No cook, no clean

April rebellion

No cook, no clean

No scrub, no dust

No chop, no feed

No wash, no sweep

No mop, no fry

No provisioning

No enter house, no what, no why

Nobility.

Sorry, Thomas Hood and my readers, for that bad parody of a good poem. This morning, Raju and I planted nine trees – a date, two lemons, a peepal, a guava, a papaya, a sweet cherry, a Singapore cherry and a gul mohar. Also a pineapple, a lemon grass, an aloe vera and some monsoon lily bulbs.

It rained last night, so the air and the soil were soft. I had made tea for Raju earlier, so that I could relax after he left, in the cool, breezy shade of the honge tree. Oh, bliss!

I wish I could stay outdoors all day and never get into the trap of housework again. Are you listening, my messy and eternally hungry family? Are you listening, my constantly demanding to be eaten vegetables?

Let me just loll here between planting trees. ‘Here she lies where she longs to be,’ as RL Stevenson almost said.

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One response to “No cook, no clean

  1. There are probably one or two humans on the planet who don’t empathize with you. I do–one of few times I’ve fallen in with a majority. Your garden is beautiful and it feeds your family. Who honestly cares whether your kitchen shelves are scrubbed to surgical standards?

    Liked by 1 person

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