A slap in the face

That meant that our price, too, had gone up. A good deal of pugree had been paid on our purchase. That had to be recovered. Hence the wages per chore had to be enhanced. I do not remember how much the total worked out to. The one great consolation was that ourlandlord, who used to live on the ground floor and caused us no end of trouble, had also been purchased by the newcomer. He shared our fate in this package deal, and his grumbling cheered us somewhat.

In the posh government locality where I was allotted a flat thereafter, the sale and purchase of officers (unlike legislators) was not allowed. That apart, we had an outhouse. And there lived a very good family. The man took care of our lawn and the woman did all the household work. They charged us only a paltry sum and in our absence looked after the flat as if it were their own. This state of happiness lasted till 1981, when I left the government and shifted to my own little flat in Tara Apartments.

Lots of former MPs live here. As a matter of fact, the apartment complex had been established by them when they were still in office. Several former ministers have flats here. So have many Governors and a myriad other dignitaries of the political fraternity. They come and stay here when they are not in power.When in power, they stay in North on South Avenue or in Raj Bhavans. The complex is a recruiting centre for Governors, ambassadors and blokes like that. None of my business. But what concerns me is the infection of defection they have passed on to maidservants. Their allegiances are decided purely on the basis of economic criteria. So many have come and gone. The last one gave a funny reason for quitting. She said she preferred to work with young couples where both husband and wife worked and were in a hurry all the time, unlike senior citizens like us who were at home all the time and were able to shadow maidservants at leisure.

The one currently with us is pretty good from all points of view. She is old herself and shares with us some of the problems peculiar to the old. She has an additional one, too: in her jhuggi she has to pay fifty paise per bucket of water. A tanker comes to sell the water. So my wife has permitted her to wash her clothes in our bathroom so that she can save on her waterbills.

She has also permitted her to use our washing powder. Last week, it so happened that one morning, after she had gone back to her jhuggi, my wife discovered lying on the washing machine a bit of washing powder wrapped in a plastic bag.

"Not fair," said she to me, "I have permitted her to use our soap for washing her own clothes. That doesn’t mean that she should take it back home to wash her family’s clothes. Washing powder costs a lot."

Next morning when the woman came, my wife naturally asked her about that plastic bag. "Mataji," said she, "it doesn’t look nice. You have allowed me to wash my clothes here, but I shouldn’t use your washing soap too. I bring it from my jhuggi and I take back what I don’t use. Yesterday, in my hurry I left the packet here."