‘THE DOMESTIC MAID’ by Anita Desai
The mighty sun was rising on the city. The birds had taken flight on a new day. The city was
abuzz with early morning activities; milk and newspaper delivery, bleary eyed kids awaiting
school buses, joggers and walkers dotting the concrete landscape markinga new beginning like
everyday for the affluent andcosmopolitan city dwellers. Movement of traffic on the roads
wasmoving at a brisk pace already, the call center cabs ferrying night shift staff back home
and to pick up the day shift staff. The city buses already running to capacity even at this early
hour.
Amid this early morning hum-drum, a group of women walk briskly towards the gates of a
multistoried, elite residential complex manned by security guards. Their laughter and chatter
unable to hide their impoverished status. The group is a mix of young, middle-aged and old
[Link] women are dressed in dull weary cotton sarees, the pallav draped around their
bony shoulders, their slippers worn out with months of continuous drag. The young ones of
the lot dressed in hand-me-down salwar kameez, adjusting their dupattas every now and
[Link] woman carrying either a small pouch which serves as a purse containing their bare
essentials or a little cloth bag.
Their constant banter invites a nonchalant glance from some [Link] one would give
these women a second glance. Why would they; what’s special about them?
Nothing.
As the group arrives at the huge iron gates, they haltto show their identity cards to the guards.
A card that certifies their social status, an identity- that of a Domestic Maid.
Each ID card bears the picture of the maid, her name, the apartment number they work for,
and the name of the issuing authority. In the changing urban environment, these maids are in
huge demand for various household chores like cleaning; washing; cooking; baby-sitting etc.
The married women prefer part-time jobs to balance work and their own families, whereas
the unmarried young girls prefer to work full-time as a housekeeper.
Cities have always been a big draw for skilled or unskilled migrant laborers from neighboring
states, even neighboring countries. Men and women migrate to the cities with dreams of better
earnings and better living conditions. The men take up work in the industrial sector or join the
much-in-demand security services. Women mostly end up as domestic maids. The children join
the work force as early as seven or eight years of age.
The guards, ending their twelve hour night shift, are disheveled and anxiously awaiting their
relieving staff. One of the guards, yawning and stretching, checks their card one by one and
makes an entry in the register.
“How are you Shankar?” asks a woman from the group trying to cheer him up. The guard is in
no mood for small talk and dismisses her with a shrug.
Among the group is a frail, medium built, dark complexioned woman,trailing behind with her
head bent, looking forlorn and creases of deep worry scaling her small forehead.
“Hey Geeta! Where are you lost; are you dreaming of your husband?” the women giggle and
wink at each other. “Show your id card and run to the 702 waali mem saab or you’ll be late
again today.”
The women mock Geeta, jolting her out of her reverie. She promptly digs into her little zip
pouch for the tattered ID card and displays it to the guard. She gives her friends a vague half
smile, pretending to be normal and follows them through the [Link] the initial check, the
group disperses and proceeds to their individual work places.
Geeta works in at least 4 houses at a time, doing odd jobs like cleaning and washing. She
migrated to the city from her village three years back, along with her husband Prakash, and
two children. Their native village, an impoverished little hamlet which could not sustain them
with even a decent meal a day. Even with Prakash running a cycle-rickshaw and Geeta taking
up work as a daily wage earner in the village quarry, they could not make ends meet and they
were living in dire poverty. Like many others in his village, he too was lured by the life in big
city and he migrated. He found a shanty of size 10 by 12 feet for his family of four in the shady
by-lanes of the glitzy city. Prakash found work as a daily wage worker in a local factory and
Geeta found work as a domestic maid in the high rise residential complex.
Geeta works part-time at Asha’s house. She rings the doorbell at her apartment no. 702. That is
the reason she is commonly addressed as “702 wali mem saab”by all maids.
“You are late again Geeta! What’s the matter with you; don’t you understand when I ask you to
come early?” Asha’s voice is shrill with anger as she opens the door. Off late, Geeta has been
coming late to work and she is no mood to understand the reason.
“Have you taken up other work on my time? I have to leave for office and I will be late because
of you. This time I will cut your salary.”
Asha is a burlesque, middle aged woman. Both, Asha and her husband work for an MNC. Their
only child, a daughter,is a high school student in an international school nearby. This is a well-
educated and well settled family of three with an annual family income of multiple figures.
Without responding or meeting Asha’s gaze, Geeta quietly goes to the broom cupboard in the
kitchen balcony to collect her working tools, the broom and duster. She starts sweeping. After
three years in this glamorous city and changing several households for work, she is now used
to the shouting and cribbing from the mem saabsand does not react to their anger anymore.
Though, the other maids have advised her several times to toughen her stand against the
nagging women, she is unable to fight back or argue vehemently with any of them. Most of her
friends change houses several time in a year to avoid the nagging.
“Why don’t you answer, why are you late? Too much money and food has gone into your
stomach, that’s why you people take advantage of good people like us,” Asha continues to
berate the maid.
Geeta, tired of Asha’s yelling early in the morning, stops sweeping and makes an attempt to
explain the reason for being late, “Didi, I had to go to the dispensary…” “Don’t tell lies. Every
day you people have the same excuse,” Asha interrupts, rudely.
“Mom, I’m late for school. Is my lunch box ready? Asha’s holler is interrupted by her
daughter’s urgent call.
Asha forgets her yelling, hurriedly runs to the kitchen and starts packing lunch. Geeta is
relieved at this intervention and gets back to sweeping.
While going about her work, Geeta’s mind is weaving a thousand thoughts, “these rich people
have no compassion for poor women like us. Don’t they ever realize that life is a daily struggle
for us? They have all the facilities in this beautiful house, bathroom, running water, kitchen
stuffed with at least two months of rations and snacks. But we do not have even the basic
necessities to lead a dignified life. Even small delays makes them shout and curse us like hell.
Who should I complain to?”
As Asha sends her daughter off to school with a hug, warm motherly cuddling and a big smile,
Geeta gives them a cursory look. Her thoughts drift to her two little children whom she has left
behind alone in her shanty. She has left a meagre meal for them to eat during the [Link] takes
in a deep breath, winds up the sweeping and moves to the kitchen to start cleaning the dishes
piled up in the sink. She can still hear Asha grumbling in her bedroom.
The telephone ring brings Asha running to the living room; it is her friend calling to enquire
about the maid. Asha cribs about the maid’s bad habit of coming in late; not cleaning the
dishes properly.
“You know, no matter what we do for these women, they will always be ungrateful. They
always cheat us, will steal things and will never do the corners when we are not looking. They
are all the same.” Asha laments non-stop and Geeta listens on, quietly as always.
As Geeta wraps up her work in little over an hour and prepares to leave, Asha lets out a
warning.
“Now don’t be late tomorrow or I will chuck you out. There are a hundred women out there
waiting to work at my place.” By now, Asha is ready for office and is getting ready for breakfast
with her husband.
Geeta just looks at her with a blank expression, nods her head and walks out wiping her hands
on her saree pallav. Asha bangs the door on Geeta, still grumbling. As the door shuts on her
face, Geeta’s gaze falls on the decorated exterior of the plush apartment. The Ganapati idol
adorning the main entrance for protection against evil, the feng shui ornaments and expensive
plants for prosperity.
How does prosperity thrive in this house? Such harsh words,” Geeta deliberates for a few
seconds, shakes her head in dismay, turns around and walks toward the lift.
This more or less sums up Geeta’s work day. As she walks to the main exit after finishing work
for the day, she meets other women who work as domestic maids in the complex. Chaaya, her
friend and neighbor near her shanty, is also at the gate chatting up other maids. Her face lights
up when she sees Geeta approaching and calls out to her,
“Have you finished work for today?” Geeta nods, looking crestfallen.
“Good, we can go home together.” exclaims Chaaya excitedly. Seeing her friend’s long face, she
chuckles, “what happened, that 702 waali mem saab troubling you again?”
Geeta just gives her a look of affirmation. Chaaya shakes her head and lets out a series of
expletives.
“Come, let’s sit under that tree for some time and you tell me what happened.”
The women walk up to the tree and sit in the shade, wiping the sweat from their gaunt bony
faces. Their cotton sarees damp and limp due to constant wiping. Their ill-fitting blouses hang
on their emaciated bodies. A passing guard leers at them and makes a vulgar guttural sound.
The girls glare at him, other than that have no choice but to ignore him.
Chaaya is carrying a heavy polythene bag, she places the heavy bag on a rock nearby. Geeta
quietly eyes the bag. Noticing her look, Chaaya says,
“That 404 wali mem saabhad a party last night. She gave me some leftovers. Today, the
children will have a feast.”
“So, tell me what happened today.” Chaaya asks anxiously.
Geeta relates the day’s events to Chaaya. Tears well up in her eyes as she briefly recalls Asha’s
harsh words.
“Don’t worry; this happens to all of us. These women do not understand the difficulties we go
through. They have money and a comfortable life”, Chaaya, putting her arms around her
shoulders, consoles Geeta. “And how many times have I told you not to take this from anyone,
but you do not listen. Just dump her work, I will speak to others and see if you can get decent
work somewhere else.”Chhaya learnt the tricks of their trade very early in the city and knew
that this is a situation women like them have to live with, all through their lives.
“You know I cannot leave Asha didi’swork as I have taken some loan from her, at least not
until I repay her loan.” Geeta explains her position. Chhaya just nods her head slowly.
“You know, these women actually take out their frustration on us,” Chaaya says, getting
philosophical.
“What do you mean?” Geeta asks quizzically, her brows creased in a frown.
Chaaya takes Geeta’s hands in her hand, takes a deep breath and explains, “See, they are also
women and have to live under their husband, in-laws. If they are working then there is the
frustration at office as well. Because they cannot take out this anger and frustration on anyone
else, they take it out on us. That’s all.” She grips her hand, giving a tight comforting pat.
Chaaya suddenly goes thoughtful, her eyes staring into the ground, fingers sub-consciously
making undefined lines in the mud. Gathering her thoughts back, she says slowly but loudly,
“The only difference between their lives and ours is that their husbands don’t beat them black
and blue; for us that is the eternal truth, day in and day out.”
Geeta looks at her friend warmly, eyes twinkling with mirth for the first time since day break,
lovingly passes her fingers through her hair, shesays, “You have become so smart, like those
school teachers who know everything.” The two friends laugh out aloud, stealing a few
moments of humor from life.
“But you are right, Ashadidi uses a harsh tone but never hesitates to help me out in my hour of
need.” Geeta says matter-of-factly and continues, “like you said, she too must have her
frustrations as she has to manage office and home both as her husband is mostly travelling.”
Suddenly recalling previous night’s incident at Geeta’s home, Chaaya cuts her and asks her,
“What happened last night; why was Prakash beating you?”
Geeta gives her friend a sad, half smile and playing with the faded glass bangles on her wrists,
replies,
Drawing in a deep breath, Geeta declares firmly, “he wanted me to borrow money from Asha
didi so he can buy a cycle. He finds it difficult to walk two kilometers to the factory every day. I
refused, I have already borrowed from three different houses. After the monthly deductions
there is hardly any money left for our home. When I refused to borrow anymore, he punished
me.” Geeta pauses for a moment, and adds softly as an afterthought, “And this morning I went
to the dispensary to get some medicines as I had severe body ache and could not have come to
work; but Asha didi would not understand. No one did.” She ends the discussion matter-of-
factly, absent-mindedly plucking a leaf from the bush nearby and twirling it in her fingers.
The two women go quiet for some time, each lost deep in her own thoughts. Perhaps, looking
for a way out of their misery, or thinking there is no way out. The rustling leaves of the tree
giving music to their cogitation. It is usually in these moments of rumination that the two close
friends find solace in each other’s company, supporting and comforting.
Gathering their thoughts and getting back to reality, they give each other a light pat, get up and
start walking home. Geeta asks Chaaya about her day at work and for sometime the discussion
goes around the mem saabs living in these posh high rises.
As they walk out, other maids leaving for the day join them on their way out. They stop at the
exit gates to check out, displaying their ID cards to the guards sweating in the sweltering late
afternoon heat. The women, start walking back home to a life full of trials & tribulations, and
hoping against hope for better lives seeking which they had migrated to the city.
***