishes. Washing vegetables is not a pleasure and the washed vegetables are cut and, of course, mother is by my side helping me regulate the sizes. The frying pan is kept handy and the different ingredients could he had easily because the receptacles containing them are labeled. When my mixture is fried I become meek and speak rather pessimistically about the outcome of my enterprise. To see the contents in the frying pan change colour and turn into a dish to be served is indeed a pleasure. My experiments in the kitchen give my mother a break from the routine, and the members of my family get something different.
I should not make the others do what I do not like. I follow this principal after meals. After lunch, I force myself to the wash-basin in which would have been piled up all the plates, cups, spoons and so on. The receptacles which I had used for cooking would have found their way into this basin earlier. Like a doctor getting ready for an operation (for I am allergic to the detergent which we use for washing dishes) I put on my gloves. My innate dislike for washing up seems to be in line with my body's chemical reactions! I think of all the nice things I had done in the past or visualize a badminton game which I had won. This little trick of self- deception makes me forget the tedium that awaits me. Usually it takes me a full half hour to wash and clean those dishes. In the process I would have splashed a lot of water around: hence the kitchen has to be tidied up. The washed plates are wiped and placed in their racks. I feel a sense of relief when this post-cooking task is completed.
After that I take a siesta and both the tedious tasks are forgotten. I look forward to the next Sunday though my enthusiasm is invariably dampened by the self-imposed domestic task of dish-washing.
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