A Tiny Drop of Appreciation

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.

The Domestic Help : Too Underrated, isn’t she?

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?

A Homemaker: Not Worth your Respect?

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