For many days I have had a classic oxford white shirt- my most favorite, fitting, a little shabby due to overuse- white shirt. Then one of these days, in the washing machine it met many red and yellow and green and blue clothes and when it came out, it was a changed shirt altogether. It had developed a little crush near its hem for the red underpants and a ‘stain of love’ given to it by the naughty blue office shirt. For days and months I mourned the stain and didn’t know what to do about it. It was a horrible stain- a stain like no other; a stain no detergent in the market claimed to remove- a stain of a lifetime. I put the shirt in the machine a couple of times and then left it to rot inside one of my dumpsters. There was no way I was ever going to get rid of that wretched stain.
“Oh my shirt! My beloved shirt!” I cried for days, watching ‘friends’ on my laptop, eating ice-cream and dark chocolates to forget my loss.
This past Tuesday morning, I was cleaning up my closet and saw the shirt again along with the most loathed stain in the history of all stains. I put it in warm water with some regular detergent and left it to soak for around a day. Next morning I hand washed it and put it in some indigo water. It is drying up in the balcony right now and the stain is still there. God! I hate it so much!
A few years back when I first began writing poetry, a random person commented on one of my poems,
“You are a stain on literature. You can’t write and you should not try. Honestly, you suck!”
Now that I think of it, it is a good thing I am a stain. Not a blotch, a stain! I want to stay on the white shirt forever, slowly changing my colors but always sticking near the button placket. Hate me if you wish but you can’t put me away!