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I will write on my table

I am a creature of habits and routines.  Some good, some nasty, some neither here nor there – Rouge Deck thing with a crimson pool, that I nearly took a tumble into.  Future wise words to self – wear flats on deck.
lukewarm, which I hear is reviled in some quarters.  One thing is, I do not often go into some spaces.  Like the food, fashion and furniture affair at the DusitD2 space – nice, with its with its Rouge Deck thing with a crimson pool, that I nearly took a tumble into.  Future wise words to self – wear flats on deck.

Food was good.  The mushroom fritter like bites dipped in a ricotta and something and dip were divine.  I shamelessly munched on them in bunches of three.  I told the bites distributer to via me every 5 minutes.  Very obedient.  I stopped counting at their fourth stop.  Meanwhile, I was informed that the word divine is bougie bougie and to stop using it tout de suite.  I did.  Will never speak it again.  Only write it when I meet the mushrooms again. 

The fashion walking around adorning the young svelte Norwegian and Kenyans was something I would wear.  Malinens, maafrican maprints maprints attire that looks good, fits right, makes me feel good, and thus I am better!  Being better has many starts– and these clothes can be one start.  Good I am going through a de-clutter and don’t buy more stuff stage. 

Furniture took centre stage.  Literally.  I learnt about dowel joints, invisible joints, custom-made foam and top of the range Stanley tools.  There was a seat I was informed was a favourite – hiraku sofa set they called it.  It is a conversation piece.  Yes, it is built for conversation – seats next to each other have only one arm [on the far side of each, and none on the inner side] so that we can lean into each other as we converse.  I didn’t like them.  At least not then.  Maybe it is because I was not looking for conversation?  About them or on them. Maybe I need to go and have a lean in kind of conversation on them?  They looked like fragments of birds put together.  I neither like nor hate birds, unless it is those unsightly guano dropping clumsy bird things on the Mombasa highway.  I dislike those ones.  I always wonder why they picked that section of the highway to inhabit.  Like the bats discovered on the trees outside a Kenyan county governor’s office, that he is planning to raise up to tourist attraction level.  Applause for his high hopes please.  Thanks.  But why those trees and not the other ones?  Why that spot?  Actually if those chairs were black they would look kinda batty.  Hope the governor doesn’t.  But the bat look, was not the muse for the one armed chairs.  The design came from an Orient man who did something in Tanzania.  Strange bedfellows that, they did definitely give birth to an out-of-the-ordinary sofa.

The owner of the innovative edgy look is Vir.  The third generation Panesar in the business of furniture. He looks like a toy Kalasinga.  Turbaned, slight, chino, no socks, slip-on shoes.  He did not spring tall from the loins of his above average height sire, and his lovely dark and silver sari bedecked mother, she with the most noble brow.  Height he has not, but business talls he has.  I asked him, ‘Why the new designs?’  ‘Why not!  I cannot sell to you what my grandfather sold to yours’.  Or something like that, I had sipped a few mohitos by then, blame them.  I did not tell him for sure that my grandfather would not have bought that birdie chair – one to the mint, nil to the rum.  My grandy was born to sit on a njung’wa [three legged stool], and a foldup chair when he was upscaled by religion and education.  I would love to see Vir’s rendition of the njung’wa with splashes of Oriental and Tanzanian sourced inspiration thrown in.  I really would by the way.  So would you.  I would probably buy it too.  As a centrepiece  of course because old fudgy daddy is gone and springy edgy is in. 

Then I met a desk.  It is an environment by itself.  Truly my kind of conversation piece.  And we spoke my name on it, so I know I will own this desk soon.  The desk is sleek on top, ends abruptly on one end and is boxy curvy on the other.  Knots and wood whirls.  No stain.  Highly glossed.  Made in a wood type I cannot speak of.  It is more than a desk.  It is a table - that does not conform.  In my table’s veins pulses the blood of the creative god.  Enthroned upon it, my fingers onto keyboard will drip the sap of sages.  Vir offered to put my initials on it immediately, but I told him to hold his bats.  It is the price of a ten by eighty sliver of land somewhere.  I think I said, ‘the piece for sure is to die for, the price for to bury one for’, or something like that – the mohitos, remember the mohitos?  Which by now had gathered strength and were popping off at 4 shots to the barrel glass. 

At another time, I will tell you of the Louboutin desk – elleto they call her, the colton seat that just asks to sit on it and ponder awhile, the Vienna bed fit for a maharajah et al.  Classics with modern twists.  The one thing I know though, I can write on this table.  I will write on my table.



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