I was always a sucker for household hints. Or hacks, as they call them now. A shower of crumbling neem leaves in an old tome took me back to the summer afternoons of long ago when it all began. To a battered blue cardboard file bulging with newspaper and magazine clippings which I had discovered in the back of a drawer. It was my own treasure trove of magical spells.

As I read with the round-eyed wonder of an eight-year-old, the pantry transformed into an enchanted storehouse and everyday objects were imbued with mysterious powers. Every discarded peel—whether banana, onion or potato held hidden virtues, every leaf of mint and every clove of garlic brimmed with potent powers. Secrets of the universe that I was now privy to!

I fancied myself (rather like the Pied Piper but in the silken robes of fairy godmother) effortlessly ridding the world of flies, cockroaches, giant spiders and moths. Miraculously making the huge ink-stain on the carpet disappear, or taming my frizzy locks into a glossy mane. Or adding a copper coin to a vase to magically revive wilting flowers; and making the garden grow faster than Jack’s beanstalk by the simple process of feeding them coffee grounds! Alas, we were a family of tea-drinkers, and the wizardry never materialised!

Hits and misses

We tried many enthusiastically. Lemons were boiled in hot water to double the amount of juice, and there were whoops of joy when we extracted a quantity of (much diluted) juice. My mother indulged my whim to soak my hands in water in which potatoes had been boiled to soften my baby-soft hands, but firmly refused to roast a quantity of red chillies and pepper on the fire to smoke out the geckos I disliked. And I vividly remember the year we stripped the young neem tree bare to press its leaves between pages of every book in the house!

Worth its weight in salt

Salt played a starring role in many such household hints. It seemed to work on everything from burnt and caked utensils to yellowing teeth. A handful of coarse salt claimed to stop fabrics from bleeding, several handfuls could clean grimy carpets; while a mere sprinkle kept red ants away. A pinch of it lifted up tired blooms, and a salt soak revived tired and swollen feet. The Romans were clearly on to something when they paid their soldiers in the multitasking salt!

the acid test

Lime juice was another such miracle worker. From spotless bathroom tiles, sparkling glassware to blemish-free skin, it worked with acid impartially on all surfaces. And that was not all. It could wring out the bitterness of the eponymous bitter gourd, and remove all the garlicky-fishy-stale odours from both fridge and fingers! Above all, when sipped on an empty stomach, it was guaranteed to give you the supple limbs and slim waist that skin-tight sixties fashion demanded!

Epiphany

My moment of epiphany came with in the form of discoloured tea cups. I consulted the wizard of stain-free homes. The answer was prompt.

"Soda bicarb thou shalt rub, wait awhile, then scrub. Shining tea cups, good as new, thou shalt behold!" 

However, the expected failed to happen. Perhaps I had been somewhat somewhat hasty, or miserly with the soda bicarb. But neither patience nor generosity paid any dividends. Rather downcast, I leafed through other tips. It seemed I was doing it all wrong—it was vinegar that would erase all stains. While it did add sparkle to my wine glasses, it did nothing for the tannin stains in my teacups.

But wait, there was another one—add a mixture of soda bicarb to vinegar…. Now hold it, said I. I studied chemistry in high school, and when you add a base to an acid you get a lot of fizzy carbon-dioxide and ……water. Necessary for life, but useless as a cleaning agent! The bubble burst, the mirror crack’d, and my faith in the goddesses of household hints was shattered forever!

A life without hacks

I firmly discarded the potpourris of orange peel and cloves that lurked in my closet to deter moths. The ’20 hacks to a stainfree home’ that popped up on my social media feed was deleted unceremoniously. With the clear-eyed knowledge that neither salt nor vinegar could save my whites from emerging a blushing pink, I dropped an efficient colour catcher sheet into the washing machine instead.

Yet, life has not been the same again. With no easy hacks to make my chores a breeze, with no dazzling chemistry to add fizz to life; the hours of domestic drudgery wear on endlessly. The leather cleaner kit is efficient but lacks the delicious unpredictability of a decoction of coconut oil, cream of tartar and baking soda! But my resolve is firm—I will no longer be a sucker for household hints!