"Idhar aao, chhoti. Juuon ko nikaalna hai baalon se ke nahi?"
I would run out of the house and hide in the park, behind that old banyan tree, as soon as ma said these words, asking me to sit silently for at least half an hour. It wasn’t the time so much as the process of de-licing that made me do so. If I stayed, ma would sit on a chowki and make me sit on the mat, take her special fine-spaced comb, apply that god-awful-full-of-stench oil on my head, and go through every layer of my hair. As soon as she found a lice, she would keep it on the nail of her right thumb and press it with her left thumb nail until a crackling sound killed the brown dot. Crack. Crick. Crack. So much for the exoskeleton. The process would go on until she was satisfied there are no more of them alive and my head was free of the autocracy of those blood-sucking monsters.
"Ma, ab ache se champi bhi kar do na, please."
Of course, I would benefit twice as much from this deal. The ever-so-boring extermination was followed by the ever-so-pleasing head massage. And boy, was that a wonder! (Except for the stench of that oil. Eckh!)
Sometimes, I think about her hands – how, after completing her morning (and afternoon and evening and nightly) chores for so many years, they would still be ready to do some more work. It was as if that work was the one thing keeping her sane, that routine, that repetition of things. How could one be so dedicated without getting anything in return? I used to wonder while looking at her rush from door to door, a ladle spilling drops of daal on the ground, running behind behna with her homework, fetching a glass of water or tea for dada or dadi.
In the odd moments of rest, she would sit in the verandah and chat with Kanta, our house maid. Kanta would sit behind ma and untie, oil, comb, braid her hair. For her hair, they used to use champa oil and it used to fill the house with delight. Behna would sit on the swing, close her eyes, and just breathe in all the air her lungs could afford. Was perfumed air expensive? I didn’t know what Kanta and ma used to talk about but one day I heard her telling Kanta how lucky she was, getting paid for the work she does.
"Jab main tere jitni thi, tab se yahi kaam toh karte aa rahi hoon. Tu doosron ke ghar sambhaalne mein madad karti hai, main toh apne mein hi itni uksa jaati hoon. Aafat hai. Lagta nahi tujhe, humein bhi koi pagaar milni chahiye?"
"Memsab, aapko pagaar milne lag gaya, toh aap mujhe kaahe bulayega?"
"Arre pagli, is umar mein koi na koi toh chahiye na saath mein kaam karwane ke liye. Aisa toh hai nahi ke zindagi bhar bas jhadoo hi maarti rahoongi."
I didn’t understand the ways of the world back then but it made sense in my head. I tried connecting dots. Pa sells soaps and detergents and makes money. Kanta does housework and gets money. Even dada, who sometimes conducts meetings for people of his age, gets money. But why doesn’t ma? Who would pay her? Pa? Dada? Dadi? I think my head started hurting after so many dots. It’s easier to colour an already formed drawing rather than connect dots and create something that makes sense, I guess.
…
I would run out of the house and hide in the park, behind that old banyan tree, as soon as ma said these words, asking me to sit silently for at least half an hour. It wasn’t the time so much as the process of de-licing that made me do so. If I stayed, ma would sit on a chowki and make me sit on the mat, take her special fine-spaced comb, apply that god-awful-full-of-stench oil on my head, and go through every layer of my hair. As soon as she found a lice, she would keep it on the nail of her right thumb and press it with her left thumb nail until a crackling sound killed the brown dot. Crack. Crick. Crack. So much for the exoskeleton. The process would go on until she was satisfied there are no more of them alive and my head was free of the autocracy of those blood-sucking monsters.
"Ma, ab ache se champi bhi kar do na, please."
Of course, I would benefit twice as much from this deal. The ever-so-boring extermination was followed by the ever-so-pleasing head massage. And boy, was that a wonder! (Except for the stench of that oil. Eckh!)
Sometimes, I think about her hands – how, after completing her morning (and afternoon and evening and nightly) chores for so many years, they would still be ready to do some more work. It was as if that work was the one thing keeping her sane, that routine, that repetition of things. How could one be so dedicated without getting anything in return? I used to wonder while looking at her rush from door to door, a ladle spilling drops of daal on the ground, running behind behna with her homework, fetching a glass of water or tea for dada or dadi.
In the odd moments of rest, she would sit in the verandah and chat with Kanta, our house maid. Kanta would sit behind ma and untie, oil, comb, braid her hair. For her hair, they used to use champa oil and it used to fill the house with delight. Behna would sit on the swing, close her eyes, and just breathe in all the air her lungs could afford. Was perfumed air expensive? I didn’t know what Kanta and ma used to talk about but one day I heard her telling Kanta how lucky she was, getting paid for the work she does.
"Jab main tere jitni thi, tab se yahi kaam toh karte aa rahi hoon. Tu doosron ke ghar sambhaalne mein madad karti hai, main toh apne mein hi itni uksa jaati hoon. Aafat hai. Lagta nahi tujhe, humein bhi koi pagaar milni chahiye?"
"Memsab, aapko pagaar milne lag gaya, toh aap mujhe kaahe bulayega?"
"Arre pagli, is umar mein koi na koi toh chahiye na saath mein kaam karwane ke liye. Aisa toh hai nahi ke zindagi bhar bas jhadoo hi maarti rahoongi."
I didn’t understand the ways of the world back then but it made sense in my head. I tried connecting dots. Pa sells soaps and detergents and makes money. Kanta does housework and gets money. Even dada, who sometimes conducts meetings for people of his age, gets money. But why doesn’t ma? Who would pay her? Pa? Dada? Dadi? I think my head started hurting after so many dots. It’s easier to colour an already formed drawing rather than connect dots and create something that makes sense, I guess.
…
