Ever since reading “Zen & the Art of …” and trying very hard and yet still pondering with the words of Robert M. Prisig, I been craving to analyze a hobby I do regularly, in which I am actually really good at.
I ride bikes, been around, but I have no clue about the mechanics of a bike. A broken clutch cable, would cause me trouble, because I never bother to carry an extra cable or a puncture kit for that, nor learned to change one. Bike has always been the preferred object to travel. And I do take good care of the bike, not me actually. But the mechanics near my home. The chances of trying to do a biopsy of my motorcycle experiences would be very bad. I actually have very few, half a dozen punctures, couple of minor problems while starting, a broken clutch; these are the only things that have happened to make the bike immobile when I was riding over the last 10 years. It is another matter that there been incidents, where I was immobile and the bike was got back home by a friend. But it is not about me, about my relation with the motor bike, so as to be Phadreus.
Taking a shower, I observed the stain on the tiles, a shade of brown, stained from water, because I have been scrubbing on it meticulously for once a week, for the last 15 months. I have been missing my last weapon, in my toilet maintenance strategy. I am sorry, I actually had a strategy for toilet cleaning, it is my hobby, and I think about it at times. I was missing acid, I didn’t know where to get it and I have been looking around.
Out from the shower, I went ahead to ask again for acid. I asked a random shop nearby, which I have been ignoring because of its negligible size and they had it. They actually had it. With a feeling of triumph I buy not one, not two, but three bottles of acid. Came running back home and changed ma dress, got armed and poured acid all over the washroom. The smell was pungent, I held my breath for the longest possible time I ever had, but at the end, three liters of acid poured all over the floor.
My flat mate woke up coughing and we settled for sometime in the kitchen. An hour later, I am inside, scrubbing with a brush, it is white, a white as clear as the milk of cow. Every inch of it is that color and I actually felt happy pouring water and watch the stains go away down the drain. Then there is an inch still reluctant, I use the back side of my floor brush, it is my gun in the maintenance program and the back side the ultimate precision weapon. Reluctantly it gives away, after 7 minutes, I wear my watch, to check the time, that is how important, my toilet maintenance strategy is for me.
After having accomplished to give my flat mate a surprise with the whiteness of the tiles, I actually know, while Prisig was about Motorcycle maintenance in the search of the answers, I have just reached the toilet maintenance stage.
((NB: The Zen thinker and the toilet strategist and the one who is actually writing this, all are me and they exist together in harmony. That is the miracles which make me feel awed and seek answers. The wonder called human mind, something worthwhile to take the plunge??))