Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I hate the 'durability' of Durable Goods

I bought a refrigerator yesterday, and not one of the second-hand, minibar kinds which I can leave behind and not look back at. This was a brand new, 235-litre, double-door Videocon (yea, I admit I made a concession here. Not that I have anything against Videocon, but my mom apparently has some unpleasant memories) refrigerator which I simply love. It’s my first white good possession, it’s my first expensive purchase (if you leave out the laptop) and while it has a very grown-up feeling to it, just looking at it scares the hell out of me. It’s tall, it’s dark, it’s brooding and it’s, well, so PERMANENT! It’s almost like a HUSBAND which (who) I cannot get rid of easily/run away from because I have invested so much of my hard-earned money in it.

In my two years of work life, I have always avoided buying stuff which cannot be stuffed into a suitcase (which is why I love clothes and books- they are so easy to carry and yet provide so much happiness). So first we took up a fully-furnished place and then moved to a semi-furnished house (where my angelic flatmate bought the fridge). But when she decided to get married and move out (we still question the logic behind that sometimes), I had the broker provide me with the bare necessities in my new house (which included a dilapidated fridge). However, it finally decided to give away while I was bed-ridden last week, forcing me to buy a new one for myself.

But now, every time I look at it, I get consumed by this feeling of uncertainty which I can only term as FEAR. I know it’s irrational, I know that these days most companies pay for your relocation (just in case my work takes me elsewhere: you know Goa, Nainital, Coorg, Kovalam, or Puri… sigh wishful thinking!), and I know moving within the city is really not that big a deal. So it’s clearly NOT the mobility which bothers me. It’s just the thought of BEING STUCK with it for the next 6-7 years or taking care of it (maintenance, service, compressor check) or being responsible for it because it’s MINE. So imagine how I shall feel when it comes to getting married or having kids (more on it in the next post tomorrow)…

New-found respect for commitment phobia…

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