Great passion comes from great love. Hearts are won and lost, wars are won and lost, championships are won and lost – all in the name of passion. In the end everyone is a winner because those who compete have passion.
Here is an NRIs story of great passion. I have always been a very calm and unassuming person. ‘Cool Cat’ was what my mother always called me. Cool because I would never do anything that would make me sweat. Cat was a nickname I can most relate with. I like keeping myself clean and tidy, I don’t venture out of my territory and I love stretching, sleeping and curling on the sofa.
Marriage took me to California. To many it is the land of big movie stars and vintage wines – to me it was the land of no maids. The first week I spent in the cute apartment we rented I got a full dose of jetlag, the Bold and the Beautiful and CNN. The following week I got a dose of reality. The clothes were piled up in the laundry, the unopened pile of mail crashed on me almost crushing me, the carpets were dusty and not to mention the trash can that was now growing multicolored life forms.
So how did I get out of it? I tried tidying up the place myself, but my lack of experience eventually caught up with me. I was a mess – I dropped stuff on the floor, made bigger messes and regretted the attempt. In my effort to be a great homemaker and impress my husband I tried, tried and tried until I cried.
Unlike the stereotyped Indian housewife most of our American friends envisioned me to be, I was a hurricane when it came to doing chores around the house. Weekends became a time of learning. My husband who by the way comes from a family where they have more staff in the household than family members became my go-to guy for doing chores. He taught me easy ways to do things. Solutions to problems like ironing clothes – don’t iron them , buy only wrinkle resistant clothes. Cleaning bathrooms – use only one bathroom, clean the others on a need to clean basis. Cook once in three days that way clean up happens once in three days. He was my life support.
Soon I got used to doing things efficiently. I was surprised to see the chauffeur, chef and chief in me. In seven years I turned my life around. I could paint a wall, fix a flat tire and have plenty of houseguests for months. I managed all this without a maid and with just a smile on my face.
Then it happened. For the life of me – I moved to India. Bangalore was so much like California but yet so different. The weather matches with California, I am surrounded by potbellied techies and Japan and Germany are crushing the local automobile industry – so the difference isn’t too much.
When I moved into my home, I started cleaning up the place. My startled carpenter asked me what I was doing when he saw me with a broom. I wanted to tell him I am going to take off in this to get a toad’s eyeball and put a hex on you that’s what. Fearing the fact that he make take it seriously I told him the truth that I was cleaning up the pile of sawdust he generated in his attempt to make what he calls a closet!
Why not hire some help he suggested. I took his advise (because that is the only good thing that came from him) and hired a maid. She was the best thing that could happen to me. By 10.00 am my house is spotless. I am no longer suffering from LegoLeg , the unfortunate condition most parents of three year olds suffer. Those darn Legos have a way of getting between your foot and the floor when you least expect it. My maid washes my clothes, dries them and even takes it to the ironwalla (another essential service provider). Just like a stage changing in a broadway show my clothes do their trip from the laundry basket, to the washing machine, the clothes line, the hot steam iron and sit beautifully piled up in my closet.
I was as happy as I can be. I read books that was not about parenting or by Dr.Suess, caught up with friends and relatives who once buried me in oblivion, listened to music that was not for 4 year olds and drank coffee without the din of the microwave, cooker whistle and dishwasher. Peace had returned and the Cool Cat was back.
One day while my maid was doing the chores and I was painting my nails, when my intercom buzzed. I knew I wasn’t expecting anyone at that hour. I answered the phone to a huffing voice. The rush in the breathing made me nervous. The voice at the other end asked me if the maid had come. ‘Thanks for asking. She is here. Now goodbye!” should have been my response.
She told me she was in a tearing hurry to get somewhere for her kids and needed my maid ASAP. Being a mother and mostly a dumb woman I let my maid go. She didn’t return that day. I was sitting in a pile of vessels not knowing what how to cook or clean. The next day I learned from my maid that that woman was a notorious maid kidnapper. She has done this to several of her friends in whose house my maid works.
Now I had a problem. My cat like instinct begged me to save my maid and protect what could be rightfully called my territory. Every day my maid would come later in the morning. This would delay my other activities. I was beginning to get more and more annoyed.
The maidnapper would call and ask for the maid and I wouldn’t let her talk to her. Everyday it was a new story. One day it was her back pain – a pain very familiar to me, the other day it was her sick child – I am a mother raising two toddlers who make the doctor’s office their second home. Every request would be heart wrenching. Soon I was doing more work than my maid. That was when I decided to find another service provider. When my maid got wind of this she panicked. She had to choose between maidnapper and me – a tough choice given the fact that we are both lazier than the other.
She finally decided to stay with me. A decision that officially declared the cold war between the Maidnapper and me to be over and the real war began.
She spited my very existence. Why? Why did you leave America? Just to come here to steal her maid and make her life miserable. While that was hardly my intention, I promise you I really didn’t care too much for her. Maids are a dime a dozen in India. She can find one before her house collects a speck of dust.
My maid was good. She was honest, hardworking and cheerful. She was ahead of me in whatever chore I assigned for her. My house was spotless, my kitchen sink didn’t look like the wreckage of the Titanic and clothes were there for me when I needed them. This phase lasted for a week and what a week it was. Then reality bit me.
Soon my maid developed a taste for the finer things in life. She wanted a piece of every pie in my place. Whether it was the fancy salwar kameez I bought on a whim in Mumbai and never ever wore it or the delicate size 6 shoes I bought in Metro before pregnancy gave me clown feet. Her eyes grew bigger and bigger as I grew more and more irritated.
She was always in hurry. With the extra time at hand she could moonlight in many homes. Whenever a maid somewhere was giving some lazy housewife a run for her money, there she was - my maid in shining armor to the rescue. It seemed like if there was some tiff in a world far far away, I was the one weeping over a pile of dishes.
My neighbors were my friends. They were my close confidants with whom I shared all my woes. We had each other to swap quirky mother-in-law stories, ‘my kids are so adorable’ stories and ‘my husband is jerk’ stories. We were quick to help their sick children, allow their guests to park their car in our driveway and even allowed them to get drunk till 3 am and have wild parties (well – the latter is only because we were invited and I may have had something to do with the decibel overload!).
However when it came to sharing our maid we were always ready to bare our fangs.
My maid knew this and it made her so happy that I could see a spring in her step. Every once in a while the maidnapper would peek a glance into my house to see if my maid was happy. To protect what belonged to me I would politely and yet rudely draw the drapes on her to let her know that it is soooo over. Ok maybe sometimes I even made her clean the front porch when she walked past my house.
Soon a year went by. My maid wanted a raise. I thought it was about time too. Besides the bonuses, salary advances, free food and countless clothes I thought a 20% increase in her salary was in order.
When she was informed this she was not happy at all. After very poor negotiation on my part I finally have her a 50% bonus. Now she looked happy. She celebrated her raise for a week by not turning up and leaving me on the lurch. I had no idea where she was. I went around asking the security and those around me. I almost put her face on the milk carton when she called me and told me she got a better offer.
I was in shock. What could be a better offer than this? Apparently there was someone new in the neighborhood. My maid was helping them shift. Seeing her meticulous work that woman hired her. Now I had a choice – I could fire her and find another maid or retain her with a 100% raise and adjust my time and life around her schedule.
After a lot of thinking and scouting for a maid I gave in and agreed to her terms. I even gave her some of my barely used handbags and clothes. At the end of it she still quit on me. I didn’t want to know who the new maid-stealing neighbor was but I knew she and I will never be true friends.
One day as I was taking my little one for a walk I peeped into my maid’s new workspace. She was serving tea to my new neighbor and her guest. As I tippy-toed to take a good look at who was with her, the mystery woman rose from her seat. She was none other than the maidnapper. Apparently she had recommended my maid to her best friend who just moved into our neighborhood. And as if the maidnapper knew I was looking, she walked up to the window and politely yet rudely drew the drapes on me.
What goes around comes around. The battle is lost – the war is still on. By the way I am still looking for a maid!
