A Tiny Drop Of Appreciation

The clanging of the vessels was particularly loud today. What could be the reason? I wondered. My domestic help has her ways of venting her frustration; it’s the utensils and clothes that generally bear the brunt of her fury.

I peeped into the kitchen, and one look at me, she reasoned. “My husband has brought a marriage proposal for my daughter. His friend’s son. Now, this friend is as wasted and useless as my husband, and the son is no prize either. When I refused, he said he’d already promised his friend. Promised, it seems, without consulting me or my daughter?”

I nodded as she went on. “All his life, this man just drank his way to glory. No job, no income, and I had to slog all day in other people’s homes. Just because his family wanted a son, I had to give birth to three kids. I educated them; I made my daughter a graduate, and now he expects her to err the same way I did, getting married to a stranger at an age when you are hardly ready for anything. Then she has to raise a family and endure a whole life of disappointment.”

I smiled. “But of course, Radha Maushi, let her stand on her own two feet first. And don’t fret. Your daughter is smart enough; she won’t relent, and her father can’t forcefully marry her to anyone. There are laws now, so relax.”

“It’s not like your society, Didi. The society I live in is different. Our men aren’t as emancipated or considerate as yours. Look at Bhaiyya; he takes such good care of you. You know, my neighbours have been indirectly dropping hints that the more I teach my daughters, the less are the chances of them bagging a good alliance. End of the day, this is what a girl can hope for, right? A good husband, decent in-laws, healthy children, and a happy family. All I am saying is that if she completes her degree, she won’t have to be a housemaid like me.”

As she stood muttering to herself, I made my way to the swing on my balcony, reflecting on what she had just stated. The men in my life are different, but how? Aren’t they just the sugar-coated versions of the ones she is putting up with?

I reminisced about the time when I had been a student. One of the brightest in academics, I had aced my tenth and twelfth classes, with ranks and medals that still adorned my maternal home. Engineering had been my passion, and my parents didn’t stop me. I had been the college topper, and ironically, my father-in-law had been the chief guest who presented me with the award.

I smiled now. How was this any different from Radha’s husband proposing his friend’s son? The chief guest had been impressed with my accomplishments; we belonged to the same community, and the next moment he brought his son’s alliance for me. I was engaged in the bat of an eyelid, and my relatives had gone gaga.

“You know what it is to be married into that family?”
“What a jackpot you have hit.”
“What’s this career talk? What would people say?”
“He wants a hands-on wife. Cook for him; keep him happy.”
“He’s rich; Tum Raj Karogi.”

I sighed. My degree certificate, trophies, and winning pictures now lay in my mother’s showcase. Here, in my own home—sorry, my husband’s home—I’m the proverbial ‘Just A Housewife.’

Yes, I did try to spread my wings and put my degree to good use, but then I was pregnant. There were complications, and I had to rest. One baby followed the other—child health, academics, activities—I was pulled into the whirlpool of motherhood and family. Not to mention, I was offered no support from my close family. I couldn’t blame them; they had their lives too.

It was only when I met my old college friends on WhatsApp groups that I was reminded of the futility of my efforts and hard work—the sleepless nights I spent on exams. Many of them had scored far less but were now flourishing in their careers, at the top of their posts. And I was left out, right where I was.

Radha walked onto the balcony with tea. “What are you thinking, Didi?” She handed me my cup.

“Radha Maushi, you are a working woman. You bring food to the table. Don’t you ever demean yourself; you are not ‘Just A Maid.’ Make sure your daughters are also financially independent like you.”

“Don’t say that, Didi. I could work because someone looked after the kids when I was gone. You managed the entire household, your bedridden father-in-law, your old mother-in-law, two children, their studies, their activities… And look how good they have turned out to be. And Bhaiyya used to be away for work all the time. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had the patience to nurture my home so well; you are doing a great job.”

I could feel my eyes well up. In all these years, there was one person who had appreciated me, who had said I was doing good. Friends and relatives either picked on me for being a quintessential homemaker who was not earning or for the faults in my housekeeping skills. And to imagine, after ages of listening to all the grumbling, today I felt respected, finally.

As if reading my mind, Maushi spoke, “You know, Didi, my entire life, I have been a Bai. It’s only you who has ever called me an independent woman. Thank you.”

We sat in silence, a few tears rolling down our cheeks.

As a SHE, what do we actually want? Apparel, jewelry, luxury, gossip, parties? No, just a little appreciation for what we are and whatever we manage to achieve—not being judged all the time. And who better to understand that than another SHE?

Glossary

1. Maushi – Aunty
2. Bai – Housemaid

By Preethi Warrier

Preethi Warrier has completed her Masters in Electronics Engineering and is an Assistant Professor. She is one among the winners of the TOI Write India Campaign Season-1, for the famous author Anita Nair. She can be contacted at : warrier.preethi@yahoo.com