So, this happened: Long ago (we are talking maybe 2012, maybe 2013), I was out to buy something in a hardware shop and saw a coiled pipe with several interchangeable nozzles for watering plants and gardens. Now, there is something you need to understand about us Gadgil gentlemen, and that is we are suckers for labour-saving doo-dahs and gadgets (Don’t believe it? Try typing “Gadgil” on your mobile keyboard and see what that autocorrects to), the only problem being that most of these so-called labour-saving devices work well in demonstrations but never in real life, making us also masters of two things:
- Jugaad: This is a Hindustani word that has a complicated relationship with Indians. I won’t go so far as to explain it in full, except to say that we make these things work with modifications no one has heard or thought of.
- Pasaaraa: This is a unique Marathi word that means, “Stuff that need not exist in the place where it is.” The English “junk” comes close but denotes useless items, which isn’t the case. If you ask my mum or my wife, the correct translation would be “the physical manifestation of money wasted on items that take up space and do nothing but complicate my husband’s and my life, which was better off without this, but now that it is here, we have to find ways to use and/or store it, which somehow suddenly becomes my responsibility.”
Side note about Point 2 above: It is not, as many Marathi-speaking people without much knowledge of English slang, have tried to translate as, “my husband’s junk”. And to those who don’t see the difference, I only have one thing to say: forget you ever heard this.
Anyway, back to the story. This pipe-sprayer-roller contraption was bought and gifted to Capt Gadgil, my father, to the consternation of Mrs Gadgil, who declared that this will not be used and will only take up space, a space which she would need to find for it. This was ignored and the pipe was indeed used. Twice. After which it was deposited in a corner in a dark room exactly as predicted by the in-house soothsayer, gathering dust.
Everyone forgot about it, as with dozens of other “labour-saving devices” bought with great fanfare by the Gadgil gentlemen, and ignored with equal gusto by the Gadgil ladies, who knew better. Until it found its way to my home somehow and lay in the bathroom, connected to a water outlet, but unused, since it was deemed not just too complicated to use, then roll back, and stow by the powers-that-be, but also because it had sprung a mysterious leak I have not been able to plug because I do not know wherefore it springs from (the non-use may have had something to do with it though)! That is how it would have counted its last days and ended as something donated to the local gardener in our next spring cleaning.
My daughter, of course, was having none of it this morning. The promised bubble-bath had seemingly vanished in a bubble and what seemed like a lost Saturday morning (the kind of morning where we wake up bright and chirpy at 5 O’clock, as opposed to a school morning where we are groggy and still drowsy at 7) suddenly looked up on the spotting of this…thing, in the corner of the bathroom.
Requisitions were sent out, and promptly rejected by the Lady Of The House (LOTH. Who used this word first in a ToI “Middle” long ago? Was it Jug Suraiya? I forget). An appeal was made in the lower court of Justice Baba, which was upheld, and then failed the test at the higher court, upon which Mr Baba decided to don the lawyer’s robes and plead the case himself. It was agreed upon that as long as Mr Baba were to take care of the entire mission, from unroll to roll back of the whole exercise, this could be considered as a one-time exception for this Saturday.
Joyous cries broke out on the streets, dancing ensued, with strange little humans hugging Mr Baba and telling him that not only is he the best, but this exact moment indeed is the best time in the last 13.5 billion years when a small yellow star has shone its heat and light from atomic fusion deep in its core onto a tiny circling clump of rock this side of the Milky Way. In effect, this was, and I quote, “The best day ever.”
The pipe was duly unrolled, positioned, and the tap turned on. Photos were clicked, poses were posed (check out our “Secret Agent” one below), and the work began in full earnest. The little human was instructed to sing a full, “happy birthday to you” for every potted plant (the time it takes to dispense just under 1 litre of water), and once all the plants were sufficiently hydrated, allowed to turn it on herself and any bystanders that were (un?)lucky enough to be present in the vicinity, with much accompanying giggling and raucous laughter.
Play done, the little human helped the taller human to roll it back and put it in its place (till next time), and scampered off to her hot bath, with a promise to play Uno with Mr Baba once she was ready.
Ah, life!
After watering the plants, playing with water, and then having our hot bath, we tied our plaits (no, actually Mamma did that), wore our shoes, and were ready to play.
But then, since we could not find our Uno cards, and Mr Baba got busy writing his story online, we threw a small tantrum (we haven’t learnt how to throw a proper one, which makes Mr Baba wonder if we are bottling it all up for the teenage years, as he fears) by folding our hands and sulking, which somehow makes us look even more huggable (and we always break into a giggle when Mr Baba asks, “Little lady, may I have your consent to give you a bear hug and many many kisses?”) and photogenic, and after Mr Baba apologised, we are now learning how to tie slip-knots.
And it’s not even 10 O’clock.
All weekends should be like this.
