God is never kind to the hard-workers…

“So again you’re late for work. What bloody excuse will you give today?”
I keep my eyes focused on the floor and replied “ma’am, my son had fever. I needed to take him to a doctor.”

“Bloody hell! Today, it is your son. Tomorrow, it’ll be you. Why don’t you go work in a hospital instead of coming here huh?”

Anger rose within me but I gritted my teeth, urged myself to keep calm, and said “ma’am I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Fish! This is the third time this month. I don’t need you for work from next month. Find another job.”

I silently assess the number of tiles under my feet. These are just empty threats, I say to myself. Finding someone like me is difficult nowadays. I smile.

“What the hell are you standing there for? Go wash the dishes and get Colgate from the stores.”
So that’s it. Just a few minutes of role- call everyday and life gets back to normal. You might have guessed who I am then. I’m Rani, a housemaid.

ImageChef.com - Custom comment codes for MySpace, Hi5, Friendster and more

Things never looked rosy for me right from the day when I dropped out from school to become a housemaid. Life has been one living hell, I thought sadly.

For the next two hours, I dutifully finished all the household chores, all the while witnessing the family whispering complaints and to-hell-with-her comments. The heads of this family treated me with as much kindness as they would reserve for a stray dog. The children, however, treat me better, calling me in respectful tones but even then, they cringe their mouths and twitch their noses.

I have willed myself to get used to people scowling at me wherever I go. At least that way, I get attention, I say to myself. You would almost believe that I have committed a murder just looking at these people’s faces. I still don’t understand why the people treat me this way. I’m not good-looking and maybe, a little shabbily dressed but I certainly deserve better. Well, I cannot dictate what I deserve or don’t, I’m just a small insignificant part of the society.
I had to ask them. I dared not to wait longer. With a bit of luck they might agree. With a bit of luck.

“ma’am, could you spare me Rs. 1000 please? I need to send my children to school. They need to buy books and cloths. Please ma’am…You can deduct it from my next month’s pay ma’am… ”

“Don’t talk to me like that! How dare you tell me what to do, huh? Why do you send your children to such high-class schools if you can’t afford it?” they ask me.

How can I not? Do not my children deserve better? Would I bear to see them treated the same way as I am? Do not they deserve a better life than mine? Do not their children deserve to grow up to be great film stars, great leaders? I’ve lived this life enough. I fear to let my children feel the pain of this profession.

And I thought of my own husband at home. The poor guy. Every night, he comes home drunk and beats me up. But still, I feel for him. He works so hard in that construction site just to bring back a few pennies, notwithstanding the fact that most of it is used up in getting himself drunk. I myself have a salary of only about Rs. 900 per month. There are no day-offs in this profession.

The tougher and more dangerous the job, the less is the pay, I thought. Look at those construction workers. Look at all those stunt artists. They risk their life so that the hero can smile to the camera. And even when I complete extra work like washing the toilets and cleaning the fans, the family conveniently passes it off as a compensation for all the days I arrived late.

There is only a certain limit of tolerance but for us, suicide is not the option. Every story has a twist but not mine. The only saving grace is when I’m home and tired… I get to lie on my son’s feet and sleep peacefully until the new dawn…

Advertisements

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s