Mansi

If this wasn't such a sad story, I would have probably written about it sooner. Looking back though, not only was this a sad story but it also took something as liberating as 'running' and likened it to a cheap philosophical analogy.
Life is considered a run, both from and towards things that we either want/hate or are expected to attain/give up. (No grand Eureka moments there). Up on stage are two male runners, training for the Mumbai marathon. The entire play shows the two of them running. While one of them is quite certain this is what must be done, the other brings in the oh so philosophical aspect of questioning. So in short, the play is a Q&A session with questions not just about the running but about different incidents in the pasts of the runners.
Aside one: Another problem with this philosophy that is too mental for my digestion is the assumption that there is a past that we are coming from. That each moment we live in today was born from something we did in the past. The theory of randomness has no chance in this particular paradigm.
Aside Two: hold on - I got to pull up my Miss Saigon song - Why, God Why : Allright half an hour later, I learn (shockingly) that I don't have a Miss Saigon CD but thanks to some mercy, I still have my tape.

Why does Saigon never sleep at night? Why does this girl smell of orange trees? How can I feel good when nothing's right? Why is she cool when there is no breeze? Vietnam, you don't give answers to your friend - Just questions that don't ever end.
Why God? Why today? I'm all through here, on my way. There's nothing left here that I'll miss, why send me now a night like this?

In case you haven't clued in to what I meant by the philosophy of questioning, I hope the lyrics above has tuned you in - Now, we can continue.

One interesting conversation that I related to in this play was when one of the runners wishes that he could go back into his past and punch certain individuals in the face. I remember hearing that and mentally starting my list. I have a life full of moments when I believe I didn't express myself the way I wanted to. Social relationships were hard for me and like an opera singer, I was happier doing my soliloquays and asides, almost like I was always aware of a larger audience to the experience of my life. Except sadly that also meant ignoring or not completly fulfilling that moment with the other actors. I certainly don't intend to bash anybody up but perhaps say things I might have not then. I was also quite slow. Often days after a conversation had occured, my understanding of what I really wanted to say would take birth - except it was too late.

Other conversations, akin to femal bashing, had me laughing at the absurdities of sexual paradigms. Strangely enough, I was part of the minority actually laughing. I think by and large, the audience, was either not amused or relieved that somebody would actually put women in their 'place'. I also think everybody was just not ready for such humor or the sad improvisation of which. Perhaps Delhi audiences are far more repressed than they believe. Another part of me however noticed that the audience was rather old. Then, perhaps, they didn't understand why men felt a need to cheapen, talk down the women in their lives and refer to them as conquests or failures. Such SITH behavior is rather childish too.

Another aspect, that I learnt later was not appreciated by the original playwright, was the excessive swearing. I felt that it did not compliment the mental exercise of the plot. We don't swear in the deep recesses of our thoughts. We swear on the boundaries of our actions. So perhaps here I can agree with the playwright.

The plot is around the suicide of one man, who perhaps for the first time in his life, made a definitive, irreversable decision that once and for all put him ahead of the competition and perhaps unaware in his mind, ahead of the realms of human boundaries. In that aspect, this play doesn't really respect the boundaries of life (such is the limitations of obsessive thought). The narrative is from someone who we don't know. He or she is never in front of the camera. He instead stages (quite meticulously) the story of our two runners - who physically distinct are probably two parts of his self. Hence the story is about the struggle between the part of us that knows and that part which really just questions. There is a distinction between societal ideals and human failing. There is an interplay of that which will endure and as one of the runner puts 'suffer' and that which only wishes to stop.

As much as I regret the analogy of running used to reflect the journey of this plot, in some aspects, the mystery of running is touched upon. The first minutes, one of the runner points out, are always the hardest. How true that is. Each morning that I start my run, getting past the first park is the most trecherous of them all. Beyond that though, running is not about destination, it never has been for me. Strangely that fits in nicely with my life principles too. Life is not about milestones, but living. Running helped me break free from the clutches of my mind. For that, I will always be grateful. However, as wonderful as that is, it is only in going back to it, day after day, that I can choose to experience that feeling. I haven't gone for my run in the past four days. Four days of tortured thought, four days of mindful binges, four days of conscious ignorance, four days of sporadic emotions.

Not all journeys need end like that of the play we watched. There is far more living left in each of us that need not always juggle an ideal with a failing. Running is about enduring and in life, that is, I believe the equivalent of accepting. Something the script we witnessed missed out on altogether.

Performance wise: I think the challenge of doing a play in motion caught the attention of Vikram Kapadia and Satyajit Sharma. It is different. It has a quality of timelessness that I am afraid this adaptation sourly misses out on. While I believed that the performances and the sounds were precise and wonderfully rehearsed, I believe the adaptation of the script, was lacking. We got to chat for a bit with Satyajit Sharma after the play - who I must report back was refeshing. He had no airs about his work or stature. He accepted praise with child like delight, no matter, where it came from. He engaged us with information on Prithvi theatre and cinema. He spoke of where they will go with this play. He even got Vikram Kapadia to take in our appreciation of the play; however the latter was not amused or even receptive. He wanted something that we didn't have. He said things that we didn't really want to listen to. There we were a part of the audience, not really as well-rehearsed with our thoughts or our appreciation and it didn't go too well with the director. There were moments when I thought, Priya, say something important, on cue to a larger realization that the important stuff would, as usual, come only days later.

It is such thought driven exercises that I believe deludes us from the simple, real moments in our lives. What are we, without our thoughts? What we have amassed as many different cultures spread across the globe, why can't we then celebrate this pot of what reality can look like? Sadly, such theatre leaves me empty. As appreciative as I am of performances and choice of play, theatre is not a celebration of our thoughts. Theatre needs to be a celebration of life, of living, of enduring, of running.

Never before has a movie captured the reality of what America stands for today. If we ever wanted a final closure to the debate on Art imitating life or life imitating Art - This was it folks. Art imitates life and life in America sucks.

After two seasons of music, some amazing performances, some amazing personalities, I have found my closure with the show - American Idol. Despite all the hope I nurtured, the love I gave and shared, l today have been betrayed. Betrayed by the illusions of truth, fair play and a greater good for all.

There is no American dream. It has lost it's arms and legs just like Anakin Skywalker did. It has been reduced to just one spirit -that of power fueled by greed and anger. The melting pot of wannabes has thrown up yet another Sith Lord in Carrie Underwood, the champion of America's despotic and self centered spirit. Simon Cowell has found his apprentice and he has thanked America for 'finally listening to him'.

What happened today was a shame, a travesty and no, I will not be a good loser for the good loser won!

Bo Bice:
You are the most amazing, refreshing, talented and spirited performer I have ever seen. You have given me countless moments of pure joy and gratitude for the spirit of human kind. You will always be my Idol. You will always have my vote.
I thank you for the songs, the music, the smile, the outfits, the shades, the suits and the hats. Most of all I thank you for sharing your spirit. I am so glad you did take your mother up on that bet.
I am counting on what you said the other night: I will stay out the longest to hear you, even if I am the only one left.
Thank you.

Five minutes, out of the cinema hall, I learnt that there aren't three movies but six in the series. AH! Next I heard of Harrison Ford playing Luke Skywalker and something inside my head said 'AH' for the second time.
So in case you're ready to share the finer points of the STAR WARS phenomenon with me on this post, I apologize in advance. For I am indeed a fledgling in my understanding of the series.

What I did see last night is the final episode which really is the start of the STAR WAR series - so Lucas managed to do what computer programmers call an 'infinite loop'. You're going to come out of this 'final' episode and dive right into the original series 1 - 2 and 3: At which point, you will want to go back further, some time far far ago...and again and again you will wash, spin and tumble dry (no less) in the glory that is STAR WARS.

It isn't a bad deal either.

Not many women are into STAR WARS, I know I wasn't as a kid. My brother was - something about this natural affinity to machine and machine parts - has always puzzled me. I HAD heard of Harrison Ford playing Luke Skywalker but I only remember him playing Indiana Jones. Why, pray tell, do young boys yearn for tool sets while young girls can only think of love, romance and oozing charm (I am thinking of Indiana Jones). Maybe at that time, young girls were very much still looking to be protected and swept off our feet, even if it was clinging desperately to a man whose chief accomplishment was his practiced art of swinging from branch to branch on ropes (I am thinking of Tarzan here). I wonder if young girls of today understand that as their idea of romance.

Even today, I am not a fan of machinery. I like to figure it out and then let it do what it's built to do. I haven't really fallen in love with the idea of machines -- something that I have felt at times and know to be a powerful, heady feeling. Boys know that feeling. They are in love with their machines and more importantly the idea of a machine. That if you wire things up correctly, you can get inanimate, solid substances to work together and DO something for you. Little wonder then that when they turn around and apply the same 'rules' of love to women, it doesn't work.

I have felt on occasion that love for machines. To be able to concentrate, try, fail, try again and finally "GET" it to work -- there is nothing like that feeling even if all you really did was replace a light bulb. Why do women shirk away from this kind of romance, pray tell. I know everytime a light bulb goes POP or SPAT, I look up into my husband's eyes and bat my eyelashes so... you get my drift, right?

What is it about 'fixing' things that women don't get? Do we like living in environs of chaos? Do we enjoy playing with the many buttons on the home theatre/sound theatre/ whatever theatre that is - all we really want to do is listen to a song! Why do tools like the screwdriver (no, not a conducive name, you got to admit, for our feline ears) or a hammer (again, am I just being a tad sensitive to the terms or what???) get us to surrender all intellect and fun in lieu for extra time in the kitchen cooking up treats to celebrate the real 'man' in the house?

I woke up this morning and set off for my run with my head full of Anakin Skywalker and Kobi Van Kanobi (I know I spelt that wrong!). I thought of Padume (I mean really, do I really have to hear another western take on an Indian sounding name - ( Reference: I've been listening to Lakme, the opera - with Neelkanta, Dourga (the french spelling of Durga - NOT!) etc...) My favorite part in the movie was to do with the starting scene...and also the fight scene between the general jedi and Darth Vader -- where despite all odds, he does triumph over Darth Vader. I loved it all. My favorite line in the film is when Kanobi says 'Only the Sith talk in absolutes' as it finally dawns on him that Anakin has become one with the dark side.

This final episode (and I am not sure if it's intentional) does really find a third voice in today's reality. While some may call it more 'political', I think it works on the concept of the circle. We are constantly moving from one end to the other in our grapple with what we call our lives. One day, we're in a wonderful loving relationship, the next we're lost to the lure of power that can help us sustain the relationship at the risk of annihilating every little bit of love that took to build it in the first place. Anakin and his bride's story is sad. The anger that it fuels in him becomes Darth Vader. The expression in his bride's face when she is dying and knows it will always remain with me.

Which brings me to the question of destiny. In the movie, Anakin dreams of his wife dying at childbirth. She does end up dying at childbirth. Was it destiny? I know there are a lot of people out there who believe very strongly on destiny. I am not one of them. I believe that it's a path of consciousness, to move from a state of being controlled and pre-planned to a state of acceptance and flexibility that comes with a deeper wisdom.... Like captured in this movie, where as a Jedi you are encouraged to use your emotions to tap into your deeper wisdom -- while as a Sith, you are encouraged to use your emotions to drive your actions.

No experience of this film will be complete without due credit to the effects, the sounds and the mind boggling battle scenes. The dragon as a vehicle was quite a nice touch. The end of Count Dooku was sad considering his own master would orchestrate his death. The look in his eyes as he looked at his Master and the comprehension that came seconds after was priceless.

I could go on and on about this movie - I doubt it's going to go away from my mind any time soon. I am pretty much up to watching it again and again on the big screen.
On that note, may the force be with us all.

Listening to 'Don't let the sun go down on me' by Elton John got me thinking about when he did the same song with George Michael which I absolutely LOVED.

I really really like George Michael - always have. I remember when news broke out that he wasn't as 'normal' as the rest of the men out there. My brother and me were in a room once and my brother spoke outloud, not in particular to anybody. He said - I always sensed something was off with that chap. I remember thinking, my god, me too!!!!

Today thinking back on that incident, I think my brother and I have shared so many 'similar' feelings. Perhaps living abroad by ourselves made us more sensitive to what was not being said, and not being understood. It comes with being of 'foreign' origin living in a country that is not yours. Of course years after we both came back to our 'own' country we realized that we're no more of this country either. Still sensitive, still tuned in to people better than they are into themselves:

Post George Michael's unveiling of sorts, I think he has come out with better music more true to his talent than ever before. His jigs with Mary J Blige and even Elton John on this classic number are unforgettable.

Which brings me to the term 'vague'. I used this to characterize a person's blog and another's poetry. Driving back from my run this morning, I pondered on what was behind that term I used - 'vague'. As an initial reaction, a friend pointed out that perhaps because my blog is focused, I find anything that is not like mine vague. First I thought - wow, I am focused! Next I blushed - finally, I am focused! Then I thought, perhaps it's about age. I am at an age now where I feel more focused, more by practice if not naturally. And then I trashed that opinion too since it was not true. First, I don't read other blogs as a reaction to mine. That's boring. I maintain a blog so that I can read it - primarily. When I read another blog, I am reading them - primarily. Second, I've always expressed myself as I do on my blog. I have maintained diaries and journals since I could write. Prior to blogging, I had an account at LiveJournal and Oprah's online journal. Thus, this is not a new style acquired with age or experience.

Writing to me is a reflection of how one thinks. Thinking is an art. To be able to assess, sift, sort and then derive meaning (however shallow or insightful), thinking is an action. When I visit blogs and read excerpts that are not process oriented or action oriented, I find that vague. Writing then becomes a snapshot, snapshots that are deliberate and meticulously orchestrated and yet completely vague.

Writing has never been about the language, in my opinion. It isn't about one's vocabulary or one's skill with sentences. Writing is really about what we think.
My favorite quote that ALWAYS applies to me is that of Faulkner: I don't know what I think about something till I've read something I wrote on it.
Writing thus is my way to figure out what I think about a particular issue, feeling or person. Writing is means to think about something. I often will begin writing and it jumpstarts my thinking and lo and behold at the end of the exercise, I know something. It need not be significant and more often than not, it's a discovery. Other times, its a conscious effort to improve.
We think because we have a conflict or problem at hand. Thinking is means to solving / figuring something out. Thus it's an action - one with an outcome. While writing helps me think, it almost always represents an effort to improve and figure.

Then I come across blogs where there are snapshots, no thinking - in fact a deliberate shut door on any process - and to me that writing is vague. It's off center. It doesn't tell me anything about the person anymore. It will at times tell me more about myself because everything is off center. That could be me on the page, or it couldn't. It certainly isn't the blogger though. Here the writing is often obviously contradictory, obviously trajectory, obviously NOT what it is or isn't. It's a controlled expression, carefully scripted and sculpted, that has no soul, except for the one it reflects in it's readers.

That's Vague.

So much is being said about rape, rapists, policemen, policewomen and capital punishment - The icing on this particular discussion that should never have 'been' was the 'We the people' show on NDTV. I have always maintained a low opinion of Barkha Dutt and with this particular show, she has notched new levels of cheap entertainment previously never been attained by a news channel.
'How can you let rapists back into society?' she yelped at Rani Jethmalani who looked like coming on this show was the stupidest thing she could have done with a free afternoon.

All of us like launching off on women issues - the plight of women in what we think is a man's world. I know I do. Sometimes all I feel I really want to write about is my experience of being a woman. Were it just that, I could probably excuse myself out of this - but it's not. I have often found myself screaming and shouting on issues that concern women. To what end? None. To what purpose? None again.

Women do lead terribly distorted, sometimes borrowed and sometimes selfless lives. It is part of the framework we call society. That our sex is vulgarly groomed to perform as baby producing machines, something that fuels society itself is ironic and more or less true. In all this haze, it is very easy to lose sight of personal journeys, some even personal victories.

For example, an Indian woman came fourth in the International marathon held in Bangalore this past weekend.
For example, the mindblowing performance of Mita Vashisht depicting the life of Lalded.
When we heard of the play at first, we learnt that the theme was around women. I expected to see something on violence, rape, abuse or marital amiss depicted. I remember the last time I sat in the basement auditorium at the Habitat Center. I was audience to two plays: The first was on a woman being raped; the second on the plight of World War Two japanese brides living in the United States. Both were done very well and conveyed their message.
However to go for a performance that was about a woman's spirituality was different and special.

I go for a run every morning at a local park. Mornings are very crowded and there are all kinds of people who come every morning, like me, pursuing fitness, health, friendship, comaraderie, common interests and more times than less spirituality. We do have a Shiva temple inside our park for those who must combine thier walk with a nod at the Sun and a prayer at the temple. There are some who hold hands and chant. There is one particular man who likes to greet other people with a loud 'Hari Om'. We've passed each other by for some time now and he never forgets to wish me. I don't acknowledge him partly because I distrust old men and partly because my father bans me from speaking the word 'Om'. My father is my guru and I have not been able to even in my mind get away with that sound.
Running for me is my spiritual time. It began as a very physical exercise that freed me of my mind. Then it became something more. Running is my conscience, my inner voice. Just as the theory goes that if you exercise at 60% of your maximum heart rate for forty minutes or more, your body will burn fat for the next twent four hours - I think running exercises my conscience for the next twenty four hours too. My mind is quieter, my body stronger, my emotions are akin to foam on a receding wave (my mind waves). The days I don't run, like this day, I am all mind, all emotion - punishing my body for sins I don't even know.

Watching Mita perform got me to feel my spiritual self, the same way running does. My mind was quiet. My emotions were there and not there. My body was alert. The experience was exquisite. The story of Laldeb is indeed inspiring. Her transformation from a role of a woman, daugter and wife, to that of the very embodiment of female spirit is one where cultural meanings were foresaked for spiritual meanings. Laldeb didn't wear any clothes. She didn't take on any religion but wielded them into one giant wheel (different spokes, different religions) so like Abhimanyu bravely spun above his head. Her spirituality was not fueled by rituals or religious meaning - they were fueled by her experience of this world. In sweeping the floors of her house, in cooking rice for her family and in doing day to day chores, everything she did in honest connection with her spiritual self. She too, like most spiritual voices, spoke of the disconnection with one's mind. I remember hearing a line about the mind compared to a horse and breaking into a thousand pieces. Here's another of her 'vakh' on the human mind:
Keep your mind intent upon
the path that leads to immortality.
Should it stray from the path,
it will fall into evil ways.
Be firm with it and have no fear;
For mind is like a suckling baby,
which tosses restless even in its mother's lap.

Incidentally Deepan and I were watching a travel program on 'Capri' on Travel & Living (sadly the only channel that is still free of HINDI commentary). We learnt about the process of painting on ceramic tiles. Starting with clay, rolling it out, forming a mould and then baking it - we learnt that after it is baked, the tile reduces in size since it loses it's water. That evening, we heard Lalla speak to us with this 'vakh':

With a rope of loose-spun thread am I towing
my boat upon the sea.
Would that God heard my prayer
and brought me safe across!
Like water in cups of unbaked clay
I run to waste.
Would God I were to reach my home!

Far above the drone of the news and sensationalisms around women issues, this play was like a breath of fresh air. It was like we were witness to Lalla again, listening to her speak to our spiritual selves. Some days when I miss my run in the morning, I go in the afternoons. Then I happen to notice these yellow and white 'psuedo' butterflies. These are not the normal butterflies. Nor are they flys. They are an inbetween species -- small and quick. I have often wondered at this most delicate life form. They only appear in the summer, flitting about effortlessly despite the maddening heat all around them. Running by them, I used to think that were I to ever begin a venture of my own, they will be my symbol. They speak to me of a different kind of strength -one that comes from being completely true to themselves.

For all of Oprah's silly and wonderful shows, this one truly had me! 11 of the most macho men who were wholly into sports were asked to be women for three days.
They started with the transformation - waxed bodies, hair, nails, outfit and all. Next they went on to going in public and living in their houses as the 'woman' to even spending a day doing their respective wives or girlfriend's chores.
Watching this show, part of me is going 'silly', 'silly', 'silly' - - down to the point where one man who went through this experience was so transformed that he decided to propose to his girlfriend right there on Oprah!
When asked what did this do to you guys? Some guys said :
'It's the little things that I gained insights on - - like I love my convertible and I hate it when my girlfriend wants me to keep the top down...and there I was - my hair was flying about'
' I always felt like I was lopsided - my chest...'
' The worst thing about it was the waxing - it was brutal - - it felt like I was on that table for days!!'
' As a man, if some guy came up to me and said i like your outfit - i would go whoa!! but It felt good and it's one thing I am taking from this show - I got a compliment from my wife even'
'I always thought it all just got done - I didn't realize the amount of hours my wife would spend taking care of us, after a day at work'

My favorite response however was from this large man who looked like a Harley Davidson man with short hair. He was decidedly the largest amongst the group. He said that he was very emotionally hurt because no matter where the group went, he was always the one to be ignored. He called it a state of 'focused lack of attention'.

I heard that and thought 'I'm quitting my weight program NOW' - if only to just empathize with the truth of what this man said. While men can go around in all sizes (as per what the men said on the show - just in case someone thinks I am being sexist again!), large women are conditionally eliminated from our social consciousness.
'Here I am with a good personality and yet noone wants to even get to know me'
Those were the reactions of this large man.
'Everyone has a inner beauty. Yet, we are socially conditioned with images of what we think a 'good looking' woman is about and that limits us to experiencing the beauty in other larger women'.

Focused lack of attention : Is that what we know as blindness?

Being married has also been about being 'aware', 'concerned' and always on the scent of what our maids do. It's quite natural, given the domain of housekeeping (incd the kitchen) is often a KRA (key responsibility area) of the wife or the combined wives in the house.
Often, at my in-laws place, I feel compelled to inquire about their ( or lack of) maid. It's easy banter with even the most formidable of women. Funny stories are exchanged about changing times, changing maids.
There are some married couples that I look up to. The wife in one such example was teaching her maid to read and write in hindi. At first, I felt that I would want to sit in on the lessons, my recollection of the hindi script (something I did take exams for) is pretty pathetic especially the numbers. Then again, Hindi is not my mother tongue and thus the compulsion is pure interest. After that meeting, I realized, yes, I want to teach my maid how to read and write too.
A year passed by and I got to appreciate and be grateful for the learning opportunities I received at my work place. As I received, I passed on to my maid. Since I can work from home, I began to give her the option to decide when she wants to come in to work at my place (flexible hours). At some point I hope to get my Bengali friend to chart out a list of chores and have her determine which ones she wants to do on a given day. Holidays and vacations are encouraged. As I receive, I let her have her days off. I have found that she no longer dreads telling me that she's like to take a day off. She understands that I won't begrudge her day off. The other day her daughter was ill and she missed two days at work. The kitchen was a chaotic mess, more a reflection of my battle with the bulge than her absense. She came in at 5pm that day to a clean kitchen and her employer in rolled up trousers, squatting and doing the dishes. We spent the next half hour together washing dishes, discussing her child's health (with me trying to convey the word homeopathy in Hindi!!!). She was quick to lead with the washing. She instructed me on which dishes I can do and which she would do. Sometimes I find her leading irritating especially when she's convinced that her way is the right way. When my Hindi improves, I hope to share my thoughts on the rainbow of value with her - Nothing is good or bad, good or great (no, good is NOT the enemy of great). Criticism, if and only constructive need not be at the cost of one's self esteem. Then again, she is the boss sometimes and I do hope I don't undermine that with my lazy short cuts with our nutrition and hygiene.
My maid is eager to learn. We're going to start with numbers first. I have no clue on how I am going to teach her, having no experience with teaching (tuitions apart) myself. I hope to imitate my Mom who was an exceptional teacher. Yet, given mutual eagerness, we haven't yet found the time to start our lessons. I keep waiting for an auspicious Friday or Thursday (the Hindu me of course!) and yet, I know I don't want to impose the same on her, she is after all not a Hindu but a Muslim. I wonder how we can get going without a 'Om Ganeshaya Namah', something I still write into all my notebooks this twenty ninth year of my life. I feel that I should have her start her journey to literacy in the name of Allah without insulting the practices of Islam - which albeit is tricky. Most probably when we do start, it will be without these religious frills (unlike the Christian convents) and just with the more real challenges, that of language and sustenance. I understand that I will need to include literacy as a component of her yearly bonus - a component that will encourage her to go beyond being eager and naturally intelligent to hard working and committed.
This weekend, I read an article about Sri Lanka being the 'country of maids' to the Saudis. That article shook me up. Some Sri Lankan institutions, it says, is marketing the women in their country as potential maid material in Saudi Arabia. Schools, Training institutes, Grooming institutes (call it what you want) have been running to ensure that this 'second' generation of maids will be successful in meeting with 'Mama's' (a Saudi wife) requirements. A key part of the training is in identifing what can cause a 'Mama' to abuse you or even beat the very life out of you. Rape is possible and sometimes certain. Some institutes ensure that they take care of rape victims, all in private of course. Run-aways however aren't acceptable. These maids are at the mercy of the Embassy for a mercy ticket back home. A large part of the marketing agenda is to ensure that the flow of foreign currency into the country sustains and even grows.
Initially I felt queasy reading this article.
Any of us sitting at an interview are often sure to ask and even demand on what our growth prospects are. How many steps till I become CEO? Except for maids. They remain maids till their bodies are truly broken. There isn't much of a market for them to grow to an administration position. Ever seen a woman peon? I've mostly found male peons instructing maids on how to clean the floor - for personal kicks, mostly and NO personal know-how whatsoever.
My maid has an attitude. A friend actually calls her the 'don of all the locality maids' and I personally love that about her (though I wouldn't admit it to her). I am scared of her sister. She's a maid too who came in with my maid to help out when we'd just moved in. I asked them to clean the store room and unknown to me or them, the sister got a shock when she stepped on what appeared like 'discarded' telephone wire. I will never forget the way she looked at me - full of scorn and hate. She had accused me right there and then of what I, in her opinion, had inflicted on her. I remember thinking then, damn it Priya, why didn't you step on the damned wire yourself? I don't let her work for us. I have a feeling she might just kill us all one day and go to heaven laughing. "Housemaid butchers and cooks up three families! Police arrested her at her house, where she appeared to be playing with her two children"
To think that as we learn and grow, we will give back to those we associate with - and that south of our shores is a fellow country that has made house maid'ing' a business, worse than prostitution. To think of the million Lankan maids in Saudi homes, abused, beaten and raped - all in exchange for foreign currency that come home to buy a house, educate a son, pay for medical expenses of aging parents....
Sometimes I wonder what my maid thinks of before she falls asleep. What does she want to dream of? When she looks up at the sky, what does she feel about this world? Who does she have to give back to? Who does she have to get back at?