I always wanted to write about the lives of housemaids employed in the hostels in Bangalore. Mind you!, the exploitation that they go through is something that is never talked about, but it will melt the most callous of hearts – provided they themselves are not the takers of their cheap labour.
During my nascent days in Bangalore, I’d been living in one of the many hostels available in the city, which taxes us with one fourth of our salaries. And the maids employed in these dungeons are imports from the nearby districts of Tamil Nadu, which are quite remote that spending some from the public exchequer is not considered wise by governments. Many of them came, few persisted and still few continues. All of them have the same scenes way back home. Poor rains, zero agricultural outputs, ailing family members, lots of dependents, drunks as husbands, plenty of stomachs to provide for etc etc. And they come to the city to make some bucks and escape from their troubling present.
One among them was Shobha. She was markedly different because she was new to the city, her first assignment, and was hopeful that the sophisticated city would treat her better. That reflected in everything she did. She never questioned the requests made by girls. Each preferred a different dish for breakfast ; this arises when people from cultural diversities live together. These women, unlike the locals and regulars here, never knew their rights. Even when we return from work, she could still be seen cleaning bathrooms and wouldn’t have had the time to help herself with the lunch, may be all the while thinking that days would change. The unscrupulous landlords didn’t give her even a day off in a week. She was not paid even one half of what they receive from each of us. During the rare times of necessity, when she visited her faraway home, her return was greeted with salary cuts. And she was not allowed to step out even for her minimal needs.
I often feel that despite so many NGOs working with various disadvantaged groups and so many trade unions for all sorts of workers, the temporary domestic help are indeed shortchanged, as they are disorganized, their demands often suppressed due to their migrant status and lack of knowledge of their basic rights and their market value.
The day she saw my camera, Shobha asked if I could click a picture of hers. She smiled when I signaled. I showed her the imprint on the screen. She awed with wonder, digitial cameras were new to her. Though I worried that the tanned to brown , bony face that’s smiling back at her will be a dampener for her spirits, no, she giggled.
Later, the hostel was closed quoting profitability reasons and we parted ways. One day, when I was flipping through the photos, I saw the old naive smile once again. Whatever would have happened to her ?! It took me a while to trace her. And when I finally found her, she was perching on the floor near the gate of another dungeon, with a plate of dry idli. She had grown more haggardly and was visibly untidy which was quite unlike her. The eyes were puffy and red which was the only indication that the circuit did exist , for the red fluid to flow through. The suspicious look she gave me was a far cry from the once effervescent lady she was. Yet another soul was successfully defeated by the city
During my nascent days in Bangalore, I’d been living in one of the many hostels available in the city, which taxes us with one fourth of our salaries. And the maids employed in these dungeons are imports from the nearby districts of Tamil Nadu, which are quite remote that spending some from the public exchequer is not considered wise by governments. Many of them came, few persisted and still few continues. All of them have the same scenes way back home. Poor rains, zero agricultural outputs, ailing family members, lots of dependents, drunks as husbands, plenty of stomachs to provide for etc etc. And they come to the city to make some bucks and escape from their troubling present.
One among them was Shobha. She was markedly different because she was new to the city, her first assignment, and was hopeful that the sophisticated city would treat her better. That reflected in everything she did. She never questioned the requests made by girls. Each preferred a different dish for breakfast ; this arises when people from cultural diversities live together. These women, unlike the locals and regulars here, never knew their rights. Even when we return from work, she could still be seen cleaning bathrooms and wouldn’t have had the time to help herself with the lunch, may be all the while thinking that days would change. The unscrupulous landlords didn’t give her even a day off in a week. She was not paid even one half of what they receive from each of us. During the rare times of necessity, when she visited her faraway home, her return was greeted with salary cuts. And she was not allowed to step out even for her minimal needs.
I often feel that despite so many NGOs working with various disadvantaged groups and so many trade unions for all sorts of workers, the temporary domestic help are indeed shortchanged, as they are disorganized, their demands often suppressed due to their migrant status and lack of knowledge of their basic rights and their market value.
The day she saw my camera, Shobha asked if I could click a picture of hers. She smiled when I signaled. I showed her the imprint on the screen. She awed with wonder, digitial cameras were new to her. Though I worried that the tanned to brown , bony face that’s smiling back at her will be a dampener for her spirits, no, she giggled.
Later, the hostel was closed quoting profitability reasons and we parted ways. One day, when I was flipping through the photos, I saw the old naive smile once again. Whatever would have happened to her ?! It took me a while to trace her. And when I finally found her, she was perching on the floor near the gate of another dungeon, with a plate of dry idli. She had grown more haggardly and was visibly untidy which was quite unlike her. The eyes were puffy and red which was the only indication that the circuit did exist , for the red fluid to flow through. The suspicious look she gave me was a far cry from the once effervescent lady she was. Yet another soul was successfully defeated by the city
