JOIN USIf there’s anyone who can drive you up the wall, it is her Highness, the servant maid! (Nods of assent prod me to proceed with my woeful tale).
It all began when my lady of close to a decade met with an accident while crossing the road after leaving her kids at school, ending up, not surprisingly, with a broken leg. The biker whose milk of human kindness lasted only till the shift to the nearest nursing home, was unavailable to take calls thereafter.
As for me, it only seemed fair to give her a chance till she returned. Not because she was the best of maids but because of the long relationship; her trustworthiness being prime on the list. The sight of her leg in a solid cast and her struggle to sit up during our home visit though, proved my intuition right. A good six weeks at least before she could even hobble around.
Putting on a brave front I set forth, marveling at my ability to balance work and household chores quite remarkably, I must say. But with my patience running out in a fortnight, the relief was twofold when the vegetable vendor suggested her niece, a mother of three.
The terms, despite the exorbitant amount and the weekly off, were agreed upon. All went well for a couple of weeks and then came the first bolt – an increase in wages! As for the weekly off, it was a matter of right. We submitted. After all, did we have a choice?
The first signs of slackness came with the soft-grass broom, less than a month old, ending up with a ‘dog’s tail’. To my query, pat came the reply: “Brooms tend to become like that after a while”. The second broom too met with the same fate in no time. Doing the vessels, sweeping, mopping and washing clothes would be done in super-duper time. “I do things very fast,” was the reply to my puzzled look. As for the dusty balcony, she reasoned, “But isn’t it enough to do it once a week?”
Things got only worse. When I asked why the bedspread still smelt of hair oil or the clothes dripped with water, she retorted, “Look amma, that’s all I can do. You can put them in the washing machine if you want.” As for the shirt that came back from the iron-wallah, discoloured at the collar, she denied having washed it. When I pointed out the moss-stained floor outside, implying some action, “It is bound to happen during the rainy season,” she stated matter-of-factly. That I got rid of it with some bleaching powder is beside the point.
Soon, the ‘smart’ repartees came in faster than a wink of an eye, leaving me red in the face as I tried hard to swallow my pride. The straw that broke the camel’s back was her reply to why the saucepan was not washed well. “Can’t help it. One or two vessels will be like that sometimes!” My faint attempt to salvage the situation suggesting the steel wool was met with, “I use that only for the heavy bottomed vessels!”
I know what’s running in your mind – “Why don’t you fire her?” I know, I know. But what about the interest free loan I’ve given her in just her second month of work? She has repaid only 50 per cent of it. The only silver lining amidst the encircling gloom is that I have given her only one fifth of what she demanded.