Cleanliness is...

There’s this thing called ‘cleanliness’ that I’ve fortunately inherited from my mum. What a Bridezilla is to a wedding and a Godzilla is to mankind; Mumzilla is exactly that to my household. You get the gist? (Mind you, I’m not talking about being ‘tidy’, which she is and I’m not.) Like her, I somehow can’t bear to not wash my hands before and after every single ‘defining’ moment of a day especially when it involves food. I’m certain it’s not an OCD. It’s not, I’m certain. Not doing ‘it’ after using the bathroom for a quick wee or after having dug for gold (even if from the circumference of an orifice) is a complete no no. It’s a criminally disgusting act yet widely practiced. What makes it singularly sickening for me is when I have to play a courteous guest at someone’s that unflinchingly practice these malpractices! Do I politely tell them or do I just look away when I see those hands lovingly marinate that chicken while the cistern flush still plays in the background? Do I tell them that while they are killing the lumpy bits in the cake batter, their hands are also leaving skid-mark like impressions in that vanilla batter? (It’s not supposed to be a marble cake you know!) Do I tell them that it is unacceptable to rinse their mouths in the sinks they use for washing their dishes? Do I tell them to at least rinse the lemon squeezer that carelessly dropped in the sink while they were ‘still’ using it? Do I lie and tell them that I don’t like gaajar-ka-halwa because the one they’ve prepared is ‘kaala-kaala’? Do I tell them I only eat rice when I can’t really do without ‘chapatis’? Where do I draw the line? I’ve read way too often that we are what we eat. Are we really what we eat? Are we all filthy freaks of nature with varying degrees of cleanliness? My super generous and considerate flat mate, after returning from work, habitually takes off his boots in the lounge room and lunges straight towards the refrigerator. The sink in between is an invisible aberration. He invariably takes out something from the freezer section – like a precooked patty or a dish that was prepared last winter. I remember him once taking out a frozen pizza base and putting it on the ledge of the balcony – without an under plate – for it to thaw! “Haw!” I screamed in horror. He remarked, “Relax! It’s going to get cooked anyway. All the germs will get killed”. I retorted with a cheeky “Why don’t you **** on it and cook that too? It’s going to make a great pizza topping!” I realized almost immediately what I’d said was too harsh and apologized at once. When the ‘gourmet’ pizza was finally ready, I was cheekily asked if I’d like to try the “**** pizza”. I retracted my apology, threw my manners off that same ledge and without making eye-contact cut him mid-sentence with an abrupt ‘NO!’ A voice in my head said, ‘I have morals and I will not compromise!’ He has probably long forgotten about that incident because to this day, he still asks me if I’d like to have something from that overloaded freezer. I now only momentarily freeze before saying a genuinely polite & apologetic, ‘No, thank you’. I see these TV shows with celebrity chefs and master chefs and crisis survival chefs like Bear Grylls and Jamie Oliver invariably doling out some great caveman style cooking tips (they could probably have their own ‘Caveman Style’ song like Gangnam Style?) and I unfailingly notice their nails and the sweat and the grime and wonder if I have a sick mind? As kids, we’d given our mum this poster on her birthday (from Archies Shop) that read ‘Cleanliness is a sure sign of a sick mind’. She tore it to smithereens. I now understand why.