Since this is merely a mush of thoughts I am at a loss as to where I should begin, so I shall start at the very beginning. Carl Sagan once said that one must invent the universe to make an apple pie from scratch, but the beginning of this story is far later—although it does involve me making something. It all started a few weeks ago when, after several months of being deprived of material consumption-induced serotonin, I decided to indulge in a bedside table for myself. Just in a few hours, I was able to find an almost perfect table at a frighteningly cheap price. A quick Google search explained that IKEA is able to sell at a low price by taking McDonaldisation to its extremes, where the manufacturing process is deferred to the customer. And that is precisely where it all begins.
With Gilmore Girls to keep me company, I unpacked the flat-packed box with wooden parts, metal rods, a million screws, and a manual (which was briefly my guiding light). Initially, it all seemed easy; the first step is to attach two horizontal wooden bars vertical to the bigger horizontal wooden plank. Could anything go wrong? Well, yes. It was only while attaching the second horizontal plank did I realize that both planks were not identical, and I had attached the vertical bars to the wrong plank. This essentially meant that my desk would open downwards—that is, if it ever held together. After trying to remove the vertical bars with my bare arms and teeth, I gave up and called up the crisis hotline, which is just a friend who puts out fires I start. When they didn’t pick up I tried the actual customer care who apologized for being helpless in this situation. So standing before this anomaly, confounded by my sheer inability to follow instructions (that the snow-man in the manual could so easily follow), I decided to take a nice trip downward into a spiral.
During this spiraling journey, I realized that this was one of the only times I could let myself emotionally react, as I was able to justify it by citing external reasons. Staying home with family in close quarters means being in a condition where one is physically and mentally accountable to other units. It also means living in a situation where any unexplained behavior warrants overwhelming concern and coddling. So seeing something as tangible as a table in that state enabled my brain to let its guard down. After performing the sadness drill for a solid 10 minutes, I dusted myself off and decided to build the table even if it meant that the desk would open downwards. I would just have to learn to live with it, of course. So I started by attaching the legs this time, then proceeding to build the actual desk. While finishing up the latter, I identified the piece which tightens the screws and holds the whole together. After unscrewing the same piece in the aforementioned wrongly attached desk cavity, the whole thing came undone. And I managed to fix this. So although I won’t heed this advice myself, I would like to mention that sometimes perseverance might actually work out in the end, even when you expect the whole thing to end in shambles.
At this point, it is understandable if you’re wondering why I was emotionally invested in a table. That is because, firstly, it was the first exciting thing that has happened in several months. But it is also because, along with the toolkit, my grandparents also lent me advice that I should wait for some male member of the family to do it. Although their concern is not unfounded, it was a mere reminder of the gendering of tasks at home. It is a reminder that the world of my surroundings is far, far removed from the feminist utopia that I construct in my mind. It is also evidence of the fact that most well-meaning people carry imperfect definitions and biases that hurt others, and negotiating the dimensions of equality and freedom happens all the time, often in places you don’t suspect.
So after three hours of putting together different parts, which included screwing and unscrewing multiple times because I have zero intuition about this, I finally have what looks like a table. The table seems intact, but I have two extra screws so who knows. And to extrapolate without reason, I guess the table also teaches you that even when you find yourself missing a few pieces, you can almost certainly hold a couple of books, a phone charger, and a pack of earbuds; and look beautiful while at it.
In addition to giving me a legitimate excuse to procrastinate on doing real work, constructing this table proves that even though the beginning might be shaky and filled with uncertainty, one must always keep going. I understand if you feel like a lot of this feels forced; trust me, it took me a lot of pushing too. But I guess that’s probably because this whole piece is an elaborate ruse by my brain to disguise the extreme procrastination of the production process by the corporate as an autonomous choice.
See also: IKEA’s secret to keeping its prices so low
Edited by Abhirami G
Article 19 