Bonds of Love

Friday, February 05, 2010

Today I got up in the morning thinking about my maid-servant, no, about her mother! For the last two days, she had been coming along with her daughter to work at my house. This is the second time that she has felt the need to accompany her daughter to my house. The first time, about a month back, I tried to adjust myself with both of them for a week and then decided to make a discreet call to my maid asking her to come alone to my house as I’m not particularly fond of two persons working at break-neck and sometimes ‘break-glass’ speed in my house. Her mother is a respectable, middle aged woman, efficient and fast, too fast actually, for my comfort level. Her speed at doing dishes in my kitchen took its toll in the form of a cracked crystal glass and one more glass item not yet identified by me.


I employed my present maid two months back after getting rid of another ‘speedster’ that my previous maid was. My ex-one was fast and inefficient, making her dangerous for my glassware and peace of mind. My present one is an intelligent and quiet girl of 18. At times, the quality of her work even surpasses the expectation of a ‘perfectionist’ like me. While working with her in my kitchen, I sometimes talk with her about her life and family. She was made to leave her studies by her mother because her alcoholic father couldn’t feed a large family of 4 girls and 2 boys. Looking at her intelligent ways, I’d asked her to get training in soft-skills like tailoring, embroidery etc. She said that she was already attending tailoring classes in the evening.


My experience with maids has always been great. Once I find a maid of my choice, I make sure that she is well cared for and amply paid in cash and kind. She becomes an integral part of our family. I actually have some tales to tell about my domestic helpers.


After my marriage, I shifted from the working women’s hostel in Bandra, Mumbai to my husband’s rented apartment in Kandivli, Mumbai. Shobha, a mother of 2 girls and separated from her abusive husband, used to work for us there. She was too good and intelligent for her lowly station in life. Her quality of work never left any scope for criticism. She was my first visitor at the hospital room where I had delivered my son. She gave me hot oil massage for 15 days after I returned from the maternity ward and saw my little thin bundle of joy grow into cute chubby boy. I had gone to my parents’ house in Chandigarh one month after his birth, and returned when he became 4 months old. Her cheerful comment “Arre, Mannu toh Tannu ho gaya” after seeing his round face, has been used by my husband as a caption in the electronic photo story of my kids. We bought an apartment in CBD Belapur, Navi Mumbai, and shifted there before the first birthday of our son. Shobha was with us till our truck started to move and bid us farewell with tears in her eyes.


Once in Navi Mumbai, I was once again fortunate to have a very sweet-natured Muslim girl named Shabeena working for us. She was not yet married but soon became like the second mother to my son. She was his play-mate, teacher and friend. I used to teach her Arithmetic and English; had discussions with her on ethical and spiritual matters for she was an insightful girl; worried about her marriage with the right kind of person; even got her to sleep at our house when my husband was gone to the USA for 2 months. I was pregnant with my daughter when my husband decided to take us with him to the USA.


I gave lots of household stuff and a few thousand rupees to Shabeena’s mother as a token of our gratitude and affection for her daughter. On our last day, she kept working tirelessly with us till I asked my husband to drop her to her house on his bike. When he came back, he told me Shabeena’s farewell message. She had said, “Bhaiya, please take very good care of Didi. Always keep her happy.”


I’ve decided to talk to my maid’s mother directly this time, and explain to her that in my household, it is more about a relationship that I develop with my aide than about the quantity and quality of work done by them, and that her hasty presence tends to disturb the delicate harmony that I share with her daughter.