Laxmi, the Maid

Laxmi, sweet, shy and docile Laxmi, had been with the Malhotra household for almost four years now. She had picked up this house- washing vessels and sweeping/mopping the floor when the nice Aunty-ji in the house opposite to the Malhotras had decided to sell off everything and live with her son in the US. “She’ll regret it,” Laxmi often used to tell others in her slum- the small shanty where she stayed with her husband and her five year old son- but it had been four years now, and she still hadn’t returned. And it was a good thing, Laxmi told herself- working for Sonia didi was a more pleasurable and lighter task than the rigorous cleaning routine she faced at Aunty-ji’s- however sweet Aunty-ji's demeanour was.

Laxmi had been working for as long as she could remember- and always for something. For a new frock, for sweets, for dolls, for glass bangles on her wrist and then later, for rice and jaggery in her house. Her husband, Kishor, employed himself as an odd jobs man or a mason, depending on his temperament for the week- and earned in a week, what Laxmi earned in a month. Half his salary would go towards the upkeep of the shanty- and this monsoon, Laxmi was worried she would have to again ask for an old sheet from Sonia didi to keep Sunil- her son- dry.

Laxmi worked in three of the flats, including the Malhotras, in the high rise which was situated in a celeb-infested suburb. Each morning, she left home at exactly seven thirty, after preparing tea and dry rotis for Sunil and Kishor, and walked across to the bus stop which would take her to the Malhotras residence. She liked to finish the quirky Mrs. Gupta on 2nd floor first- though the construction of the flats was all the same, Laxmi often saw how different they looked because each lady had set it differently. While Sonia didi’s home was sparse and tastefully done with less, exclusive furniture, Mrs. Gupta’s was just the opposite- a reflection of her boisterous personality, echoed in the myriad hued rugs and floor cushions with heavy lamps and curtains- which took an awfully long time to clean. The third house where she worked, was occupied by two young men, who were either sleeping, or out of the house, and she used her own key to let herself in, clean the four precise dishes laid on the sink, settle a few cushions on the mattress-bed and wash their eight clothes- which took her all of twenty minutes.

But Sonia didi’s house was different.

Maybe it was the fact that Sonia didi was almost the same age as her, maybe it was because she was so cheerful all the time, or maybe the fact that there was less work for her ever since Sonia didi had got a cook from her in-laws place.

Or just that Laxmi saw an aspiration of herself- if she had been wealthy, she would be Sonia Malhotra.

Sonia didi loved wearing the latest designer clothes, and she would often discard a lot of them for Laxmi- not only clothes, but also handbags- by the dozen, and shoes! Oh- she could go on and on about shoes- for Sonia didi loved shoes- all colours, all kinds, graced the tall shoes closet that she had herself seen acquire storey after storey as the years progressed. Sonia didi’s shoes were kept immaculately- dirt brushed off them, the strappy ones stuffed with paper so that they didn’t become shapeless- all of them sanitized and sunned each week. Laxmi especially loved a green pair of simple slip ons- with diamonds that glittered like cat’s eyes in the dark- and though Laxmi didn’t have any outfit that she could match them with, she loved seeing Sonia didi’s white feet sit pretty in those slip ons.

Laxmi’s day made her tired even before it began. The strain of getting up at five, to fill water from the only municipal tap which serviced at least fifty homes like hers, wash clothes and vessels in small trickles of rationed water, give Sunil a bath, prepare breakfast and his tiffin left her worn. She would often fall asleep in the bus on the way to work- and once she had landed her head on the rail, with a thud so bad as the bus avoided a pothole, that her neck ached for days after that.

After finishing work in Sonia didi’s house (she reserved her for the last) she gossiped with some of the maids in the nearby houses (she preferred calling it 'exchange of news' instead of gossip- when Sonia didi had once caught her laughing about someone’s dog giving someone’s driver a good chase around the building) for a good half hour, before walking across again to the bus stop, to fetch Sunil from school. And after that, it was back to the dreariness of her shanty and all the associated problems which loomed larger and larger each day.

Her only solace to staying sane was that half hour of working at Sonia didi’s- admiring her shoes, her elegant taste in everything and if she was lucky, bringing home some delicious leftovers that Saroj, the cook, sometimes set aside for her.

Sonia didi was always nice to her- asking about Sunil, Kishor and her tiny home. Once a week, she would give Laxmi some sweets to take back for Sunil. Sometimes, she would pass on her husband’s old shirts for Kishor.

But of late, she had started seeing Sonia didi looking aloof and withdrawn. She almost stopped smiling and would still be in bed even when Laxmi had finished cleaning- normally, she would have just emerged from her bath, smelling of liles that reminded Laxmi of her village with the grassy banks- with her office clothes laid out on the bed- with matching shoes. Sometimes, just sometimes, Laxmi would suggest another pair of shoes, which Sonia didi readily accepted.  On those days, Laxmi would feel the twin forces of hope and sadness tear her apart as she silently compared her life to her mistress’.

Lately, however, she missed seeing Sonia didi dress up- looking every inch of the modern Indian woman- the poster of which Laxmi passed each day on her way to work- the one advertising female empowerment through a fairness cream- which she had once received from Sonia didi- which was preserved carefully in front of the small mirror she had in her shanty.

She wondered if all was well between didi and her husband- the quiet gentleman who spoke very little and was always on the phone- but there seemed to be no negative vibes between them. It was as if Sonia didi was retracting into a tiny shell around her- and refusing to let her, or even Saroj, enter.

Then, one day suddenly, Sonia didi returned to normal. She was dressed early- wearing her beautiful strappy black sandals with a matching lace salwar kameez- with a broad grin on her face.

“Sit with me, Laxmi”, she said, “and tell me how you are such a good mother to Sunil- because I am pregnant, and I wish I knew how to care for my family as much as you do”- Laxmi’s heart gave a large whoop of joy as she began discussing the intricacies of motherhood- for once- she, the aspiration and Sonia didi the eager disciple.

(July 16, 2009)