Saturday, 1 February 2014

The ‘Bai’ Phobia

There was Radhika, then Manju, then her sister Anju, Sajanoor and now we have Chavvi. These names might vary for everyone but it’s a usual story that we have house-helps existing in Indian cities and towns (even villages). And so has been the story of my house where house helps have come and gone. Some stayed for longer duration than the rest, and some came and were quickly gone.
What is it that makes them so special in Indian homes? They become even more important if we are talking about the homes of working women. Why is it that today the mere word, ‘House-Help’ starts up a conversation that is longer than women discussing their marital issues, children troubles and nagging mother-in-law problems. Call her ‘Bai’, ‘Kaamwali’, ‘Aunty’ or anything – her absence shatters the very functioning of a house in India, and she for that matter knows it well.
And I am not writing here to crib about my maid-woes. Nor am I trying to tell anyone why they have the power to shatter the daily functioning of any home in India. I write this piece while sitting in a café in Delhi surrounded by a group of kitty-party women (not trying to demean) trying to discuss how the absence of the ”household maid” breaks the smooth functioning of their household’s daily routine.
What irritates me is not the mention or the topic of discussion but the very tone of the ladies (educated as they appear) on how their maids forgot to: switch off the fan, wash the cleaning cloth, took leave because her son was unwell (since 5 days) and what not.  Now I don’t like eavesdropping but the loud tone grabbed my attention and here I am thinking how at every place I have seen the disrespect given to household maids. It took me back to my lessons in Women’s Studies yet again, where we spoke about the unorganized women’s labour sector. It took me back to the days where I have seen my own mother getting irritated on the endless leaves our maid took. It also took me back to the recent news report I read on house helps being beaten to death by upper middle class women.
A nerve in my head has an issue with everything going around these days. And while I sit down and work as a United Nations Volunteer on Women’s Economic Empowerment, I realize how seldom is it that people who discuss all these issues surrounding women’s labour on global platforms, TV channels and amongst their own communities consider their own house-helps any human.  I have seen women activists discussing maid-woes. I have seen housewives do it, working women do it. I see it in my family where the absence of the maid means a one hour long discussion on the phone. While yes, we pay them for their services, the absence of respect and any human feeling towards them makes their lives even more miserable.
And while I write this, I agree that there are a few cases where these house helps, no matter how good you treat them have been a pain to handle. But, the sad reality is that the issues are more deep-rooted and imbalanced than they seem to us. Imagine this: A woman migrates from the village in Bengal/Bihar/Orissa/UP/Nepal-Bangladesh to the savvy city of Delhi/Mumbai. While they start living in slums, they see their husbands get into gambling/drinking/drugs. They have the burden on them to manage the house. With four kids to be brought up, they struggle to manage their work and home all alone. And while all this happens, they have no support structure to take care of their children, their homes while they are gone from 7 am to 8-9 pm every day. Living in a city is after all not a joke. With these challenges, getting their kids into school is beyond a point to be even considered. For many, their daughters are drawn early into the business of being house-helps, many of whom, either elope with boys from the slum or get married early or are abused by the males in the houses they work in.
This is the story of seven out of ten women I have interacted with personally. If you dig deeper you realize the kind of challenges they face by coming to the city and working in such lavish houses, trying to not get tempted by the amazing things they see around. And while I know many of you people out there will try to bring the other side by telling that there are many who are thieves, who lie and take endless leaves, who demand more money than they deserve, here is my answer to you. Yes. That’s also a reality that exists and I am not denying it while presenting this story.
While the absence of these individuals leads to imbalance in the house, their presence needs to be respected as well. Calling them names, beating them, scolding them, and worse killing them is not what a civilized society should be all about. I see such perfectly dressed and English-speaking women with children in public schools talking to their house helps with such disrespect and an inhuman tone that it breaks my heart to see where education is taking us. Wearing diamond-studded jewellery and carrying branded bags isn’t after all the goal that education should be looking towards. And that is precisely where we are heading.
The lack of any strong policy and sheer absence of labour laws for house-helps as they are the unorganized sector makes the situation even worse. I am not preaching anything here. I have taught my house maids, giving them lesson on basic maths-hindi-writing names. My personal deep interactions with them have made me realize how difficult it is getting day by day to make them realize that education is more important than anything, even money. They see the same job for their daughters and sons. No aspirations exist beyond getting the daughter married. No education what-so-ever. She is a helping hand to her mother and no matter how much she is tempted to study, she never gets it.
Where is it that our responsibility as educated citizens lies? How is it that we working/non working, educated women with resources need to put our foot down and start a new wave of thinking? How is it that we not only start respecting them for the services they give us but promote them to educate their kids for a better lifestyle? Why is it that we need to move beyond the slavery syndrome that India has a history of and start a new wave of liberation? Education isn’t creating any change but moral-civic values need to make it happen.
An educated working lady once told me, “Don’t put ideas into my maid’s head. If she is on leave, her daughter does my work. If her daughter starts going to school, who will do my work?” Needless to say, we are so selfish in the way we see our own things getting completed that what we are creating is a future of uneducated labour who don’t know their rights at all. All for our own selfish reasons and motives.
As a woman who works in the Development Sector (and sees many in the same sector being value-less), I think change has to start from us. I mean, imagine how much the society will grow if we start saying no to child labour, if we start giving the rights the maid is entitled to (four days leave a month), if we think rationally for society and not selfishly for our own betterment. I am not advocating any mentality to be a better one, I am just trying to say that if our house stops working because of them, isn’t it their right to be a little respected and cared for? Just a thought! Empowering the dis-empowered should be what empowerment is all about. Cycle of change! Think about it.

(This article was originally published at Women's web: http://www.womensweb.in/2013/11/bai-the-lifeline-of-indian-households/

Diary of an Oxymoron (2)

scribble scribble, chomp chomp
crush the paper, throw it and upon it you stomp
the window pane has not been cleaned
the wrinkles on the jacket need be steamed
winter, oh you make me sad
its Confucius abode soon, for me be glad
tea is still hot
but only in the pot
you feel the wind slap your face
reminds you of the times you stood with grace
you are messy, you need accept now
don't worry for nobody will know what when how
truth or lie, you lay down your head
with ideas you learn and one you have been fed

scribble scribble, chomp chomp
baggages on you, you slowly tromp

Diary of an Oxymoron

Calm me down, I m back to panic mode 
Throw some water before I explode
Beyond the mode, lies a story untold 
Don't let it be buried, layer by layer it should unfold 
For we need to speak or else it stays 
Inside as trouble, then the future pays 
But think before u say it all 
It might just make u fall, n crawl 
The art of telling a tale is tough 
If done wrong, it might be rough 
For what u tell is not what ppl hear 
It might take things far, instead of making ppl near 
Honesty, is hard to digest 
But that's what all it is about the test

Speak up or shut down, u have to decide 
Whatever the result be, take it in ur stride! 

And She Lived.. Happily Ever After

“In a land, far far away lived a princess with long silky hair and beautiful gleaming eyes, dreaming that one fine day the man of her dreams will come and woo her off her feet, sway.”

She recalled this line that was printed in her head since childhood, thanks to the numerous fairy tales she had slept hearing to as a child. As a girl who has learnt to do everything by herself, a line like that should not make much of a sense. Right?

From the fairy tales as she moved on to a not so fairy tale life, she realized how much she had been torturing herself by bearing the burden of these words. She was beaten, abused, verbally and physically. Yet she stood strong because she remembered the lines from the grandmother’s story she had heard as a little girl. “When a girl marries, she goes as a bride to the new house and comes out only when she dies.” Nothing made sense but her senses had ceased to function long back. Was it time for her to wipe these tales off her soul and listen to some new ones?

Looking at her one would often question how an educated, working young woman could be beaten black & blue, all her money taken away, and still love her husband so much? How was she bearing the torture, the horrendous crimes done upon her? Every time something inside her made her fight back, but the stories kept on coming back and logic kept on going away.

The charm of stories is that the moral and the ending are at times all we remember. She still had that torn out book from her childhood. She would often go back to it, re-read and pacify her soul, that this was a phase and would be over, and that a happily ever after would happen soon. How soon, was the biggest question?

Gleaming eyes turned into teary blue ones. Long silky hair became worn out ropes dragging her across the floor. The land far away was the land of living hell on earth. And her prince was not the prince, but the villain of the story. Could she have a happily ever after?

The story of her life originated from a story she had heard to live a happy life. But she soon became a story I tell for others to live happily ever after. We hear a lot of stories in our lives. We decide what we take out of them. For her, the fairy tale happy ending was all she wanted. She left the land hopeless and torn, may be to a land far far away.

For me, her story changed the way I looked at a fairy tale. Everyone’s life isn’t the same. And as I remember this story of hers, I have in mind hundred and thousand more to learn from. We tell ourselves stories in order to live, but sometimes we forget the whole purpose of life.

“The journey is more important than the ending.”


Monday, 27 January 2014

Confessions of a PhD Scholar : Part 2

a loud noise and all is lost, the words are broken 
as each piece mixes with the other, my thoughts are taken

who was that? name i wonder, pages seem to fly

rooted, flying, am so shaken, i concentrate, oh at least i try

forgetting am i? or is age around
too much thinking yet blank, the mess surrounds

almonds won't help, neither will a chit, i need lots and lots of mind post-its
stop n think, act and repent, wonder where this all at the end fits

is it what they say one becomes in the later stage
new chapter, a book or m i still on the same page

makes no sense, does it to you?
its not for all, to get in head.. maybe just for a few!

Wednesday, 15 January 2014

Confessions of a PhD Scholar

you sleep, quite a lot
you forget what all was taught

the dramatic emotions ever ready to pop

is this a masala film plot?

the papers fly in the air
you want to but you still don't care

the tea is cold, the fourth of the day
ideas are old, freshness seems to act a little fray

you need a chair, a blanket and your worn out notebook
scribble scribble, crossout and make new points to look

as if the drama wasn't enough, the outer agents seem to shout
you go numb, with empty eyes you look above and only pout

question the unquestioned, think the unthinkable and cry
oh you failed? don't worry, you will have to try retry and try

is this a dead end? or am i missing a major turn
till you get buttery masala script, all you do is churn churn churn!

Monday, 6 January 2014

Things that don't make sense to me

Not much to say, still I will if I may
The mind is stuck, with words I play

The dry ketchup on the bottle makes me mad
Whom do i blame: sister, mom or dad

That window pane which is not clean
That woman in my family who is unnecessarily mean

Those little bobbins on my sweater
Those freckles on my face could be better

The little snoring noise around at night
Tiffs and irritations have their own fight

People telling me how imperfect is my life
Poking their nose, in real and my business, my strife

That freezing glass of water in weather so cold
What to be done, why am I told

My undone hair, I think I might like
But what i don't are people with funny spike

Why do people lie at drop of a hat
Should I slap them or their shoulders in pity should I pat

Blame me, cause I judge one and all
But I don't judge them for their struggles, pains and the rise & fall

Blame me, cause the nonsense around is making me little sad
All in the end I have is, this world Oh my dear is a lot mad

Should I hate or love, like or not,
I respect spaces, that is what (from life) I have been taught

Senseless, oh so numb I am turning
But still more to the world am craving and yearning