The help

Growing up in India, all of us have become accustomed to having someone like a maid or a nurse/caretaker as part of our everyday life. I have had my own share of experiences as well - some of them definitely worth writing about some other day. Right from learning about social faux pas and the political correctness of terms, to being in their position and seeing what it feels like to be treated as one. From almost motherly figures to the stereotypical villains  - tales will be told as the time comes. For now, though, I wish to tell you about one particular incident.

As with most housemaids, it takes a while to build trust and rapport and to not notice a little "shortage" of stuff around the house. From the time she joined our household, we never noticed anything significantly missing. I use the word "significantly" here because we suspected there might be some amount of human error in calculations on our part - the tin of rice which used to last 20 days maybe was sustaining us now for 18 days: nothing to bother about. As per our household rules, we would always cook food for her as well in our daily lunch and dinner, and she would dutifully take it home every day to share with her family. My mother used to always save something extra for her, since she knew it was not just her mouth we were feeding every day.

Then after a couple of months, the "shortage of stuff" kept getting significantly higher. There was a hurried tone in the maid's voice and she always seemed to be leaving the house in a hurry at night. We found some spilled turmeric on the shelves some day, or a few missing eggs from the fridge the other. There was only one suspect, and of course she denied all charges when she was confronted by my mother.

One night, when my parents were away, I went to the kitchen to fetch some water to drink, when I walked in on something I didn't intend to. There she was, sitting on the floor with a newspaper spread out and pouring some Bournvita on it. When I walked in, it took her exactly three seconds to undo the pouring,  put it back in the container, close the container lid, shove it under the nearest shelf, and fold the newspaper into a wreck and "appear" to be caressing/examining it with great detail. Her face, though, was wrought with fear. I could not confront her then, so we both pretended that nothing had happened. I got my water and went back to my study desk.

I told my mother about this when she came back, and then the next morning my mother had a fresh conversation with her. This time, however, she broke down. It turned out that her husband had lost work recently, and she was the only source of sustenance for the family. And somehow, like most under-educated or illiterate poor families, by family I mean they had 5-6 children (and still going). The Bournvita she was taking that day was the only evening meal/snack she had for her children. I cannot tell you how deeply guilty I felt of being privileged at that time, and how helpless I felt. My mother shared my feeling at that time, and gave her a new container of Bournvita and also said that she can take some spices etc. from our household for a month until her husband finds a job as long as she tells in advance.

But the stealing continued. And after a while I think all of us got tired of this cat and mouse game. As far as I remember, her husband probably found work at some other town and they moved out. I haven't heard of them since.

The reason I brought up this post is because I cannot forget the face I saw that day in the kitchen. It was the desperate act of a poor mother trying to provide for her children by all means possible.And it was the face of shame written all over her at the same time, knowing that I had seen it all. I still do drink Bournvita at times (or just chew it down raw), but sometimes when I am buying it at the store or mixing it in my milk, sitting here in the US, I tend to remember that face in the kitchen from 15 years ago.