In a World of IKEA, Be a Lohe ki Almaari
This is not another post hating capitalism. Capitalism deserves to be hated sometimes, but here I will not do that. In fact here I will try to think of someone who doesn’t like IKEA, and I cannot find anyone. IKEA’s products are sleek, stylish, functional, durable and most importantly, cheap. In India, it’s fast becoming a feature of modern interior and stylish offices, a brand to be shown off; here in Germany, it’s a functional and practical brand. Just like when you need cheap socks you go to HnM, when you need cheap furniture and stuff for the house, you go to IKEA.
I arrive here and the Swedish force is everywhere: you want to buy a cup, go to IKEA. If you want a bed, go to IKEA. In fact, if you are new, go to the nearest IKEA, and get everything you possibly need. My arrival room is furnished with what is ostensibly IKEA. Welcome starter packs have IKEA houseware. On websites selling second hand goods, people are reselling their well-preserved IKEA furniture. As I look at the sleek, elegant IKEA closets which are everywhere, I think wistfully of the lohe ki almaari.
I never understood why my mother didn’t get rid of our lohe ki almaari. It is so old and definitely not stylish; it’s clunky and doesn’t fit in with the rest of the decor. Every time you open it, there’s a creaky noise, and no amount of oiling will stop that. To lock it, we have to hold the handle in a certain way, or its latch won’t align and it won’t lock. The metal rusts a bit on the corners and the edges, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t at least slightly wobbly.
But it just can’t be chucked away, because the lohe ki almaari has a story. In fact, I haven’t been to a single house in north India which didn’t have their own lohe ki almaari, and each of these have their own story. For many, it’s a reminder of their bloody history, when the lohe ki almaari was one of the few precious things brought over to the other side in the partition. For many others, the lohe ki almaari was one of the big things given lovingly in the dowry, holding new saris and fabric for the new bride, a reminder of her old home.
How many generations had the lohe ki almaari seen? How many saris had it protected, how many precious belongings had it guarded? Things have a life in them. The lohe ki almaari is full of stories and life, and not in a million years could my mother imagine simply giving it up, no matter how much it stood out.
In the world of produce, use, and throw, we forget to keep things and repair things. We forget to continue their story. And if we don’t have our story, we are just manufactured empty boxes, each the same as the next.
I don’t argue for living in the past. Nobody ever benefitted from that. I will buy a bed from IKEA. The lohe ki almaari was Godrej after all. But in the world of IKEA, don’t forget your lohe ki almaari. It is the one unique sparkle that you can give to the world that is truly your own, that sets you apart from everyone else, what makes you special. Don’t forget your story, because at the end of the day, that’s all you have.
