Saturday, April 27, 2019

Gobi Chronicles - 4

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.


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Passerby said...

Nice post well put , this kind of beautiful writing is what I expect when I start to read here and I must admit that you never let me down .

Kind acts and kind hearted helper in big house is a story in the very past ! Neither there are big spaces Nor joint families and its a sight rare and if at all they must be kept in a museum .

This win win kinda give and take is rare, sad but true .
Those who experienced such and trust in such values are left in frustration to see this new found money driven , valueless ,selfish and greedy world !


hillgrandmom said...

Dropping by after a long time. Hadn't seen this post. Loved it. Yes, it's true, the househelp were like family in those days. But if you look at it from their point of view, it was probably because they had nowhere else to go and, with the caste system as it was so stingently practiced, they naturally loved to be where they were given some respect and love.