Catalyst

I sit on the floor, and look around. Piles of books, papers, memories lie scattered on the ground. I’m stacking the ones I need, in one pile. A few go to the trash. Most, I reluctantly toss to the pile that will go to the kabadiwaala. A notebook catches my attention. Studious nut, the cover says. Inside, there are some equations jotted down in a bored student’s writing. I turn the page. And laugh. There is a caricature of my senior Chemistry professor. Bulging biceps, flying cape, synthetic suit. D-man, I called it. Sighing, and thanking my lucky stars that I passed the darned subject, I push the notebook away. A few minutes later, the floor is noticeably clearer. A few minutes is all you needed to clear it all away, a voice inside me accuses. I ignore it. Though my hands are dusty, the work is half done. The pile of the things I need is small. For the pile of things I want shall be sold off tomorrow, or possibly today. I carry them to the verandah. It takes me four trips. And no, I may appear small, but I can carry a lot in my hands. Hands, did I say?

I go empty the trashcan into the big “Use Me”. There go a hundred things that I want to remember. Maybe I needed to throw them away, for weren’t they my cyanide? I hear them tumbling down the long slide. Tomorrow, the jhaaruwaala will come and collect them to take them away, before I wake. They will lie there, tonight. As I trudge back to the room, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I shall go have a bath, after this, I promise myself. I don’t wash my hands till the work is finished. I’ll wash it at one go. Not now. I stare at the few things that I haven’t yet sorted. I want to just bundle them together, and throw them away. Or maybe keep them now, and look into them tomorrow. Or some other day. But I don’t. I steel myself and patiently scrutinize each of them. Most of them, I toss to the now-empty dustbin. Sometimes I hesitate, but then decide it’s for the best. Half an hour later, the bin is full again and only the pile of things I need still lie, neatly stacked on the ground. That pile I go through again. It grows smaller, even so. By now the bin is overflowing. And down they go the slide. I used to like playing on the slide. “Gee! Whoosh!” All of us playmates used to scream in glee. One after the other. Slide.

I finally go take my bath. As the first spray of water hits me, I remember the last time I played in the rain. Three of us had squealed, laughing, while we jumped, up, up, and up. Gravity, notwithstanding. I hum to myself tunelessly.

Refreshed and clean, I come back to the room. Picking up the small pile, I put it away in its designated place. I had cleared the outside clutter, finally. To help clear the clutter that’s inside.