My maid was late again. I was rather frustrated with her tardiness. Every day she would cook up a new excuse for her lack of discipline and punctuality. My apartment was just another one in the block she swept and swabbed. She had more authority than I did. I paced up and down the hall determined to give her an earful when she stepped in. I also wanted to establish some boundaries on tolerance. I had a speech prepared in my head.I was ready to explode when she stepped in with a small child. Her face was ashen. The child looked like she had a good cry. Her pale skin had bruises and they had turned blue. Her face was swollen and her lip was bleeding slightly. She clutched a broken toy like it was the biggest treasure she had unearthed. Her body was wiry like she had wrung all the tears from her body and now it was brittle enough to form a layer like a hardened egg.I was aghast. The mother herself was drenched in tears. She avoided eye contact and reached straight to the shelf with the duster. I paced up a little agitated and wanted to ask her what the issue was. She was still dispensing tears like a leaky faucet occasionally sniffling and wiping the Ends of her welled up eyes with a scrunched up cloth.
I subtly cleared my throat signaling that I wanted to understand her plight. She ignored me and continued to sniffle.
These petty fights aside, Lakshmi was a gem of a person. She was the sole breadwinner of her family. She rarely complained of the trauma she was going through. She came to work with the same cheer every day although she was late on a few days.I offered a glass of water. She almost snatched it and gulped it down. She beckoned for a few more glasses and she sighed in relief.
I asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. She smiled. Her original cheer was returning to her face.I went to look for the child. She was crouched in a corner still in tears. I slowly unfolded her arms, brought her close to me. She seemed petrified. She was still shaking.I cajoled her that everything would be okay.I opened the fridge and gave her a piece of chocolate. She was still looking at me dubiously. I inched closer, broke the chocolate into smaller pieces and placed on my palm and smiled at her. She wouldn’t budge. I placed it on a plate in front of her, gave her toys to play with and set to boil the kettle. The child was traumatized. I decided to talk to Lakshmi. The water continued to boil rhythmically whilst the milk cooker whistled. I heaped a spoonful of sugar, poured in the milk deftly. The tea was strong and sweet with a layer of froth. I placed it on a tray. I also had a tin of biscuits that blended with the flavor of this nectar. I carefully arranged them in a circular pattern, poured some tea into a stout pot, balanced it to handover to Lakshmi. Why was I interested in such frivolity? It mattered to me that even if I made a cup of tea it had to look picture perfect. Even if it was only for me.I sought some sort of solace in that. Lakshmi was humming a tune when I went back. She had swept the floor spotlessly clean, the shelves were prim and sunlight was flowing through the open window giving the room a golden glow.I gestured her to come to the balcony where I placed my meticulously arranged tray on the sill and invited her to take a cup.
She was pleased that someone was taking the effort and was in awe of my capricious whims. She poured herself a cup of tea and broke a piece of biscuit.
“Take the whole biscuit or you’ll drop the crumbs,” I said slightly agitated.
She laughed in response like it was the funniest joke. She was her usual self again.
I felt bad about asking about her personal life, but I wanted to help her out. It was excruciating enough that she had to sweep and mop fourteen apartments in a row, clean their toilets, eat their leftovers and come home to abuse and animosity. I egged her on to share the burden on her shoulders. If I could help her, that would at least ease my tension.
“What to say madam?” she asked looking to the cup with utter disdain.
I was startled by her bluntness, but she composed herself and said” When you have been married to a man with no responsibility, it becomes yours to tolerate and support. Any voice of concern will be met with consequences like this.”She said showing me her bruised hand.
She grew impatient and dragged the child who was now nibbling on a piece of chocolate. Colour had returned to her cheeks.”See madam, a child she is, do you think she has it in her to tolerate abuse?” she asked me.” We are teaching these children that abuse is okay, it is okay to knuckle to under, and while she is smarting, we teach her to swallow it all and live. After all I’m just a maid,I cannot run after the police or justify this. I will gulp my pride, take it in a sportive jest and move on.” she paused for some air.
“Is it because he is suspecting you?”I asked her.
She refused to divulge any more details. She picked up the empty tray and proceeded to the kitchen.I was still perplexed. She was probably beaten in front of her child till she could take it no more, she was insulted, hurled across a room, whipped till her skin turned blue, saw her child getting abused as well. she brushed it off casually and continued to earn for those very hands that hit her. She continued to scrub the dirt off peoples floors while she had a whole pile of drinking abuse in her personal life. I marveled at her transformation. She scrubbed the utensils clean. She dragged the child along after bidding me a solemn goodbye. The child still hadn’t uttered a word. Her big beautiful eyes continued to search for an answer. She clutched that doll like a baby and left fleetingly. This incident disturbed me greatly. It kept nudging me throughout. How could I listen to this and not act on it? I could take it no more. I casually mentioned it over at lunch and it agitated a lot of my colleagues more than I anticipated.
“She has to report him.”
“Does he think women have no voice?”
“She is a child, how does he have the heart to bruise her?”.
In this drown of chatter, sympathy, anger, and helplessness, a colleague suggested the name of an NGO. They helped women who were victims of domestic violence. They also helped them gain a job by teaching them skills like sewing, basket making, candle making among other skills that they could volunteer to learn. They housed them in a safe location away from the prying eyes of their abusers. It helped them lead a safe life away from their haunted past.I was relieved to know that. I obtained the contact details and decided to make an appointment once I was free.
However, the memories of the bruised child flashed like lightning in front of my eyes. My ears were burning with guilt.I had the details, yet I was waiting for a trigger. I was disgusted with my nonchalance. I picked up the phone and dialed the number.I introduced myself, explained how I got the contact. I also elaborated on how I wasn’t the victim and it was for my domestic help. the listener was rather patient, she asked for a few details. She agreed to help Lakshmi only after interacting with her face to face. She casually mentioned that people tend to fake abuse to avail financial support and not face their families. I don’t know if her dialogue was directed at me, but it stung me nevertheless. I asked her to pay a visit and then decide for herself. She gave a huff of haughtiness and hung up.I felt a twinge of remorse for my domestic help.I was confident that she could see better days. Whatever the NGO lady said kept ringing in my head. Was Lakshmi lying? I wondered. I dismissed that thought and anxiously waited for Lakshmi the following day. I was a little antsy on how she would react on hearing what I had done without her knowledge. I kept pacing up and down the hall nervously. Maybe she would be relieved on hearing it. A little glad that I did it on her behalf. Maybe grateful that I saved her from a life of misery. I thought of her situation again in my head. How I could console her if she got annoyed about my involvement in her personal matter.What if I had crossed a line. She never sought my help in the first place. Why did I take the initiative? These thoughts crippled my mind. I had drunk four cups of tea waiting for her and how to deal with the various scenarios I had painted in my head. I wanted her to feel like she had a companion.
She arrived looking more frustrated than usual. She was alone too. Her hands were burnt.
Her skin was scathed with burns and the tender muscle showing.I could still smell the pungent stench of whatever burnt her. She couldn’t be less callous. She avoided eye contact and picked up the broom. She kept hissing in pain without waiting for me to make any conversation.
“It is quite grave Lakshmi, let’s go to the hospital “I blurted without asking any details.
“No madam, it will heal on its own. Let me just sweep today. Tomorrow I shall wash the vessels.” she answered airily.
“Don’t you think it has crossed a line?” I asked her sternly.
I was fed up of this woman who was religiously protecting her husband from facing the music. It was beyond my wildest comprehensions as to how she could tolerate this mistreatment.I decided to sit her down and explain to her that she was a self-employed righteous woman who made a decent living. She earned that money through sweat and slogged in dust and dirt to bring food to her plate. After sweeping fourteen apartments and scrubbing their toilets she had to get back to her own home and repeat the process.All for a square meal. Even after toiling her guts out she had to get beaten up or burnt for not bringing in enough. To hurt her even more, the child was used as a bait. I cleared my throat to lecture her, but she left after complaining of an agonizing pain on her arm. She floated away like a genie before I could utter a word.
I decided to pay her a visit and talk to her. Probably knock some sense into her husband if he was at home.
I knew where she stayed. The road leading to her house was rather narrow. I parked my bike at the corner of the street and walked carefully, measuring my steps. Something didn’t feel right.
I reached her house which was deserted. A few clothes were hung out to dry.
I opened the gate which creaked with contempt.
My heart was thumping. Where could she have gone?
A neighbor who was washing her clothes peeped through the window. She gave me a bewildered look and continued to wash. Seeing that I was still at Lakshmi’s doorstep, she nodded in assent and shook her hands vigorously to get rid of the foam. She washed her hands, dried it on a piece of cloth around her waist and cane out.
She looked at my top to toe.”Are you looking for someone?” she asked me questioningly
“Lakshmi..”I hesitated
“Why?” she asked me in such contempt that I felt guilty.
Were all these people hand in glove to her sufferings?
“She was hurt, I came to see if she needed help” I replied curtly.
The neighbor laughed at me in derision.”Of course, she is hurt, she burnt her stepchild alive. The poor little girl was deaf and dumb. Where else can a fatherless child go?” she remarked and got back to her washing.
The earth below me shook on hearing her words. I wanted to ask so many questions, so many doubts popped up. Everything was at a standstill in the ebbing tide of my emotions which were drowned in the fizzle of the foam in the backdrop.
I subtly cleared my throat signaling that I wanted to understand her plight. She ignored me and continued to sniffle.
These petty fights aside, Lakshmi was a gem of a person. She was the sole breadwinner of her family. She rarely complained of the trauma she was going through. She came to work with the same cheer every day although she was late on a few days.I offered a glass of water. She almost snatched it and gulped it down. She beckoned for a few more glasses and she sighed in relief.
I asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. She smiled. Her original cheer was returning to her face.I went to look for the child. She was crouched in a corner still in tears. I slowly unfolded her arms, brought her close to me. She seemed petrified. She was still shaking.I cajoled her that everything would be okay.I opened the fridge and gave her a piece of chocolate. She was still looking at me dubiously. I inched closer, broke the chocolate into smaller pieces and placed on my palm and smiled at her. She wouldn’t budge. I placed it on a plate in front of her, gave her toys to play with and set to boil the kettle. The child was traumatized. I decided to talk to Lakshmi. The water continued to boil rhythmically whilst the milk cooker whistled. I heaped a spoonful of sugar, poured in the milk deftly. The tea was strong and sweet with a layer of froth. I placed it on a tray. I also had a tin of biscuits that blended with the flavor of this nectar. I carefully arranged them in a circular pattern, poured some tea into a stout pot, balanced it to handover to Lakshmi. Why was I interested in such frivolity? It mattered to me that even if I made a cup of tea it had to look picture perfect. Even if it was only for me.I sought some sort of solace in that. Lakshmi was humming a tune when I went back. She had swept the floor spotlessly clean, the shelves were prim and sunlight was flowing through the open window giving the room a golden glow.I gestured her to come to the balcony where I placed my meticulously arranged tray on the sill and invited her to take a cup.
She was pleased that someone was taking the effort and was in awe of my capricious whims. She poured herself a cup of tea and broke a piece of biscuit.
“Take the whole biscuit or you’ll drop the crumbs,” I said slightly agitated.
She laughed in response like it was the funniest joke. She was her usual self again.
I felt bad about asking about her personal life, but I wanted to help her out. It was excruciating enough that she had to sweep and mop fourteen apartments in a row, clean their toilets, eat their leftovers and come home to abuse and animosity. I egged her on to share the burden on her shoulders. If I could help her, that would at least ease my tension.
“What to say madam?” she asked looking to the cup with utter disdain.
I was startled by her bluntness, but she composed herself and said” When you have been married to a man with no responsibility, it becomes yours to tolerate and support. Any voice of concern will be met with consequences like this.”She said showing me her bruised hand.
She grew impatient and dragged the child who was now nibbling on a piece of chocolate. Colour had returned to her cheeks.”See madam, a child she is, do you think she has it in her to tolerate abuse?” she asked me.” We are teaching these children that abuse is okay, it is okay to knuckle to under, and while she is smarting, we teach her to swallow it all and live. After all I’m just a maid,I cannot run after the police or justify this. I will gulp my pride, take it in a sportive jest and move on.” she paused for some air.
“Is it because he is suspecting you?”I asked her.
She refused to divulge any more details. She picked up the empty tray and proceeded to the kitchen.I was still perplexed. She was probably beaten in front of her child till she could take it no more, she was insulted, hurled across a room, whipped till her skin turned blue, saw her child getting abused as well. she brushed it off casually and continued to earn for those very hands that hit her. She continued to scrub the dirt off peoples floors while she had a whole pile of drinking abuse in her personal life. I marveled at her transformation. She scrubbed the utensils clean. She dragged the child along after bidding me a solemn goodbye. The child still hadn’t uttered a word. Her big beautiful eyes continued to search for an answer. She clutched that doll like a baby and left fleetingly. This incident disturbed me greatly. It kept nudging me throughout. How could I listen to this and not act on it? I could take it no more. I casually mentioned it over at lunch and it agitated a lot of my colleagues more than I anticipated.
“She has to report him.”
“Does he think women have no voice?”
“She is a child, how does he have the heart to bruise her?”.
In this drown of chatter, sympathy, anger, and helplessness, a colleague suggested the name of an NGO. They helped women who were victims of domestic violence. They also helped them gain a job by teaching them skills like sewing, basket making, candle making among other skills that they could volunteer to learn. They housed them in a safe location away from the prying eyes of their abusers. It helped them lead a safe life away from their haunted past.I was relieved to know that. I obtained the contact details and decided to make an appointment once I was free.
However, the memories of the bruised child flashed like lightning in front of my eyes. My ears were burning with guilt.I had the details, yet I was waiting for a trigger. I was disgusted with my nonchalance. I picked up the phone and dialed the number.I introduced myself, explained how I got the contact. I also elaborated on how I wasn’t the victim and it was for my domestic help. the listener was rather patient, she asked for a few details. She agreed to help Lakshmi only after interacting with her face to face. She casually mentioned that people tend to fake abuse to avail financial support and not face their families. I don’t know if her dialogue was directed at me, but it stung me nevertheless. I asked her to pay a visit and then decide for herself. She gave a huff of haughtiness and hung up.I felt a twinge of remorse for my domestic help.I was confident that she could see better days. Whatever the NGO lady said kept ringing in my head. Was Lakshmi lying? I wondered. I dismissed that thought and anxiously waited for Lakshmi the following day. I was a little antsy on how she would react on hearing what I had done without her knowledge. I kept pacing up and down the hall nervously. Maybe she would be relieved on hearing it. A little glad that I did it on her behalf. Maybe grateful that I saved her from a life of misery. I thought of her situation again in my head. How I could console her if she got annoyed about my involvement in her personal matter.What if I had crossed a line. She never sought my help in the first place. Why did I take the initiative? These thoughts crippled my mind. I had drunk four cups of tea waiting for her and how to deal with the various scenarios I had painted in my head. I wanted her to feel like she had a companion.
She arrived looking more frustrated than usual. She was alone too. Her hands were burnt.
Her skin was scathed with burns and the tender muscle showing.I could still smell the pungent stench of whatever burnt her. She couldn’t be less callous. She avoided eye contact and picked up the broom. She kept hissing in pain without waiting for me to make any conversation.
“It is quite grave Lakshmi, let’s go to the hospital “I blurted without asking any details.
“No madam, it will heal on its own. Let me just sweep today. Tomorrow I shall wash the vessels.” she answered airily.
“Don’t you think it has crossed a line?” I asked her sternly.
I was fed up of this woman who was religiously protecting her husband from facing the music. It was beyond my wildest comprehensions as to how she could tolerate this mistreatment.I decided to sit her down and explain to her that she was a self-employed righteous woman who made a decent living. She earned that money through sweat and slogged in dust and dirt to bring food to her plate. After sweeping fourteen apartments and scrubbing their toilets she had to get back to her own home and repeat the process.All for a square meal. Even after toiling her guts out she had to get beaten up or burnt for not bringing in enough. To hurt her even more, the child was used as a bait. I cleared my throat to lecture her, but she left after complaining of an agonizing pain on her arm. She floated away like a genie before I could utter a word.
I decided to pay her a visit and talk to her. Probably knock some sense into her husband if he was at home.
I knew where she stayed. The road leading to her house was rather narrow. I parked my bike at the corner of the street and walked carefully, measuring my steps. Something didn’t feel right.
I reached her house which was deserted. A few clothes were hung out to dry.
I opened the gate which creaked with contempt.
My heart was thumping. Where could she have gone?
A neighbor who was washing her clothes peeped through the window. She gave me a bewildered look and continued to wash. Seeing that I was still at Lakshmi’s doorstep, she nodded in assent and shook her hands vigorously to get rid of the foam. She washed her hands, dried it on a piece of cloth around her waist and cane out.
She looked at my top to toe.”Are you looking for someone?” she asked me questioningly
“Lakshmi..”I hesitated
“Why?” she asked me in such contempt that I felt guilty.
Were all these people hand in glove to her sufferings?
“She was hurt, I came to see if she needed help” I replied curtly.
The neighbor laughed at me in derision.”Of course, she is hurt, she burnt her stepchild alive. The poor little girl was deaf and dumb. Where else can a fatherless child go?” she remarked and got back to her washing.
The earth below me shook on hearing her words. I wanted to ask so many questions, so many doubts popped up. Everything was at a standstill in the ebbing tide of my emotions which were drowned in the fizzle of the foam in the backdrop.
No comments:
Post a Comment