By Devraj Singh Kalsi
It took me a long time to clear the confusion between bedcover and bedsheet often misused interchangeably as synonyms. Post marriage, thanks to my partner, I came to know that anything meant to cover the bed should not be called bedcover. I chose to find a simple way to remember that anything that covers the mattress to provide a hygienic surface to sleep on is identified as bedsheet. Ever since I became educated regarding the key difference, I have developed a strong desire to shop for fancy bedsheets, stronger than shopping for my own apparel with fancy labels.
Frequently changing the bedsheet – less than a fortnight, to be specific – has led to a shortage of bedsheets. With my unilateral decision to discard the faded and dull ones, the stock plummeted to less than half. I applied harsh judgment and dumped most of the bedsheets, calling some of the shades a bit too dark to invite mosquitoes and spirits to draw my blood. To equal my score, my soul mate exercised her free will in a similar manner and rejected a few more from the ones I spared, calling the animal prints as scary and nightmarish that disturbed sound sleep. The ferocious leopards and leaping monkeys served as scapegoats that kept her wide awake for long hours. Finding this quick solution to end her insomnia without realising that the extended screen time led to low melatonin levels formed a strong case for justice that could not be delayed nor denied.
Replenishing the stock was not going to be a smooth task as the contest to justify and convince the partner would be fierce, to say the least. She would list her own preferences and parameters so the ideal route available involved equally splitting the purchase target, with each partner buying half the stock without explaining anything to the other partner.
Finding this to be the safest and wisest option to avoid conflict, I proposed it to her. She made no effort to disagree on this count except specifying that the purchases must be strictly offline. She seemed to have already made up her mind regarding what she would order and from where. We agreed because we had suffered online disappointments regarding a host of issues related to size, fabric, thread count, material quality, and colour combination in the past. How the ordered pink bedsheet became magenta on delivery was a magical mystery of transformation that was never solved.
Knowing what she disliked, I tried to focus on the shades she loved – the floral prints she approved of. Knowing what I liked, she tried to focus on the soothing pastel shades of my choice and picked up the ones without flashy designs, finding the plain, solid ones as the better choices. Since we had already decided what to avoid, buying bedsheets appeared to be an easy job. Once the process began, we realised there were still several other factors to bear in mind. Both of us were free to pick what appealed to each of us yet the buying process seemed to be a classic example of trying to please the other person. As if the bedsheet was a chic dress item purchased as an anniversary gift to elicit praise.
The thread count check ruined my maiden choice as I was told it was 144. Quite important like a vital health parameter, I chose to opt for a bedsheet with at least 186 TC, making the shop assistant scratch his head to remember the exact location of the bedsheets with higher thread count. When he finally pulled out some of the bedsheets, their geometric patterns reminded me of pentagon and hexagon, feeling alarmed of turning the cosy bedroom into a classroom once again. Memories of the geometry box with protector and compass would cause anxiety and lead to a lack of restful sleep. I turned my gaze away from the entire stock and requested the staff to show some cute prints instead. He picked out some bedsheets with kittens and teddy bears, compelling me to specify that ‘cute’ ones do not always mean referring to what kids like.
I decided to end this exercise by picking up a bright floral print. He seemed to get it now and showed me a satin bedsheet decked with giant roses not common in any nursery including the organic types. Since I have a tendency to slip, the extra smooth satin surface would make my head slip down from the pillow and keep my legs suspended from the bed, hanging down like withered branches of an old tree. When everything else seemed to fit the bill, the satin spoiled the whole thing, making me consider a quick exit from the mega store with a faint smile on an apologetic face without making any purchase. Imagining the fiery glance of the mumbling salesman dumping the entire lot flashed before my eyes to remind how the failure to achieve sales target burns a person from within.
Feigning a tough exterior of an annoyed customer still eager to lock the deal, I told him I had specified the material has to be cotton, super soft cotton. He argued that super soft is something only satin or silk could satiate, not cotton. I underlined that the material must be cotton because nothing else suits my tender skin. He argued further, asking me why the skin would react as I would be wearing my night suit. I reminded him that there were other situations possible, but he did not seem to get the hint. Missed by a long shot.
To serve a persuasive customer, he brought to my notice an off-white one with polka dots, which I called white. He corrected me by pointing to the printed label with the exact specifications. I said it would get dirty very quickly as I have a habit of eating snacks on the bed, and spilling the tomato sauce on it would resemble blood stains. White also reminded me of hospitals and dead bodies. The bedsheets inside the hospital rooms were invariably snow white. While it was preferred by health experts, the sight of white bedsheets scared me, reminding me of my last journey from this world. I left the store in total confusion, without thanking him for the effort he invested to convince me to make my first independent purchase of a premium bedsheet for my bedroom.
I remembered her preference to either contrast or match the bedsheet with the colour of the curtains a bit late. The cream blinds and baby pink curtains reflected her sober taste. When it came to bedsheets, she was sometimes unpredictable and moody. Since she doted on shades like pink, yellow, green and orange, I chose to focus on these vibrant, energetic colours with positive psychological impact. I thought of offering a surprise by matching the bedsheet with the colour of the bedroom walls. The colour book available at any paint shop would be the ideal reference in this regard. Undertaking a humungous task of this order was needless for something as simple as buying a bedsheet was another piece of advice offered by the logical side of the brain.
Neon green was in vogue, and the lime green option came closest to the fashion of the day. I specified neon green as the only preferred colour option when I went to a bigger store in the next lane to buy a cotton bedsheet. This time, I faced the tough query of clarifying whether my bed was king size or queen size or super king size or just an ordinary double bed. He mentioned the sizes in feet and centimetres, but I was unaware of the bed size I had been sleeping on for years.
That king size was bigger than queen size was another piece of information that was discriminatory in terms of gender. Why is the bed for kings bigger? Why is it smaller for the queens of the world? Even if my bed was queen size, I chose to opt for king size bedsheet. A bigger one can be folded and tucked inside or left hanging loose on the sides to cover the bed.
The store guy dumped a lime green bedsheet with royal blue borders and big lemons resembling the size of grenades. I came close to making my first choice as all the expected parameters were found in place. I could not think of a plausible reason why she would not be delighted to welcome this new addition. As I completed the maiden purchase on my own, I felt this was just the beginning of the task that would carry more episodes like any web series. Further installments would have more challenging situations, so it was not right to bask in the glory of one successful click that was still waiting to freeze her reaction.
Devraj Singh Kalsi works as a senior copywriter in Kolkata. His short stories and essays have been published in Deccan Herald, Tehelka, Kitaab, Earthen Lamp Journal, Assam Tribune, and The Statesman. Pal Motors is his first novel.
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