"S" and her own Satyamevjayate.....

Sunday mornings at 11.

Satyamev Jayate happens . The daughter watches . I am busy with something in another room. My household help, "S", (who has appeared on this blog very often)  is just back from a long break, and is getting things organized in the kitchen, from where she can see the TV, and she is making a much needed decent cup of ginger tea for the three of us. She isn't really watching TV, but glances that way intermittently.

Somewhere during a break, the daughter comes into the room where I am , aghast. Reading stuff in the papers is one thing. Seeing an actual person telling about it is something else.

The story  (watch post minute 17.00)  of Nishana. The lecturer from Madurai's  American College, whose parents acceded to every demand of her in laws, during and after marriage. Money, gold, vehicles, and the oddest demand, cosmetic surgery on her nose. Then  her verbal humiliation regarding her looks, from her husband rubbishing her looks in public phone messages. The slow sharp denting of a mind, and how a cheerful girl, whose parents gave her everything that was demanded pre and post marriage, finally killed herself.

"S" came in while I was listening to this shocking story.

"How can parents listen to such nonsense from in laws? " she asked.

And then she was telling me about her own daughter.  (S has three sons and one daughter, all adults).

Married off with  great celebration to someone who lived in the district next to Mumbai, on some relative's recommendation, it slowly became clear that there were a lot of lies and untruths dotting the landscape of the in-laws.

The boy was supposed to be working in a printing press.   He wasn't. He didn't have any job.

The entire family depended on his income.  There were days when there was no food for 3-4 days.  A case of mixed up and messed up priorities, and parents with a vagabond undisciplined lazy son.

Strangely, there was a TV bought on installments, and the company was  threatening to recover the TV if the payments were not made. And so , S's daughter started getting hints of how her folks should come up with ten thousand rupees.  Not stopping at commanding the daughter, the family independently communicated this to S.

The brothers were prepared to mobilize things somehow, for their only sister. But the daughter called and  conveyed her displeasure with all this and told them to bluntly refuse. S was worried.  She herself had been rescued , 30 years ago, from a drunkard, violent, psychotic husband by her parents , and she worried for her daughter's future. S alone was now father and mother to her grownup kids. 

The young girl was humiliated, beaten frequently by the husband in a drunken stupor. One day, he beat her, dragged her to the nearby suburban railway station, left her unconscious on the platform, and disappeared.  I don't know why no one on the platform questioned him, since our platforms are perennially crowded regardless of time of day.

When she came to, some vegetable vendor ladies were sprinkling water on her face, and trying to revive her. They listened to her story, and one of the ladies took her to her own home to feed her. Accompanied her back to her mother's home, almost 2 hours away by train, late that rainy night, and told everyone what had happened.

A few days later the father-in-law came. With a helpless look and a semblance of an apology.  S, who has had the worst kind of marriage and married life herself, thought it over, discussed it with her daughter,  and the fellow was given one more chance. In her own case, 30 years ago, no one was apologetic, no one even saw her out when her parents came to take her back home , and there were whispers.

The daughter went back.

Two months later, the beatings and drinking had commenced, and slowly , so did new demands.  The daughter sat the family down. In front of her father-in-law, she said she had tolerated a lot, even agreed to give the fellow a second chance, but this was it. She mentioned the name of the intermediary who had suggested this alliance.  Telling him this story would expose her in laws.  They were wary of that.

She demanded that she be taken back to her mother's place, and she would not be returning. She packed, and left with the father-in-law, came back home, and despite several entreaties, requests and pleadings, her mother and brothers not only refused to send her back, they even initiated divorce proceedings, that documented the fellow's behaviour etc, and saw it to completion.

She has her own name back.

S's daughter  has trained in stitching clothes, as a beauticians assistant, and has a daily job in a ladies hostel as a cook now.  She contributes to the family kitty, volunteers to look after the nephews/kids when she is free,  and S,  is currently tension free.

 Though she will often discuss with me how she wants to see the daughter  independently settled in her own lifetime...

The great thing is that she learned from her own experience and her daughter's. And took action. She has the confidence to face the chatterers and the gossipers.

With zero formal education, her own life has shaped her thoughts, and she doesn't worry if  someone is shocked by her thinking.

She was shocked by the story of Nishana.  More so by the capitulation by her parents to the in law's demands.  Nishana , like her(S.),  and  S.'s  daughter, should have been brought back by her parents to her own home,  and should have been alive today. 


In her own way, S. has her own SatyaMev Jayate......

Birthdays and Biryanis

Sometimes I think Oprah should interview her.  My household help, S, that is.

Hitherto the subject of many blog posts here, and who now actually has a kind of following.

For one thing, she is much more interesting. Than Aishwarya Rai  or Parmeshwar Godrej.

Has tolerated a lot in her life, struggled a lot, found solutions on her own,  kept her family together.  Is greatly popular with her daughters-in-law,  and she also supports her only daughter who returned home after a fraud marriage. In an area where every alternate house has someone addicted to drinking and beating, and fighting, she, by popular demand, is the president of the local womens' association.  She is also the treasurer, despite being unable to read and write. She also knows about Google, and that it gives some answers to things, and often asks me to check out stuff for her,  when someone tries to mislead her. 

Last evening my daughter and I attended the first birthday party of one of her grandsons.  We had attended that of her eldest grandson 5 years ago, and this was the 3rd grandson. He was born last year and I had blogged about it here. 

S. kind of checks out her plans with me, whenever there is to be some kind of get together.  Now that she, her 3 sons, her daughter and a daughter-in-law were working, time was at a premium, and the money situation was better.  She said her sons had decided to order out for some Chicken Biryani from a local eatery.  She knows I am a vegetarian, but she also knows the daughter eats everything, and loves chicken.  

My daughter and S go along way back.  S has been  with us, since the last 25 years. When my daughter was learning baking as part of her vocational course. S was presented  with an iced birthday cake baked  by her,  with her name  on it, probably the first birthday cake of her life.  She thought it was really special, took it home, her family was totally amused, and her aged mother was impressed. 


Armed with a cartoon cake and a small cricket set, we landed up a bit early, since the daughter is obsessed with running these days, and would be going for that later.   S. had put up lights outside the house. The birthday child's other grandparents had come in from Pune, and the main and only small room of the house was agog with  folks, with the younger women  bustling around and the sons organizing seating et al outside , while keeping an eye on the playing children.  Every one , along with the kids and birthday boy, would gather at the Community Buddha Vihar later, pay their respects, and would enjoy the ordered special community meal.

We were introduced to all the daughters-in-law (I already knew the sons),  aunts, uncles, and relatives. My daughter, who always moves around with her camera, took some family pictures, with S holding the birthday boy, amidst all. S's son also took a few pictures of us with the birthday boy. The kids kept "accidentally" gravitating towards the cake, since one of them found out it had a cartoon face. By popular demand, this cake was cut amidst the kids. The eldest grandkid, who is obsessed with history and swords,  held the cake knife in a warrior pose and was slowly dissuaded to hand it to the birthday kid, who was helped by his parents, to cut it. No  messing around, no smearing of faces with the icing , and S. had the daughters-in-law do the distribution, but not before, one of the restless grandkids,  decided the stuff on the knife shouldn't be wasted and decided to lick it up.

Some more aunts appeared.  S.'s own daughter returned from work, and the entire gaggle of kids ran to greet her outside.   Some more photos,  and then S. went inside her kitchen for a longish time. Her youngest daughter-in-law, quietly came out, opened an old almirah, and took out some white blouses and went in.  When S. emerged, she had changed into a very conservative white saree with gentle embroidery,  in preparation for their visit to the Buddha Vihar.

We had been there for an hour, not realizing  how time flew. It was a delight to see everyone enjoying as well as helping out.  S.'s youngest grandchild was all of 3 months,  and was lying in the lap of his cousin's maternal grandma, being patted to sleep. There was this huge sense of unity despite the differences in generations and thinkng, and economic wellbeing.

It was time for us to leave, after enjoying the cake and some other stuff.   S. offered us Frooti . And no, we didn't see any of the kids throwing a tantrum because they wanted a Cola or anything. They were just too busy climbing around and playing. S. walked with us to the corner.  We bid her goodbye.

Late , around 9:30 pm or so, the doorbell rang.  Mumbai is having an unusual winter, fewer people out on the roads, and we wondered who it could be.

It was "S".  She was carrying a steel container. Their ceremony and celebrations at the Buddha Vihar were done, the food had arrived in time, and most of her guests, many who came from long distances , had left.

The stuff inside the container was hot. She handed me the stuff at the door, and left in a hurry, to attend to folks who were staying over at her small house.

It was my daughter's share of the Chicken Biryani :-).  Straight from the giant container at the celebration. 

The daughter often works late into the night, after running etc , when she has some assignment to complete. Sometimes she works in the living room so as to not disturb us with stuff that she keeps playing in the background on her laptop. 

I think yesterday she was also busy with something else.

The steel container felt considerably lighter this morning.