Washing up
On the joy of mundane tasks
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May feels like a month of Saturday afternoons, unfettered and lazy. I’m only a little ashamed to say that between the last two newsletters and this, I’ve done absolutely nothing. Nothing here refers to reading, cooking, cleaning, watching good-shit tv shows from the 2000s, and not thinking about the next steps of my career — something that I’ve been obsessing about since my early 20s. I can lie and say that I’ve been furiously thinking and brainstorming book pitches to submit (something that’s always in the back of my mind) but where would I, or this newsletter for that matter, be without sincere honesty?
I find that I do a majority of my thinking when I cook and clean; the pith is often found in mundane repetitive actions. My mother’s kitchen, where I currently cook, has a small extension at the end. Like our balcony out front, it is grilled so no one can fall out nor can anyone climb in and rob us (lol). Because it is otherwise open, it’s a fascinating position for watching birds and stray cats that come and go or stay and sleep. Lately, I’ve been doing the dishes while watching a spotted orange and white tabby cat nap throughout the day until we both realise that there is someone else present. More than once, both the cat and I have locked eyes at the same time, refusing to look away until something startles us. Since the cat has more important things to do, it yawns and goes back to sleep signalling me to go back to washing up. Sometimes I listen to music. Currently, I’ve been listening to a lot of 2000s Tamil songs, taking me back to thinking about rainy days where little else was going on in my life. Once I’m done with the dishes, I emerge bathed in sweat and fully drenched in the water from washing everything up.
Yet nothing makes me more satisfied than seeing a pile of dishes in the sink.
When I was younger, I remember curiously watching my grandmother arranging the chattis, cups, tumblers, and various plates, dropping the smaller ones into the bigger ones and stacking them neatly along one side of the large stone sink. I used to think what a waste of time, since my grandmother could barely walk to the sink without groaning about it. She’d splash water on everything and go take a nap while my grandfather washed the vessels. I never thought more about it till I caught myself doing it when I moved away from home, tidying up the vessels inside the sink before washing them. Then I’d step back and admire my handiwork many times. It pleased me (unconsciously) and deeply unsettled all of my flatmates that I spent so much time straightening things up. When I went to visit my sister in another city last year, I caught her doing the same thing. We both pointed at each other and laughed apologetically, like that Spiderman meme. You do it too!
Because I try to be so perfect in every other aspect of my life, the habit permeates washing up as well. The difference with washing up is that I see tangible results, which makes it easy for me to persist and not give up. There is definitely a lesson in here about keeping at it, especially when the results aren’t tangible. I realise it, I know it. I’m just not good at following up with it. Over the years, I’ve abandoned so many essays, jotting down notes all over the place, in different notebooks, on different documents online, in the drafts of my emails, in the notes apps of my phone, and the rest buried deep in my mind. I’ve given up on so many drawings and illustrations — my paint palette dried and left untouched, crayons hiding in the dark. But the joy is that those projects always come back to me when I least expect it. Today, they form the backbone of this newsletter; numerous essays resurrected from the ruins.
It’s how I view washing up as well — as an ongoing and incomplete process that seems to have no end. Both washing up and writing also call for seclusion. A meditation. The confrontation of knowability from the hidden. And much like writing and thinking, the task lies in accepting the mysteriousness of the structure but tackling my/your way through it, one dish at a time. One essay at a time. One newsletter at a time.
A short essay this week!
Miscellaneous
For Canadian magazine Serviette’s issue 4, I’ve written about the bizarre world of 70s food contained in the many gelatinous creations and seafood mousses. The bright red jelly that you see on the cover(!!!) is for my essay and I’m so delighted that this piece is finally out! You can pre-order the copy on their website (linked above).
Cooking
Really into making naan from scratch this month and they’ve been so perfect! Maybe I’ll go into what I’ve been cooking these past few months for the paid newsletter that’ll come out on Saturday, 26 May. Consider becoming a paid subscriber, if you’d like to read more and have been enjoying my work, especially since next month is a big birthday and I’ll be grateful for more support than ever. Thank you for reading 💞