Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Hard Pressed

We all have our handicaps, don't we? Well, mine isn't exotic or seriously debilitating but stunting nevertheless.

One of the frequent chores that bug me is the ritual of ironing my trousers. Really, this is a job way too menial for my genius. My flirtation with the iron began during the school days, although jogging my memory doesn't help in recalling when I was pressed into this demeaning job. I guess it was my mom who made me do the unthinkable, ironing my school pants. We had an ancient iron the weight of a shot-put and even lifting it was a Herculean task. Anyway, someone had to do the job and it might as well be me. I actually developed a temporary stoop after the ordeal was over. It was, quite literally, a back-breaking experience.

The second press I had an affair with was newer and lighter, much to my relief. Kaushik, my roommate in Pune, was the proud owner of this little device that made life a lot easier than it otherwise would have been. Romancing the feather-weight iron was almost a pleasure and ours was a steady relationship until tragedy struck, quite literally. One of the legs of Kaushik's bed broke and the entire bed tilted...though not completely, thanks to the iron which stood right next to the broken leg. So now the poor thing was suddenly burdened with the weight of the bed & Kaushik atop it, enough to ruin the thermostat. Kaushik showed enough presence of mind and leaped from the bed, but the damage had already been done. Well, the iron still worked, but with a busted regulator life surrounding it was in danger. I don't know how many clothes were sacrificed at the alter of the near-incandescent iron. I can recall at least one of my shirts' burn-marks bearing testimony to the iron that got too hot to handle.
I'm in Bangalore now and have my own little iron. Nothing spectacular or out-of-the-ordinary about it. However, there's one problem that never seems to fade away. Creases of formal trousers are my Achilles' heel. I just can't seem to be able to preserve a well etched crease that comes with new formal trousers. No matter how hard I try, the crease gradually seems to fade into thin air...or fabric! It's okay at the bottom, but as it traverses to the top it gradually disappears. I've boldly tried to press hard over the right regions so as to make the long-lost crease reappear in its new avatar, but each time it traverses up a new path and fails to meet any of the pleats at the top, whose sole purpose of existence is now in jeopardy. Finally, each artificial crease leaves behind its indelible mark...and the parallel venation resembles a eucalyptus tree without leaves.

I sport my much maligned trousers with the high hopes of the multiple creases issuing some sort of fashion statement that'll someday be the rage.


d2de said...

good one deepanjan....i enjoyed ur blog on Bagpack/backpack..keep writing..tc

deepanjan said...


Vivek said...

Could you manage a riya invite for me? If you've got one for yourself that is. I hear Google's ready to pay $40 mn for it.

deepanjan said...

Sorry, I don't have an account yet.

-J said...

I haven't known too many men who are passionate or even have a little soft spot for an ironing chore...except my dad maybe.

deepanjan said...

Ironing is to me what shoe-polishing was to Einstein!

-j said...

ya i don't blame you! Although, I really don't mind it myself. However, I can see why many people have a disliking for it.


I generally dislike Wagner. However, I heard a piece by him today and it was sublime and breathtakingly beautiful.