Read the instructions

 The rain . Always blame the rain . The minivan ahead wore a yellow plastic shroud , to protect the new washing machine against the elements . It fluttered dangerously and provocatively . 

I always thought when I saw cattle racing clumsily , that we have done something to trigger the stampede . Waved some sort of provocative sheet in front of their eyes , bull-fight fashion . I had once read that bulls are colour blind . And that the fluttering garment below their noses , drove them to mad heights of violence . I always applied it to my day to day existence . So, in my opinion it was the tarpaulin or the polythene sheet to blame , not the pouring rain . The bellowing calf refused to slow down . It followed the mini truck for half a kilometre with steadfast vehemence , against the crinkly sheet , ineptly tied with sagging ropes , and fluttering in its face . 

Finally, at the bend , it disappeared into the bushes , looking for some shelter , against elements , and against human shenanigans ( or so I thought ). 

We were behind the mini van , in a car , cramped and wet , with a dripping umbrella , wedged between my legs , the moisture slowly seeping up my jeans , crawling on my skin . I sneezed , and a wad of papers slid onto the vibrating car floor . It also included the user's  manual , thoughtfully packed inside a tiny  polythene ziplock pouch. It protected the instructions and warranty from monsoon , but what about the environment . "Achoooo!" 

"Bless you mama !" 

My kids looked at me with varying degrees of caution , horror and apprehension . 

Sneezing and running nose in today's world heralded danger and , dread . My younger one quickly placed her palm on my forehead . 

"Do you have any  fever ? Are you breathless ? " "Can you smell this ?" Sticking her small bottle of sanitiser under my nose .

I sneezed promptly again. 

Her elder sister quietly pulled the umbrella away from in between my legs and rolled her eyes in a gesture towards her younger sister that read " Fools " 

I looked at both my daughters with gratitude . One for her overbearing compassion , another for her quiet common sense . 

The washing machine is installed . But is wobbly .

 The girls have retired to their rooms to do what kids do nowadays in their rooms . Engage with devices that educate, entertain and confuse . In turns .

I am watching from a safe distance , hanky in hand , getting wetter , with each passing moment . The user's manual  lies wet , and unopened on the dining table . As everyone here is an expert on washing machines . The buyer , i.e., hubby , ("I Have single -handedly installed three of them in the past " , truth actually , but this one was a new one ,who will tell him that ?), and the half drenched shop guys who came in to install , water squelching out of their boots , onto freshly tiled floor . They tried changing screw-on grommeted holes , the legs , front to back and reverse again . The machine still wobbled . Someone suggested placing a wad of newspaper underneath the short leg . Someone suggested elevating the contraption onto a wooden stand . Hubby rung up the shop owner , pouring out his frustration , against machines that were unruly , against women who no longer hand washed clothes , against spoilt kids , against shop owners  who cheat and shortchange you , against the universe plotting against his getting a washing machine installed , against incessant rains etc.etc.

"Read the instructions." I must have thought out aloud , as I donot remember speaking these words . All eyes turned towards me . There was wonder , amazement and frank horror in some . As if a long petrified stone statue had come to life , and spoken . Some actually , looked past me , scanning the room , wondering where the sound had emananted from .