The Maid Saga – Is She Our Employee Or Employer?

The Maid Saga – Is She Our Employee or Employer?

At first glance, this question feels hilariously out of syllabus — like asking who really runs the Wi‑Fi. But think about it, and the answer is painfully clear. In every Indian household, there’s only one person who casually calls us “mere kaam wale” (my staff), as if we’re the ones on her payroll. And her mere absence can unleash chaos before we’ve even dunked our first biscuit. No, it’s not the husband. It’s the maid — the real CEO in a cotton saree.

Bleary‑Eyed Bosses & Fashionably Late Queens

We’re still stumbling around in pyjamas, hugging our tea mugs like life rafts, and stabbing at her number — only to be met with the majestic silence of the truly unbothered. Take our cook, for instance. She’s a master strategist: times her arrival so late that we’ve already surrendered, onion tears and all. “Chalak bro,” as the kids say — she knows exactly how to score the winning point without lifting a knife. By the time she sashays in, half the meal is bubbling away… courtesy of us.

But it’s not total defeat. We’ve learned to sneak in a few power plays: fix the next day’s menu, have her chop, grind, and prep at night — so if she pulls a vanishing act, at least breakfast isn’t instant noodles and existential dread.

CEO on Paper, Intern in Practice

We like to think we’re the boss at home. But truthfully, we’re glorified middle managers with “head of all maids” on our imaginary visiting cards. 🤣 The real boss? She strolls in draped in bright sarees, swinging a giant handbag (possibly packed with unscheduled leave), and the breezy confidence of someone who knows we’ll wait.

But here’s the twist: the illusion only lasts till we step out in crisp clothes, dab on perfume, and head to real work. That’s when she remembers who actually signs the cheque — and who really wears the pants in the household.

Our Day, Her Way

And our daily schedule? It’s basically an offering at the temple of her availability. On paper, we look like the boss — but in reality, life, errands, and Zoom calls are all nervously squeezed into the sacred slot when she might, just might, grace us with her presence. 😭

It feels almost psychic: the very moment we dare to believe the day is sorted, bam — a sudden “fever,” a festival we’ve never heard of, or the dreaded switched‑off phone. And in that ringing silence, her silent message comes through loud and clear: “Nice plan you had there… shame if something happened to it.” It is as if to announce:

Yet we’ve picked up a few sneaky tricks of our own. Leave the dirty dishes piled high if she skips the evening shift — so the next morning, the Himalayas of stainless steel await her. Let the laundry grow into a mini Everest until she’s forced into an unexpected cardio workout. And never, ever announce when guests are coming — let her walk straight into the surprise (revenge can be deliciously domestic!). She may sashay around thinking she’s got the upper hand, but quietly, we’re the ones shuffling the deck… and dealing the final card.

Dust, Drama & Small Victories

At some point, survival instincts kick in: it’s our house, our dust — and no one scrubs it quite like us (until the tech gods finally gift us a robot maid, fully immune to mood swings). Till then, we juggle, duck, and quietly plot our revenge.

It really is a twisted power tango: today we’re boss, tomorrow we’re firing off folded‑hand emojis begging her to show up. Some maids stage walkouts over a polite “no,” cooks bark orders — “fridge se woh nikaalo… ab woh do…” and if we so much as raise an eyebrow? Boom — the nuclear option: indefinite leave. 😳

Still, we’re not entirely spineless. Tiny acts of rebellion keep us sane. I once dethroned my cook of three years (service, not age 😆) when his crown got too heavy and his demands got too loud. “Nope,” I said — and hired someone with less attitude. Small win, big relief.

And behind the sarcasm? A pinch of gratitude: at least we have help. Plenty are still doom‑scrolling society WhatsApp groups at midnight — Tinder‑style, but for household staff. Swipe right, light incense, and pray she turns up.

Praise, Pay & the Price We Pay

Of course, everyone chants: treat your help with love and respect. And truly, we do try! But as one wise friend quipped, that can backfire spectacularly — love brings fresh demands, respect invites grander ultimatums. One friend even fled to Melbourne: scrubbing her own bathroom is exhausting, she sighs — but at least the mop never threatens “indefinite leave.”

Not everyone’s doomed, of course. Some strike gold: a sweet young helper who actually listens, a maid who treats you like royalty. My current cook, for instance, stayed put through the COVID lockdown — so at least we were fed. But I still had to sweep, mop, and wash the clothes myself. Talk about DIY egalitarianism!

Lucky few indeed. The rest of us? We secretly dream of Richie Rich’s Irona the robot maid — tireless, drama‑free, never sulking for a raise, and blissfully immune to mood swings

Budget Bleeds & Bot Fantasies

How do we manage domestic help without blowing a fuse — or the entire monthly budget? 😅 They still want a full salary… even on days they ghost us! If only AI robots could replace them; maybe then they’d finally get what “no work, no pay” means. Harsh? Maybe. But after a morning spent doom‑scrolling WhatsApp, clutching our phones like prayer beads, tell me it doesn’t feel justified.

Tightropes, Tantrums & The Last Laugh

In the end, it’s a daily circus act — kindness in one hand, tough love in the other. But it’s still our house, our rules, our ultimate remote. Fire, rehire, forgive, forget… or just roll up our sleeves and scrub. Sure, it wobbles, but we’re the ones clutching the balancing pole — and that’s what keeps us sane (well, mostly!).

By Richa Verma

Richa is an online English teacher, independent blogger, voracious reader, movie buff who is smitten with wanderlust, and a homemaker. She can be contacted through her email address richavermamh@gmail.com