sofa musings

I have a sofa in my living room which I sit on.
When I was a wee mite, growing up in Mumbai, sofas were not comfort objects to be sat upon. Kings of the living room, they were used sparingly. The family that owned the sofa, never quite got around to subordinating it for personal use. Indeed, it was quite exclusively only for “guest purposes.” Usually a three piece set with the big triple seater sofa and the more exclusive twin pairs, they were anointed with sofa cover and adorned with cushion, then made to wait like a fairy tale sleeping beauty for her fair prince.

Indian Middle class mentalities, which for all I know may have long since drifted away on modern day currents but the “don’t touch couch” was an essential part of my quirky childhood. Every time I lift my feet up, on any couch anywhere in the world, I do so with trepidation for I half expect my mother to come billowing in, unseat me with withering eye and proceed to smooth down the minute folds on the sofa cover which only the truly blessed can see.

It is not surprising then, that whenever I sit upon upon a sofa, creativity courses through my veins and the world seems not round, but a long straight road, the end of which I can almost see. For the “ sofa” is a relic, the all seeing stone forged in the depths of time which gently lulls you into deep slumber where it reveals all- the past, the present and the T.V guide, distant musings, instant solutions and many other myriad objects including the pizza slice that was lost, only to be found again between the sacred spaces and inbetweens of “the sofa.”

Today’s sofa session has brought me new insight. Many musings have I had about the nature of ‘identity.’ About tags both implicit and implicating. For Religion, Nationality, Caste, Creed, Sex and Moral Sensibility are our personal definitions of the world around us. A world that then ceases to exist as an entity but remains only as mismatched fragments which will never complete the grand puzzle.