Mansi

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?

There are times I can't hear my voice. As a woman, I think it's natural to have many voices that have nothing to do with being a woman. It comes from being the nurturer. It comes from being the caregiver, be it in the kitchen or at a hospital.
Least of all however, is the workplace. I hardly hear my voice in there. There is more truth to the phase - a man's world than we realize. Am I being a man in a man's world?

This is what I ask myself. No, it's not strange for a woman to 'be' something or someone else. This multi-roles are conditioned responses to years and years of being on the lower rung. Sometimes I wonder what it will take to realize the voice that is mine alone.

Recently there's been a huge hula about organizing a 'blogmeet' in Delhi. It's tomorrow evening at Flames, GKII. I am not excited about this one. I really don't want to go and meet men. Men, especially from the countless emails in our blog list, seem to be so boring and superfluous. Each time I read the updated attendance, I wonder if I'll get to read of another woman who's coming to the meet. Someone who might have an interesting blog, life or take on things.

Not that I vouch for being that voice. I don't.

A woman's voice.

I belong to a couple of mail lists and all of them have a very poor show when it comes to women speaking their mind. Mostly I believe because it isn't natural for women to speak out. We tend to guage, anticipate, weigh and are hardly ever into chest beating. I fear it's also because we tend to support first and oppose last.

Imagine when the dam breaks. Imagine a day when women find their voice - like a bell ringing at a church. I wonder what it will all sound like. A woman's voice.

POST'BLOG'SCRIPT - I did attend the Blog Meet despite being tired to the bone. I did register conversations for the first hour and then just tuned out after - again because of my tired state and not really because of the company I kept. It was refreshing as most blog meets are to meet nice 'new' chaps who're going down their roads and eager to share their life experiences. Superflous, they were not. As far as women's voices, there was Diya, refreshing and keen to engage:

It's not about chocolates, curd rice with pickles, warm crepes, hot chocolate sauce, caramel, murkhs or garlic bread. It's not about what you're eating.
I learnt yesterday that it's about eating itself. I have a dependency (addiction is extreme) with eating. The ability to pick up food, play with it some and then feed myself constitutes eating. With some of us, it's more than just nutrition or meal time.
It's about those times when we want to talk to someone but can't. It's about those times when we want to feel something but can't. It's about those times when we feel something but don't know beyond that. It's about the times when we need to take a break and only know one way to break.
I share that kind of a relationship with eating. It lets me keep my fingers busy. It keeps my mouth busy. Beyond that, the feeling in my fingers, mouth and sometimes stomach, I really can't feel much else. In that sense, eating is an exclusive relationship. There isn't space for anything else.
Admitting to my dependency on eating is very hard. It isn't a conscious process. One can't fill out a questionnaire, add up the points and announce to the world - 'I'm dependent on eating'. It's a realization as painful and wonderful as any other relationship.
When the going is good, a relationship with eating is quite numbing. You aren't thinking about it. It's as natural as anything else you do and even more. It's addictive. Soon you won't realize that you are inseperable. I eat when I am happy. I eat when I am down. I eat when I want to take a break. I eat while I work. I eat while I do everything. I plan my activities around eating. Going for a movie is about what to eat before, during and after. Going shopping is about what to eat before, during and after. It isn't always junk food - Eating is good as long you're doing it. Be it salads, negative calorie foods, wholewheat, wheatgerm, dunking doughnut, pasta e fungi - that's all consolation for souls in denial (just like eating likes it). Like a long, loving relationship, eating grows on you, into you and then becomes you.
Eating is a over-jealous lover. I can't find time to do anything but eat. Eating seems to take priority over everything and everyone else.
Eating is a manipulative lover. There is no wins - just levels of measuring up. Have I had enough to eat? (you'll never ever find out!!) Does it feel good? (almost never matters..)
Eating is devious with my emotion strings. Last week my father in law insulted my eating relationship and boy, I've been in part sulking for the better part of five days.

Eating tapdances across my emotions like they aren't mine anymore.
Anybody reading this would figure by now, like I did last night, that this was not 'alive' or 'kicking'. It's not about substituting chocolates for carrots. It's not about eating salads instead of bread. The fine understanding of food groups and food qualities is well and good but don't count.
This relationship is physical: starting at my fingers, to my mouth and then a little beyond.
This relationship is all consuming: I can't tell myself apart.
This relationship is secretive: I can't really introduce eating to anyone, nor will eating allow it. All the denial only further deludes me to thinking there is no relationship at all.

Five weeks back, I decided to take part in a weight loss program. Something about eating salads, dals and fruits, exercing at least once a day jolted me out into the open.
Into the fourth week, I used to tell everyone about how I have two selves - physical and emotional and their nutritional needs are different. Or so I told myself.
Into the fifth week, I slipped. I ate, I didn't exercise. And then something snapped inside me. The frustrations, the bruised emotions of the past week rolled into one big outburst.

I was angry at the world and at myself. I was upset with the world and myself. I felt rejected and I knew I was the one doing the rejecting.

Something did snap. It was my relationship with eating.
I realized that I didn't crave chocolates more than I did cucumber. When I was hungry, I was happy with the cucumbers. And I hated myself for it.
How could I turn my back on eating? How could I betray the many years of loving? How could I be so ungrateful?

How can I go on without eating in my life?
The truth is, I can. The truth is that I can't go on with the dependency. The truth is that this relationship is doing nothing for me. The truth is my relationship with eating leaves no space for me to be with other things /people. The truth is this relationship has in the past kept me from growing. Any time I was in conflict with someone else or myself, I always had eating to turn back to. And yet by turning away from conflicts, I stopped growing. I lost out on opportunities to get past minor bumps with my relationships with other people.

My relationship with eating is like a pimple, dried from the inside out. I can't wait for it to fall off.