Five Things You Should Do...

this is not what you think

This “five things you should do…”— is beginning to get my goat.

For instance, the lists of 5 things you should eat, drink, exercise (nothing short of 100 reps each ok), smell, hear and taste first thing in the morning to ‘lose weight’ means one REALLY LONG MORNING.

Because these are just not ONE set of five things, there are innumerable sets of five things per head. You do the maths.

And if by mistake you happen to click on ONE such list, your algorithm marks you as the “five things” kind of gal or guy and lo and behold your whole world wide web is nothing but lists of five things.

I am beginning to hate these lists and listicles from the bottom of my heart! I know, I know. Hate is a strong word. But it can’t be helped.

Five books you should read. Five things you should do before you go to sleep. Five things after you go to sleep. Five must eat food. Five must-not eat food. Five drinks you should drink before you are fully awake. Five drinks you should never drink come what may.

Five things. FIVE things. FIVE THINGS.

P-A-A-N-C-H

Don’t Get Me Wrong…

I like lists. To an extent.

For instance, in writing it helps overcome a lean patch. Or, streamline one’s thoughts. Not every line that pops in your head can become an essay. But it can be accommodated in a list. And you have managed to unclog your brain for bigger things in life. Like an essay.

Also, for instance, when you are bursting with rage at the consultant graphics designer for making absolute fuck-all designs, you can make a list of reasons why you should not renew their contract. This way you have channelised your rage, made a plan for the not-so-immediate future, and come across as a sane person.

To-do-lists are good. This was something I learnt from the husband. So we became ferocious to-do-listers. Especially for the weekends. And in the long lists of things (like fix the lamp, withdraw money, pay rent, water plants, buy an oven, buy insurance, visit a friend, wash clothes, clean book shelf, watch a film, dinner), we only did the last two.

I stopped making those lists after several failed attempts*. The husband is still at it.

*I make more achievable to-do-lists now

The Thing Is…

This morning I woke up quite pissed at lists and listicles. And I wrote furiously— Why lists? Short attention span? Aren’t lists and listicles making them shorter? No time? And what are people doing with the time saved? Discovering medicine? No, consuming more shit online.

I continued writing—That it is a lazy way to write things. That the world is going nuts about lists. And that lists was the language of communication with the kirana uncle, the grocer.

Saamaan Ka List

Lists were how groceries were ordered. The list, carefully drawn by Ma after checking each dabba, was delivered to the kirana store by yours truly or dad (but mostly yours truly). Our kirana guy was either a Ashok or a Gupta or both.

In the evening one of his delivery boys would come with a big bag with neatly stacked brown bags of various sizes and girth. He would take each packet out and lay it on the floor. Not a tear. Not a spill. The aata packet was always the tallest and the tiniest ones were garam masalas!

Mum would read out the list and the guy would open each to cross-check. Everything, except salt and biscuit, was sold loose back then; everything came in brown paper bags. Sometimes a square newspaper patch was placed on top for extra security. Those brown bags were origami at their best!

List cross-checked, bill paid, the dabbas would come out. This was an exciting activity of memory, maths, sorting, storing and cleaning.

The contents of the brown bag were carefully transferred. Urad dal in urad dabba, so on and so forth. The brown bags were then carefully folded and tucked away for future use. Dabbas went back on the shelf, the floor was cleaned. And voila! you have a clean house and a fully stocked kitchen, and it all started with a list.

Saamaan ka list. The 5 kg aata, 5 kg chaawal, 500 gram rajma type of list….That is the best use for a list!

The grocers didn’t have time for literature or poetry. And neither did our mums.

But imagine if they had the time, the list could look like this:-

Bhaiyya, bhej dena 500 gram Chole; Chickpea, agar angrezi mein boley

Saath mein 500 gram Rajma; Aur 50 gram Ajwain for hajma.

Do kg Chaawal- usna nahi arwa; 50 gram Dhaniya for baingan bharwa

100 gram Haldi, Mircha powder aur Paanchphoran; ek packet grated coconut for thoran

Surf ka ek packet; Ek Ezee bhi for sweater and jacket

250 grams Urad, Moong aur Masoor; chalo Arhar bhi de do uska kya kasoor

Baaki sab theek? Bhabhi, aur beta Maneesh?; arre garam masala mein star anise

laung, dalchini, elaichi badi aur choti; Do kg aata for multigrain roti

Itna hi bhejwa dijiye abhi; 10 minute mein nahi, shaam mein kabhi

kabhi fursat hoga toh khud aayenge; warna yun hi list se saamaan mangwayenge.

the list. the trip. the brown bags

Raju Tai’s CoCreateClub & Natasha Badhwar’s Ochre Sky Stories restored my faith in lists. For instance,

and,

and,

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If you are becoming an anti-lister, check out their upcoming workshops (Natasha’s here), it might help you as well!