By Siddharth Pashikanti
Have you ever felt like not doing something that you were bound by responsibility to do? As in,
everything you never wanted to do was just waiting to be done, but you didnât have the energy or
enthusiasm to do it? Or as my mom calls this phenomenon, âThe Laundry Dichotomy.’
The year was 2018. A young, inquisitive Siddharth was wandering about his house, wearing nothing but
a ânikkar-baniyanâ. This was the ripe age for Siddharth, for his mom could get him to do household
chores without ever having to pay him anythingâŠall because she could guilt-trip him into doing household
labour as an act of helping out his mother, and, in essence, telling his mom how much he loved her.
I was loading up the laundry into the washing machine when I saw an old 10 rupee note in one of my
grandfatherâs shirts. It was in pristine condition, almost newly printed. I examined the note and thought
Iâd save it for later. And ironically forgot all about it.
That was until my mother asked me why there was a medieval 10 rupee note in my pocket. I
immediately remembered its existence and snatched it from my mother and ran downstairs to ask my
grandfather about it. As I sat there wondering how much a piece of currency can indicate the
situation of the country and its socio-political and economic state. I felt the note was telling me
something. It was telling me the story of India when it was printed.
Why am I telling you all this? Because I firmly believe that this dreaded Dichotomy made its way back to
me all the way from home. It all started when I gave my first laundry in Krea. I still remember it vividly. I
delayed my laundry for the first full month in Krea, just reusing the same clothes, washing my socks and
undergarments to make them reusable. Just doing the bare minimum. That was until my first WOC
assignment came. And I realised, I had no time left between dilly-dallying and WOC to actually do my
laundry. And then, it came. To quote Miley Cyrus, it âcame in like a wrecking ball,â back to haunt me
again. This time, the only difference was that I was a fully grown 18-year-old still with a penchant for laziness.
It was the first month-end, and I filled up my laundry bag with everything from my shirts to my socks (these
socks are yet to be found, by the way). I gave them to the dude standing in the laundromat, signed in, and
walked away, thinking Iâll come back in 3 days. But little did I know that I had to come back in two days.
The dude there remembered me fairly well (maybe because I speak Telugu and I did talk to him in Telugu)
and called me up two days after I gave my laundry. He asked me to come collect it. At first, I was lazy. I
thought, who would go there willingly if it doesnât mean Iâm either getting or giving my laundry? But
after consulting my friends about the situation at hand, it was pointed out that I gave well over the
maximum number of clothes you can give for a wash. And then it struck me.
What if I were caught?
Now you must understand, I was scared out of my wits. Because I knew I gave a gazillion clothes, as
opposed to the 20 per bag limit. My fresher anxiety kicked in.
âAre they going to revoke my laundry privileges?â
âWill they reprimand me?!â
âMaybe theyâll ask me to take my extra clothes back.â
A billion thoughts running through my head as I walked up the ramp to the entrance of the laundromat. I see the
man. I act extra nice, greet him, and ask him whether he ate, all a ploy to reduce the severity of
whatever was coming my way. He reaches out underneath his desk and pulls out a wet and almost
translucent paper. He hands it to me, saying it was found in the pocket of one of the pants I gave for
laundry. I reached for it, still somewhat wet. I pulled it close to my eyes and looked at it. A smile sprang
up on my face.
It was a 500 rupee note.
I thanked the laundromat man and gleefully smiled. A 500 rupee note? In this economy? During the
month-end? The laundromat was no longer just a laundromat. It was El Dorado. I stared at the note. As I
sat in the room, thinking about this note, it was speaking to me. It was telling me that maybe, just
maybeâŠI should go and order chicken strips and nuggets at Copa.