This morning Kamala came to distribute sweets to break the news that her son has bagged a ‘computer’ job in a 24×7 office in Salt Lake. We knew her son was doing well in studies, but cared little to know any further. For Kamala was no person to be inquired about her family or well-being. She was our thike jhi (the hired maid).
Not a day passed, except very few, since last several years that Kamala hadn’t come dot on time, traveling as she did in the morning’s Canning local (the local train service from Canning) from her nondescript South 24-Parganas village. She was one of those faceless hundreds who traveled in that jhi-special (so described by us, the elites) to descend on the city in droves every morning.
She would attend to our daily chores, like cleaning last night’s utensils and preparing morning tea for us, even as we struggled to leave our beds. She would be in a hurry, doing rounds in 2 more apartments, before coming back to ours again, this time dusting the floors and doing odd jobs that were always there.
She knew if she didn’t do her work in time, the babus and boudis would be late in office. So, any slippage in her schedule would tantamount to serious offence, and might even lead to deduction from her salary.
She also knew she must bring up her son so that he didn’t fall prey in the hands of scheming local wrong-doers, so that he didn’t suffer the ignominy of being known as just a jhi’s son. Now that her efforts have borne fruit, she was visibly elated. She bent and touched our feet, thanking us repeatedly for all our support that made it possible.
Our support? Was she joking? I looked at her searchingly. Her gratitude was genuine. But I felt a pang in my heart. Only when I blurted out, “Not our support Kamala, it’s all your doing, your hard work,” did I feel somewhat better.
I thought of asking her which office did her son get a job in. I also wanted to ask if she would still work as a thike jhi. But I just couldn’t bring myself to put those questions. Something deep inside stopped me from doing so.
My good luck I didn’t ask! For if I had and if she replied she would no longer be a thike jhi, it would have ‘hurt’ me. For my tinted eyes are practiced to see her as a thike jhi forever, no better, if not worse.
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