Posted in Hopeless

Messes and miracles

Can anyone resist that home makeover show on BBC Lifestyle? The one where the architect dude is given a bunch of money saved up by couples/families in desperate need of improving their living space? I watched it last night after a really long time, and for some odd reason Huz watched it with me! Will wonders never cease? In fact, we were so transfixed by all that skill and expertise, we ended up watching two episodes back to back! I could see Huz was enthralled and as for me, I was just thrilled to watch him enjoy a show I absolutely adore.

The architect and his team went about bashing down walls, changing the lighting, carving out new spaces, tearing down old ones, repainting, refurbishing and rethinking everything, working within the budget they have been given, until the house is completely transformed into something simply marvellous. It’s nothing short of a miracle, and by the end of it, Huz and I are left starry-eyed and glowing with inspiration.

‘I could have been an architect instead of a computer scientist you know,’ says a wistful Huz.

By and large, we are quite happy with our little apartment. It could have been a little bigger, but still, I think it works for us. There is just one room which by default seems to have turned into a bit of a dumping ground for everything that doesn’t belong anywhere else in the house, and that happens to be Huz’s home office. I feel a twinge of guilt everytime I dump something else there, though really, Huz is as much of a pack-rat as I am as far as holding on to useless things is concerned. If I’m the bag lady, he’s the male equivalent….only he collects old busted phones and intercoms and wires. And the boxes they came in.  The logic? They’ll come in handy if we move.

All the furniture in the room is what I would like to call ‘eclectic’, but I know I’m just deluding myself. It’s just a mismatched array of  shelves and desks and cupboards acquired at different times, and I’m ashamed to say, without much thought to cohesion. There is also a stationary bike, a big white much-scribbled-upon board on the wall, a sewing machine piled with clothes that I need to stitch someday, two black and gray revolving chairs, a movable chest of blue and white plastic drawers, a vacuum cleaner and a dustbuster and a rechargeable emergency light, an ironing board (with all its accompaniments), and a portable fan on a stand that we use in areas where the air from the ceiling fan doesn’t reach. There are also cardboard boxes of  archived files in a pile next to Huz’s desk, and a red toolbox jostles for space amidst all the philosophy, literature, computer science, math, art and cookbooks on the bookshelf. Add that to the clutter of oil paints, turpentine, brushes, canvases and other paraphernalia I dabble in, and you have a disaster zone on your hands.

But as I said, we were glowing with inspiration after that makeover show, and I  sat on a revolving chair in the middle of the room in question afterward, while Huz pretended to be an architect and made some ambitious but ultimately impossible-to-implement floor plans on the white board. The ambitiousness wore itself out by degrees as it was of course bound to, but the zeal and the fervour for improvement prevailed and what followed was our own little miracle.

We cleaned out the whole room!