Dust if You Must was written by Mrs Rose Milligan from Lancaster in Lancashire, England, and first published on September 15th 1998 in the 21st edition of The Lady (“in continuous publication since 1885 and widely respected as England’s longest running weekly magazine for women”).

I can’t remember how old I was when once, my father’s first cousin (aunt’s son) was over from Sargodha on their yearly trip always bearing fruits, wheat, Gur and truckloads of yummies we urban bodies would otherwise crave.

We just got back from school and as my mother rushed to fix lunch, my grandfather sent someone to pick up roti (flatbread) from a nearby tanoor (tandoor). (This was a routine in our household for as long as I can remember. So nothing special)

The guest, my uncle, (technically) as he sat down to eat mumbled something to the effect that what’s the use of a Nhoo (Punjabi)/ Bahu (Urdu)/ Daughter in law officials we have to get Roti (flatbread) from outside the house.

I think he was in his first bite and my grandfather was like “kaka, rakh thallay” (put this down, boy) pointing to the morsel still in his hand.

Perplexed he was like “Jee Khalu Jee?” (What, Uncle?)

He repeated. “Rakh thallay, te nikal jaa aidron. Ainda shakal vikhaan dee lorr naee ay” (Put this town and get lost from here. There is no need for you to show your face here again”)

A lot of pleading pursued which included begging that let us stay till evening, we just got here after a long drive, let us at least have a meal but my grandfather was … well. A lot like I am today. Only worse because it came with the Male, Elder child privilege and that of a Socially strong position owing to his career.

They were sent off packing and over three decades later I still have never seen them.

Mind you. This is the son of one of the 11 + 6 younger siblings of his own and his wife who he raised, educated and married off himself. So these aren’t distant relatives. This was his baby sister’s son.

Coming to Dust if you must. At a first glance it just so seems like a poem about cleaning. To not obsess over “dusting” quite literally but when I go a tad deeper beneath the proverbial “skin” of the writing, it holds within a world of awareness.

How often are we shamed, growing up to adopt “saleeqa”? (Sughrapa/ the art of a well kept household in its entirety)

How it becomes a part and parcel of character of a woman to keep a well managed, clean and constantly presentable home?

It’s not just about cleaning. It’s also about everything that we are led to believe makes a house a home.

Left, right and centre I see gorgeous, learned women pulling their weights to bring the best colour palette to their homes, the most gorgeous of layouts to work with, the prettiest upholstery, the best food to place on the table and the obsession with cleaning.

I feel over the years the saleeqa that was imbibed in us as an essential trait has seeped into the surge of Social and Electronic Media presence of food, craft and home decor blogs.

Don’t get me wrong. I may not blog about the aforementioned but I thoroughly not only enjoy these but also partake in a lot of these activities myself. Even if I might not be GREAT with a wood cutting device or buying art, I am pretty decent in the kitchen and a basic colour palette.

Do you see me justifying my less than perfect existence as a woman in the eyes of social judgment? Yeah. Right there.

I am just for a minute, stepping out of my skin to observe this trait that has been embedded in us as part of social conditioning that “this is what we do”

Why did I struggle so hard to translate the word Saleeqa up there?

Why don’t I see a single Desi (Pak-India) man blogging about cleaning?

Cooking. Yes.

Building/ DIY. Yes/ Maybe

Cleaning? Not posh enough for them.

Are we drowning our women under the burden of Saleeqa Expectations that might not truly be the end of the world?

How becoming a wife or even a mother is synonymous with a sudden emergence of a woman who keeps her house flawlessly in order, perfectly colour coordinated, food on the table, children and toys in their respective corners?

That a departure from any of these can and do place them on a tricky plane of being judged by someone or the other.

Or are we placing way too little responsibility on the men for basic life skills.

Concluding this, I would love to leave it open ended.

Has it ever occurred to you, as a woman, that having a beautifully decorated home and a constantly well kept house should not be the highest priority of your life?