Well for me, I almost passed out.
Allow me to take you to the crime scene.
Picture this.
It is 6:45 PM on a Friday evening and you've had the most work intensive day packed with one meeting with the bigger boss, one frustrating long distance call with some Russian speaking team member trying the get the same point across the umpteenth time and a zillion issues to resolve, emails to answer leaving you with no time to do the #1 item on your To-Do List.
You fix a meeting with your best friend at the closest eating joint while the printer churns out the document you have decided to review at home over the weekend. Well, this meeting is one of my very few guilty pleasures. (Second only to "Desperate Housewives" on Star World, every Sunday night at ten).
Two best friends from school, in equally torturous jobs and with almost equally irritating husbands (I haven't compared notes with other women but I have a feeling theirs would turn out to be an equally irritating lot), tell each other real life sob (and SOB) stories, compare lipstick shades, motherhood guilt pangs, gripe about chores and share tips on how to handle a whining kid or fainéant husband. I like to call it Estrogen therapy! Well, I am digressing here so I will stick to the agenda and bring you back to where the action was.
Having to cut short a perfectly delightful evening, with a husband bickering on the other end of the phone (and I had just called to ask what he would like for dinner so I could get it packed... its Friday evening after all and who is in a mood to cook!?), I was standing in front of the restaurant, sadly preparing an apologetic goodbye for my dear friend and hoping we'd meet soon again.
In front of the restaurant was a chaat joint buzzing with an irritating bunch of school girls devouring gol-gappaas, frantic mothers looking for their off springs who they lost sight of as soon as plates of bhalla-papri and kulche-chhole came into their line of sight, and agitated fathers wanting to get back home so they could watch the Czech Republic and Ghana teams toss around a silly football on a 32 x 30 feet ground.
That’s when the phone call came.
[Ring]
"Hello?" [I speak into the mouthpiece of my Nokia 2100 a little louder than usual to drown the market place din.]
"Madam, this is Gulshan."
"Yes, Gulshan! What happened? You didn't come this morning. All well?"
"Madam, I told you if you get angry with me, I'll not come. You got angry so I didn't come. I quit."
[Silence] CRASH! [Was I hit with a nuclear missile or something just now?]
"Madam?"
[Trying to regain composure. Deep breathe! 1… 2… 3… Forget it!]
"What nonsense is this?! This is atrocious." [Angry?! Who? Me? I am only shaking because it is windy!]
"I told you, Madam."
"How could you! And like a fool I was worried about you when you didn't turn up this morning. I was worried if something was wrong with you." [I am a fool alright but you are such a cheat!]
"I don't want to work."
[I thought I heard some uncertainty in the declaration. Was it wishful thinking? ]
"You come home and talk to me. I am not going to discuss this on the phone."[I am yelling now. From the looks of those girls, I am suddenly more interesting than the gol-gappas. ]
"Okay. I will come tomorrow."
[Did she sound reluctant or did she sound relaxed?]
"You BETTER come tomorrow and talk to me." [Good God! Didn't I just stress too much on BETTER? What did I just do? My mind is now in a suspended state. On the screensaver, I see flashes... the bulging laundry bag hanging behind the bathroom door... a layer of dust on our computer... a pile of dishes in the sink... my dance class… meeting with the in-laws… document review… All this and only two little days….!!]
"But I will come after
"That would be LATE!" [I think I am going to faint.]
"I have to go and look for work in the morning. "
[So she hasn't yet found work. Is there some hope? But she sounds so determined, she is going to find a new job.]
"Okay, Madam?"
[People are watching me. Think of something fast you idiot, I tell myself.]
"Hello?"
[Can someone hold me? I am dizzy. Some sweat just oozed out of my Ponds greased palms - a rare phenomenon!]
"Hello? Madam?"
[My mouth is dry... Can someone get me a glass of water?]
-- Disconnect --
My best friend who’s been watching me all this while, finally decides to hold me firmly with both her hands and drags me on for a walk.
"Listen to me. You can't talk like that."
"Huh?" [Is it me you’re talking to? My mind is in a whirlwind. How will I get a maid at such short notice? God, please tell me this is a bad dream.]
"You are letting her manipulate you. You can always find another maid."
"Another maid? She is the best I have had. How will I manage?" [Your maid has not run away baby, mine has!]
"Don't panic. The way you were talking, you were giving yourself away."
"Hmm... " [You are right. I was. I can't believe now I need to be told how not to let my maid affect my blood pressure...]
"What went wrong?"
"I yelled at her… because for the fifth time, the books on the bed-side were still dusty after she was done with the dusting. I had no time to clean it myself and my temper flared. I am also PMSing." [What the heck… let biology share the blame with me.]
"Everything will be fine. This is life."
"You know, she is such a nice lady. She has been with us for so long, through bad times and good. And she is trustworthy and yes, much neater than a lot of other women…" [I bit my tongue... I had finally admitted it.]
"Yes. I know. I remember you telling me how nice she was. Maybe she is too attached with you. Maybe she cares about you as much as you do about her. Maybe she doesn't think of herself as a maid. And so she doesn't like being spoken to like that. You were very rude to her just now."
[I am fiercely nodding my head.]
"Actually I can be quite a control freak. But I just have to have everything perfect." [Hoping like mad she’ll agree that everything must be done to perfection. I could really use a vote in my favor.]
"Perfection is fine. It is not achievable for everyone. She is just as human as we are." [That was the sweetest, softest tone in the world showing me instantly where I erred.]
"I care a lot about her… I have always tried to keep her happy. But I also want to keep my house clean. Why can't she see the dust I can see?"
[Or the spots on the floor if you see 30 degrees below the horizontal line of sight from the far right corner of the room, or that crease in the sofa cover... I was getting the picture. My own vote was no longer in my favour.]
"Talk to her. Try to find out why she is upset. And if you can do something about it, do it. Yes, remember don’t get weak. Do not let her, or for that matter anyone, manipulate you."
[God, she really cares. My bestest friend!]
"You are such a sweet person. Though a nasty control freak at times." she added, "I can’t see you so upset."
[Just what I needed to hear when I was feeling like a worm myself. Friends are mind readers. I don’t know what I’d do without her.]
"You will be able to handle this. Don’t worry. Just don’t lose the big picture. Life is bigger than this."
[Suddenly, my daughter’s million dollar smile flashed before me. I didn’t need a maid to bring that smile on her face. And that truly was the biggest thing in my life – so much bigger than spotless floors and a dust free home!]
"Now stop crying." [Her hug was tighter now.]
[I’m crying because you are such a lovely friend, dumbo!]
"I won’t. Thanks. I’m fine."
[Wait, I’m not so sure about that now. Can we sit down and discuss this a little while more? My heart was playing games and I was so unsure of myself.]
Another hug and a few sad byes later, I was in the car. The driver, as if sensing my jittery nerves, immediately muted the latest item number song. [By now he knows the kind of songs that vex me.]
As we parked the car in front of my husband’s office, I was scared he’d read my face.
"What! You did it again. You drove HER away! Do you have any idea how you will find another maid – someone as trustworthy as her! All because of a couple of merely dusty books!"
[But the dusty bit didn’t seem so “mere” that morning!]
The journey, thankfully, was quiet. He was on his mobile phone having an intense discussion on how many man months worth of work the design change would be.
I hate that mobile phone of his and have so often fantasized about breaking it into two irreparable pieces, crushing that SIM card to a powder and flushing that powder down the toilet. But on that one evening, I just wanted that mobile phone to keep bringing him calls one after another. I love the gadget!
Back at home, I tried to laugh at some of the jokes on the Laughter Show on TV and did manage a few nervous laughs. I took a trip of the bathroom and evaluated the hand-wash laundry load. With the profound realization that I needed to start investing in machine-wash kind of clothes, I walked up to the kitchen and tried to visualize the height the pile of dirty dishes would reach by the next afternoon. There was dusting to do and sweeping and mopping… all that along with a mid morning dance class to attend. I was sure no maid would be available at such short notice. Wait, Gulshan was coming at
Suddenly the spot on the floor had diminished for no apparent reason and the books didn’t appear so dusty after all.
That night I hoped my daughter would not take too long to sleep. I had to rehearse my lines for the big encounter. What could I say that would make my maid stay without letting my desperation show. Tossing and turning, rehearsing and blabbering I did manage to catch some Z's.
By morning, I was all geared up to be the super-woman, my I-could-do-it-all-and-I-could-do-it-better avatar! I made the morning tea and for the first time in the last few months, peeled onions and cut potatoes for poha. It felt good – a silly and short lived self gratifying feeling.
What’s the big deal, I told myself. Breakfast is ready. Class is in half an hour. When I am back from my class, I’ll do the dishes – 30 minutes, and then do the laundry - 1 hour (I hereby pledge I shalt not wear those hand-wash suits again till I find a maid who can wash them for me.), dust the house squeaky clean – 1 hour, sweep it, mop it – 1 hour. I’ll even scrub the door handles and give my daughter’s toys a dettol bath while I am at it – just 30 more minutes. Then I’ll cook and serve lunch – another hour - and then it will be time to do the dishes again and take the clothes off the clothes line, fold them, make a bundle for the dhobi and place others in respective cupboards. [See, I have stopped tracking time.] And if I am still alive after that, I’ll fix the evening tea and take my daughter to the park to play.
A little part of me was already crumbling. I tried “positive thinking”. There was a sense of liberation. I could manage my house myself. I didn’t need help. Good going! Yes, you can do it sweetheart, I reasserted.
Promising myself to not let the post-dance achy legs break my spirit, I headed for the class.
An hour and 10 minutes later, I was back from the class – thirsty and dog-tired – wanting to throw myself on the bed.
What do I see at my doorstep? A familiar pair of old, worn out blue plastic slippers.
You have no idea what those slippers at my door mean to me.
They mean she is back at work. ~Madame Maid~ is back!
She is not just sitting outside, waiting for me, so we can both say our well rehearsed lines. She is INSIDE.
Which means my dear little house is getting wiped and mopped and scrubbed.
Which means I can take that leisurely bath and sink into bed and nurse my aches.
Which means this is not going to be a weekend of toil and frustration and guilt.
Which means so much more than words can say.
Well, it also means that the phone call was her way of telling me there is so much more to life than dusting.
I ring my doorbell with a new burst of joy, in the process wiping the dust off the switch plate with the tissue in my hand. Another place she forgot to dust.
2 comments:
Was missing you ,so stopped by...Justlove the way you write sweetheart....
Very well written and i love the humour throughout.
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