Someday I will have an office like this:
A big desk made of the light-coloured wood…no clue what its called.
A little pot of flowers…no, not cut out of bouquets by housekeeping, but grown and tended to by me. Big yellow flowers…zarberas or African daisies I think they’re called. And they’ll sit on a corner of my table.
A window that stretches down to my knees. I just like a broad view of things.
Oh and of course…a good aerial view. Doesn’t matter if I’m overlooking a busy road…I grew up in Mumbai after all. But nothing below 5 floors….I want to watch the sun rising behind buildings covering them in that strange orange-grey glow that I’ve seen only in a sunrise over Mumbai’s buildings. This assumes of course that all this will be in Mumbai. But that’s not necessary. Any place high up enough, where I can see the sky and the day being born is good.
Maroon carpets. Or flooring. Whichever. But it has to be a deep maroon. And never look dusty or faded.
No curtains. I want venetian blinds.
A deep dark wooden cabinet with my books….naaaw not Company Law and Management and Self-Help. But ‘comfort books’. Yes there are ‘comfort books’ like there are ‘comfort foods’. What they are vary from time to time, but they do exist, nevertheless.
A cushion in the left corner of the room covered with a cotton cover…the kind that looks like its made of multi-coloured rags. This so I can do what I palm off as meditation but is really nothing as pretentious as that. It is quite simply, sitting quietly and catching my breath.
A big painting on the wall facing me. The door to my room to its right. This painting should be some sort of landscape….mountains, sunrise, clouds….a brown, grey, black, yellow sort of thing. I don’t why. I just want it. On my left a smaller painting…something snazzier, more boho….Picasso or Dali perhaps. Then again, I might predictably settle for Van Gogh. In which case it will either be ‘Harvest at La Crau’ or ‘Sunflowers’.
The rest of it….computer of course, printer, scanner, all the rest of the gizmos I’ll be able to pay someone to take care of for me. Huge, spacious desk-drawers that can hold all the clutter that I seem to need. All fitted with a lock.
Oh and yes…music. Soft strains, the sort you hear playing at expensive beauty salons…instrumental, some string-instrument, loud enough to be audible but not intrusive.
The background must be dark, womb-like almost and its severity broken by spaces of light and colour…and me. I have it all laid out in my mind. And consciously or unconsciously I am moving towards this. Every workspace I’ve sat at has moved towards this image as much as I can make it so. And I know I’ll be there. Very soon.
The only thing is I wonder if I’ll have the time to enjoy it once I have it.