Cluttered or clean: Which is yours?

While going through the updates in Facebook like every other morning, I happened to notice an interesting post which led to me another post. It talked about preferring which type of work desk: cluttered or clean?

The reference:

According to study conducted at University of Minnesota, a person who works in a messy environment develops a creative and innovative attitude and are willing to take risks in their lives. It can further enhance your problem solving abilities. In the same time a study shows cleanliness promotes good behaviour among the workers and it discourages them in committing crime and help them to display generosity.

The reality:

If you ask me and take cue from the image posted above (also taken from the website), I have always been a supporter of cluttered desk. Right from the school days, I had proudly boasted a cluttered desk. While my parents would try to find a decent corner in our room to accommodate all my books and that I keep them clean, I would always end leaving the desk messed up with books, writing copies, pens, pencils, etc. An occasional threatening from my mom that she would throw away the books and I would be punished at school, prompted that once in a while cleaning spree but other times, it would be my style.

When we moved to our own little flat, I was allotted a room of my own which, by law and rights, was also to be shared with my elder sister. Since she’s the elder one and had no relation with studies and academic books that time, I filled almost two-third of the room with my books. I demanded new books and my mom obliged, every damn time. She realised that the room needs special furniture to keep my ever growing stuff (yes, books) and got me racks made of bamboo sticks. Even the trolley that was made to keep food was a den for my books. And yes, the dinner table wasn’t spared. All these spaces have been my cluttered desks for years.

I became the sole owner of the room after my sister got married and made it the cluttered room which also became a reason for my mom and sister to scold me about occasionally. While they are strong supporters of clean desk and doesn’t support studying in a messy way, I am the exact opposite. I studied and kept my things in a fashion so that they are in easy reach. When I cleaned the room and kept things in their original places, I failed to remember the simplest things like where else on earth will I keep my pen other than inside the book I was studying last? Yes, I did find it later. It was kept in the pen stand near the computer.

Not that clean desk is bad, it is simply empty. Empty is like loneliness.

Not that cluttered desk is good, it is simply filled up. Like you have company. In my case, lots of company. My fascination for books, magazines and papers still rules my brain and my office desk gets cluttered in no time in this age of digitisation as well.

I really can’t keep myself away from paper and habit of collecting these printed stuff. And therefore, I can’t help but have a cluttered desk and thus a creative and innovative attitude also, may be.

Love: What does it mean actually?

Story 1

Every person has a story to say. Even I have one. This is not about me but an instance that I came across some time back. Phases, they say, in our lives come and pass by. It may be a good one or a bad one. You only judge it when it you are experiencing it or have been a part of it.

I wrote for a health portal professionally then. This job needed me to interview a mother of an autistic child. I had to meet the lady at her place in the afternoon and note down her story over a cup of coffee. Like any other story, this story too needed background research and questions to be framed that do not hurt the emotions of the mother.

I had already known an autistic child in my family. I knew how he behaved, what he thought and how he was treated despite his disorder. My editor had given me instructions at to what I should not ask anything that might hurt the feelings of the mother and that I should consciously study the mannerisms—the ethnographic study. This would help us in writing and build up the story better.

I reached their apartment in the afternoon and was greeted by the lady herself. She was taking care of her younger daughter—not an autistic child—as she was preparing to go out and play in the compound park. I was told to begin my interview for she was now ready to share her story with me.

The purpose of conducting the interview was only to convey to the readers that “every child is special to their parents”. This daughter was the couple’s first child and they didn’t even have an idea about her mental disorder until she was near about two years old. She explained her initial bouts of stress, not being able to accept and believe her luck and her daughter. Medical tests and every other way to find out measures to treat the little girl, learn about the nuances of the disorder and failing to take her own into confidence that the child has done nothing wrong. It was not only her daughter’s struggle to win over the family member through her innocence but it was her struggle to make others believe that her daughter was the best gift that God had given her.

The girl is now about to enter her teens and is being taught at special school. The doctors are hopeful about her wellbeing and that with special care, she might be able to learn more things and probably take care of herself. The lady had enrolled herself to classes that teach ways and methods to help such children overcome their day-to-day struggles. She keeps herself updated about the new developments in the research and keeps a tab on the developments that she witnesses in her daughter.

She feels it important to mention that both the sisters love each other in normal ways and that the younger one is more enthusiastic about taking her elder sister along when it comes to playing or dancing on bollywood tunes.

This was a day, a time and a moment that had helped me realise the joy and pain of being a parent and a mother. While you have unconditional love for your child who may not be perfect, there’s nothing enough that you can do to prove your love for them to the on-lookers. For the mother in my story, hers is a continuing phase but for me, this was a sheer experience of listening and learning about a woman growing up to become a wonderful mother. A story of love that cannot be explained through words even from the finest dictionary that you or I may own! Love that is not found in the romance novels!