Collecting and lovingly restoring old things is the new black. Or the new LBD. And while all the stylistas concentrate on the solid teak and rosewood chests of drawers, art deco chairs, four poster beds and the beautiful tea service from England, what has fallen through the cracks of memory and nostalgia are the metaphorical knickers — the humbler things that populated our homes and lives. Of dubious aesthetic and intrinsic value, these are the objects that time and antique shops and their bankers' wives-expat clientele have forgotten.
So while planters' chairs are artfully arranged in Mumbai high-rises and Delhi farmhouses, the dirty linen cupboard has fallen off the map. Remember that item no home could do without — built like a hangar for upright cannons, with wicker work sides, a trapdoor opening on the top through which dirty laundry could be shovelled- in speedily and a door at the bottom through which it would cascade out on washing day? And of course the domestic gnome who guarded its treasures and sonorously listed out all the contents in the dhobi book (invariably the previous year's diary) before handing them over — saab pant 2, saab shirt 6, baby frock 3… he and the cupboard are both gone the way of the dhobi who made house calls.
And two more posthumous mentions in the dirty laundry battle spring to mind. First — the enamel tub — the white "chilamchi" with the blue rim that was used to soak clothes. And second, the trusty clothes bat used to batter any semblance of dirt along with all colour and longevity out of the clothes while washing them. Where are those paddles and the white chilamchis now? Is there a parallel universe where those are being made and enthusiastically used to wash clothes and being stolen by kids to play dwarf cricket with, even today?
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The meat safe that was de rigueur in all kitchens and pantries — aka the "jaali ki almaari" is also not something that's likely to surface in a spiffed up avatar as a crockery cupboard on pinterest. With its latticed sides to let the food breathe and its 4 legs in little containers of water or haldi to keep ants from climbing up and getting at the food — that repository of yummies is now made totally obsolete by monster side by side fridges. Sad, not least because it represents the death of a more civilised time when the real treasures in a home that needed a safe were all edible.
Another item on PETF's (People for the Ethical Treatment of Furniture) endangered list is the dressing table suites (typically covered over in geographically inappropriate pine laminate) with the matching stool and the three little embroidered doily like duchess set mats. That was where everyone's mummies put on their Cleopatra kajal and twisted their hair into a plait by day and a chignon by night and where every kid played dress up, while the three side by side mirrors winked and reflected multiple images of every grin and every pout — the most glamorous one could feel in pre- paparazzi pre- selfie socialist India.
The divan with the bolsters that doubled up as a bed for visiting family, the table and pedestal fans that were moved from room to room shaking theirs large heads wisely, the 2 inch high wooden slatted stool painted white (the "patri") in the bathroom, the loofah that had actually begun life as a gourd in the garden outside and not been conceived of as a home spa bathroom set — these are all the little bits and pieces of our domestic landscape that have vanished slowly and silently over the years.
And of course the kitchen as a battlefield has seen its own share of objecticide. The gleaming mixer grinder juicer on the one hand and the master chef-y balloon whisks on the other have bullied the humble hand powered rotary egg beater out of existence. And while no one can actively mourn the demise of egg flavoured milkshakes (an unfortunate by product of using the same beater to whisk eggs as well as make up a froth for the cold coffee), it certainly does deserve more than a minute of silence — for "zhuzhing up" a resolutely unfrothable India.
The rising trend of cooking and eating meat that is divorced from the bone and comes pre-cut from the meat tree means that marrow spoons have absolutely no place in the flatware drawer — a sad development for siblings everywhere who have one less thing to be competitive about. (Be honest — "His chicken is more pre- masticated than mine!" doesn't hold a candle to "How come her bone always has more marrow than mine?")
Those martabans — the white glazed pottery jars with the brown trims that achars were miraculously born in — are now kept alive only on the ventilator of being the vase for artistic dried flower and twig arrangements. The claw footed graters that could shred your knuckles are now replaced by microplaners which have stringent selection criteria for what can be grated on them (only 80 percent dark chocolate and tonka beans need apply).
So, think of the brass utensils that needed coating to be food safe, the Godrej Storwels that needed to be wrestled open, the mosquito nets where all sleeping and daydreaming hours were spent, the sewing machines which birthed the clothes that you wore, and everything else that populated our lives and that is now limping to extinction. And know that while inefficiency and hideousness in appearance will inevitably be bred out in this world, memories and affection still remain.
