Gobi Chronicles - 4
I had decided to dedicate a
separate post to Moopachi – the house help who worked for more than 40 years in
Vembathy House. As a child I could not imagine the cleaning of Vembathy House
being taken up by anyone else. Loud mouthed but efficient is the way I would
describe her. She exercised an authority over us as much as over her
grandchildren who could not get away with shoddy work. She considered the house
as her own. They had to clean the cowshed, sweep and swab, empty leftover food into
vessels of their own and soak them in water to be washed by their grandmother. She
would supervise their work and would let them leave for school only after they
finished their assigned chores to her satisfaction.
As a teenager I would be asked to
help her with washing clothes. Those were days when detergents were unheard of
and one had to apply sunlight soap on the clothes. Washing clothes by beating them on a stone
fixed near the well and scrubbing extra dirty parts with her hands she’d wash
and rinse them clean and dry them out on the clothesline without a crease. One
could not find fault with her work. It was her constant chattering (read
grumbling) that one had to ignore. No one actually paid attention to her.
Moopachi had 4 children. Two boys
and two girls. Her husband worked as a farm hand who climbed up palm trees and
plucked coconuts. I don’t remember ever seeing him. The story goes that Moopachi’s
daughter Kanni was widowed at the age of sixteen and my maternal grandmother
cried for days together thinking of the kind of life destiny had dished out to
her. She had a four month old son to look after. I wouldn’t know if Moopachi
helped her with money but I was amused at her patriarchal mindset when her
granddaughter (son’s daughter) Dhana
married her grandson (daughter’s son).
Once Dhana got married she was
forbidden to work for us the reason being that she was now married and the
privilege of working for our family belonged to her son’s family.
“She is not our responsibility anymore”. She would say when I asked
about Dhana.
The leftover food, cow dung to be
dried and used as fuel or as manure and the dry palm leaves that she took home
would be given to her son’s family. So also were given tamarind, lentils and pickle from
the previous year’s stock once a fresh consignment arrived. So what if she was
not on talking terms with her daughter in law, all the hand me down saris and
children’s clothes would be duly handed over to her !
“But Kanni is your widowed daughter! How can you grudge her the benefit
of stuff like used clothes, cow dung or dry palm leaves?” I’d ask.
Her reply set me thinking.
“I had to let her find her way. If I had helped her out she would never
have learnt to fend for herself and her son. My sons would have resented her
presence in our house. Today she has her self respect intact and shares a good
bond with her brothers and their wives. They will there for her at the time of
need even when I am long gone.”
“But you don’t even talk to your daughter in law and yet you keep track
of their requirements.” I found it difficult to understand the equation in
their family.
“Oh, yes. We do quarrel but she is still my son’s wife. If I fall sick
she is the one who’d look after me. So why should I not think of her welfare?”
I admit that I still do not
understand the logic behind letting a widowed daughter fend for herself and
helping a son who was earning enough to support his family. But society was
perhaps different sixty years ago. She was perhaps investing in her own future
by being helpful to her son’s family.
Soon after my marriage Moopachi
stopped working for us. But her granddaughters continued to work for us till
they got married.
I had left my daughter in Gobi
with my mother for a year when she was just six months old. Moopachi’s
granddaughters would pester their mother to hurry up with milking their cow and
bring fresh cow’s milk for her to drink early in the morning. They would play
with her for a while after finishing their work. When I brought her back to
Jamshedpur, I was surprised to receive a letter from Kannamma (Moopachi’s
granddaughter) who was perhaps in class 8 or 9.
“Don’t let her play in water” she had written. “She easily catches a cold. “
She went on to describe how much
everyone in our joint family missed her. All our neighbors were upset that the
child was sent back.
She ended the letter with the
following line-
“She was such a good kid. Looking after her was no trouble at all. We
all miss her a lot. The house seems empty without her. Please bring her over as
soon as possible. We would love to have her in our midst”.
I was in tears on reading her
letter. The grandmother worked for us and watched my mother and her siblings
grow and settle down in life. We were like family to her. The same spirit
prevailed in her grandchildren too.
After Moopachi’s granddaughters got married some others worked for Vembathy
house. But the bond was missing. My own visits became less frequent. I miss the
days when house helps were like family. They welcomed us on our arrival. They
were there to see us off.
“Take care, Come again”.
This was what our maternal uncle,
aunt and cousins said. But it was also what Moopachi, Pavayee and the entire
neighborhood said. It is the affection showered on us by these simple folks that draws me to Gobi
even after 46 years of life in Jamshedpur. I am lucky to have hired domestic
helps who have bonded with me like family. It was mainly due to the respect my
mother and aunts accorded to those who worked for us that I was able to extend
it to people who worked for me. I am glad to say that I have passed it on to my
children too. They are our lifeline. They neither complain about the monotony
that sets in when they sweep, swab and clean nor do we think of it as worth a
mention. Only when they take a day off do we realize their worth and value.
Moopachi must be smiling from up
above to see me, now a grandmother of 4 adorable grandkids, fondly remembering the
days gone by when she’d buzz in and out of Vembathy House.
