Bow down to me for I have ...

I always knew I love buying books. But it has been a bit of a jarring revelation that I love buying things. Anything. It was never like this when I wasn't earning. Back then wherever we'd go for lunch/dinner I'd have the cheapest thing on the menu. Mostly, it was idli sambhar. Somehow the cheapest things also seemed to be the healthiest and friends accused me of dieting. I did nothing to enlighten them. Anorexia evokes concern, empathy and silent confessions of "me too" but stingy is just cheap!
Anyway, now that I'm earning, I love buying things. During one of these expeditions, I found this book on craft projects.

Flipping through the pages, I decided my project would be a wooden photo frame.

We went to the shops and I confidently said I needed 8 X 6 X 1 wood [I didnt want to come across as the ignorant first-timer that I was] He asked how I plan to take it away. I pointed to my big schoolbag proudly. He was puzzled. Then he laughed and said "inches!" I looked down n mumbled a yes. He suggested buying plywood but I had seen the picture of the wooden frame in that book and I wanted mine just like that. He said wood that size would cost 300 bucks.

I decided my project would be a plywood photo frame.

We had an old, rusty saw at home but still wanted them to cut it into the 3 blocks instead of one big piece. My stint with Technical drawing and the subsequent low marks in the most scoring subject in the curriculum in school and college taught me one thing : I cannot draw straight line, let alone cut out an inch thick block of wood. There was a very real risk, I'd have to tuck a folded piece of paper at the bottom to balance and there was no way in hell I would have scribbled on paper paper peeping out of beatiful cherry polished frame!

I also bought glass cut to desired size and polished on the sides.The actual glass cost me 1/3rd the amount for finishing it. Finishing is where they smoothen the edges so that blood does not tarnish the glass if you hold it by the edges.

I also had to buy polish coz the raw plywood looked ugly. Turns out there is something called French polish which is a carpenter's favourite. At least, thats what dad said. I have not been able to confirm this since I have had no interaction with carpenters other than "baby, paani chahiye." Naturally, I looked up french polish in wikipedia. " French polishing is a wood finishing technique (and not a substance, as commonly assumed) that results in a very high gloss, deep colour and tough surface."
I dont know about that because I paid 85 rupees for a 'technique' in a 1 litre bottle. Now, french polish is not sold at any hardware store. It requires a license because it has enough of an alcoholic content to make people take a swig of it.

Maybe my dad was haunted by images of me with the plywood all laid out in front of me, opening the french polish bottle and inhaling the smell and being so overcome by temptation that I'd gulp it down as the plywood pieces remained unpolished. He kept bringing up the fact that carpenters had drunk french polish and died. Always with the special emphasis on the word died.
Yes, dad. Dont worry daddy. If I wanted to have alcohol, I can afford to buy the real stuff in big, pretty bottles.

Finally, I found a page that detailed how to french polish. I sand papered plywood pices but took off more than I should have in some places. But I always realized it only after it was too late and the light brown of the layer beneath would peep accusingly out of the soon-to-be-rich dark brown topmost layer of the plywood.
Then began the polishing. I used my mom's garden gloves and started. After about two rounds of applying polish. I removed it. My hands were becoming numb. I became scared. My elbow started to hurt and I felt my chest tighten. I wandered to the hall where my dad sat watching TV. After a few excrutiatingly long minutes where I regretted a 100 things and made a thousand promises, everything returned to normal. It was then that I realized that maybe the gloves had cut off the blood circulation. I complained to my dad that he never let me watch what I wanted and, with a huff and a bang of the door got back to my workshop i.e. my study table covered with newspapers appropriately adorned with patches of french polish, rags and a pair of nose pliars [to open the !@#!^% lid of the french polish]

The french polishing went on for quite a few days quite uneventfully and I was pretty happy with myself. But on a windy day, the curtain knocked down the french polish bottle. Contents worth Rs. 45 were lost as they seeped through marble worth "I slaved over a desk for three extra months to have gleaming white marble in every room in the house and not just the hall!" It had also seeped through about 5 editions of the India Express [which is of course of a pitiful thickness as compared the voluptuous Times Of India] and into my desk. I brushed it off as enhancing the polish of the desk and set to work on the marble cleaning before anyone found out. Finally, I resorted to that classic trick of moving the desk so that it covered the general area of the problem.

Then I did the following:

...Fixed two hinges and 12 additional screws into inch thick plywood without a drill[electric or otherwise]
How? Hammer and nail, baby.

At last, I inserted the glass pieces within the screws. It wasn't smooth, of course but a little force and cursing goes a long way and then I slipped little pieces of white paper to serve as background for the photographs. Combed through the family albums to select pictures. Assured my parents I would make copies of the photos and leave the originals in the album. [I still haven't done that!] I inserted the photographs and got the photo frame to stand on the desk.

I swear I could hear an orchestra playing as I looked at my plywood photo frame.

EDIT : adding the image. Hope it looks ok, mm. Either way it was a lot of fun to make. I apologise for the crude censoring photos. See, there's a reason why I'm not making it big in the visual effects industry.