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Limbu juice on marble flooring..!
By Robert Clements
Very often I look at advertisements about living rooms. Some of them look spectacular, and then I play a mental game with myself; I project myself into that same room in the picture, sit down on the sofa, advertised and see how I feel.

Most often I felt very uncomfortable: Living should be inviting.

Living rooms many years ago, revealed who was living in them. It’s different, today; they try to show off what we are not:

My neighbour downstairs who had spent the last six months supervising some major changes in his home had been calling me over for more than a year.

“Come over for a cup of tea!” he would say.

“No,” I would plead, “I don’t have anything between meals.”

“What about a small drink?” he would wink.

“No,” I would say again, wondering why he wanted to drink with me.

But yesterday his wife managed to corner me. “You haven’t seen our home,” she said. “Ofcourse I have,” I said, “you remember I came over in 1986 when my dog strayed inside and you were standing on top of sofa throwing cushions at the poor thing!”

“Ah that sofa is gone,” she sighed, “just like your dog.”

“She was a good dog,” I sighed.

“It was a terrible sofa!” she said, “but come in, come in and see the new one,” and she ushered me into her house.

“Wow!” I said for want of a better word, “wow!”

“Do you like it?” she asked, “the floor is Italian marble, the window sills are all granite and the doors are real teak!”

“Must have cost the earth!” I whispered.

“Fifteen lakhs!” she whispered proudly, “and once the bathrooms and kitchen are over, it could touch twenty!”

“That’s a lot of money,” I said weakly as she went off to bring me a glass of iced limbu sherbert.

The place was a Taj Mahal. I stared at my reflection on the flooring, and was stretching out to feel costly velvet drapes when a little fellow, her grandchild ran into the room, with grandmother, my neighbour screaming behind, “Out!” she shouted, “out!”.

“Something amiss?” I asked as she caught the little chap and bundled him out of the room.

“No playing in the living room!” she said sternly, “I don’t want the floor scratched or the granite stained…”

“Or the drapes torn!” I shouted as I made a quick exit from the marble museum, hoping she wouldn’t notice I had spilled limbu juice on her spotless marble flooring!

Oh give me back living rooms where people live..!

News Updated at : Thursday, September 13, 2012
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