The Nanny
She stands just within the doorway, resplendently dressed as ever, wearing a stoic mask for a face.
“So?” I ask.
“The settlement madam…we spoke over the phone…”, her voice is steady, but low.
“OK, that’s fine, but what happened?”
There’s a struggle going on inside her, as she seeks the right words to explain her week of absence. I look at her and I am reminded of the day we first met her, just about five months ago.
********
The doorbell rings sharp at 1.30pm. That’s a good sign – she’s punctual.
I open the door, and take a sharp breath. Her attire reminds me of a village mela – strings of scented jasmine on her hair like the flower-sellers; colorful jangling bangles on both arms, like the bangle-sellers; bright patterned orange sari with matching blouse, like the cloth-sellers; and surprisingly dainty sandals, like the shoe-sellers. She is small and compact and stylish, and her bright, brown eyes are active within their kajal borders.
The decision to hire a nanny was almost natural. I could see that li’l D. was growing bored within the confines of our apartment. I could see that urge to run around and play in the sand and mud and flowers and grass building up within her, and expressed by her hyperactive tendencies. She was quite bored having me around her all the time. It was time for a change. We agreed a nanny would make things better for everyone concerned. D. could have her fun-in-the-sun time, and I could definitely do with some relief.
We were apprehensive, of course, when it came to the selection. Finally, a recommendation from a friend helped us.
She says her name is Neera*. She’s come with her brother-in-law. We try to agree on the timings – I need her in the evenings really, but she comes from a long way off, and it’s simply not feasible. We try to agree on the rate – I find her a bit on the expensive side. We don’t really make much headway – I tell her I’ll call back.
After much discussion, we decide it’s advantage Neera. So, I give her a call and tell her she can join immediately. She’s to work half a day only.
She is a diligent worker. Doesn’t need much supervision. D. just adores her. I begin to relax. Everyone is happy. It’s hard to believe she’s just 24, and yet married, with a 7-year old son. I wonder how she must have felt as a teenaged mother. Her son, she tells me, is scared of only her. He refuses to listen to anyone else.
Her grandma passes away – she doesn’t come for three days. Her son falls sick – she takes a week off. She falls sick – she takes four days off – she comes back and tells me that someone poisoned her food – she describes the symptoms, and it looks like an attack of appendicitis to me. She says she got herself detoxified through a tantric. It really makes me wonder if I know her at all. Her sister-in-law consumes poison for unspecified reasons – she takes three days off.
Still, when she arrives, D. goes into raptures of excitement. Neera begins to show a marked affection towards D, sometimes even appearing jealous when D insists I be around. I reciprocate likewise – whenever D shows a preference to her nanny, I get all worked up and anxious – perhaps I’m not being a good mother after all!
We convert her schedule to a full day schedule, on a revised salary with a big jump. It’s not a very taxing schedule – D’s at her play school or sleeping most of the time, and I bathe and feed her. Meanwhile, I am waiting on milady, hand and foot, with breakfast and lunch served on a platter. I quell my misgivings about this seemingly one-sided arrangement, consoling myself that she’s looking after D. quite well.
As the days pass by, Neera seems to grow more silent and sullen. Though she is the same with li’l D, I sense rather than see the change in her. And then, the phone calls come. On holidays. Has she come to work today? Will she be coming? When will she come? I don’t really pay much attention to the calls; perhaps I should have. I don’t mention them to her either.
I give her a day off – I’m spending the day at my friend’s place. The next day she doesn’t show up – no call either. That’s a little unusual – she’s always very prompt at calling in when she’s going to absent herself. I mutter something to myself about unreliable domestic help, but it doesn’t really affect me. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s to be totally unfazed even if the domestic helpers don’t show up – I know I can manage quite well even without them, and that fact gives me confidence when dealing with them.
The call comes late in the night, two days later.
“Madam, there’s a tremendous fight going on in the house”. She is tight-lipped about it. “I will come to work on Thursday”.
Thursday comes and goes with no sign of her. A call again. Same minimal information. And then there’s a sudden uneasy quiet. I don’t hear from her at all for over a week.
Then the other calls begin to come. Where is she? Has she come to work today? I get irritated. Who is this, I ask. Her husband, is the reply.
My mind goes on overdrive. What’s going on here? I come up with a million storylines, all worse than C-grade movies.
Then one fine morning, I get her call again. She says she’s staying with her brother-in-law. She says it’s very far off, so she would like to quit work. And when can she come and collect her dues? Come tomorrow, I say.
The next morning, I get a call from her husband. He says they had a terrible fight. He says he didn’t want her to work late, but she insisted, saying she liked her job. He says she disappeared since, and he doesn’t know where to find her. I hesitate, strangely reluctant to give out any information about her. I tell him she hasn’t turned up for work for the past ten days. Lying by omission.
So here we are, she and I. Facing each other for what could possibly be the last time. I notice the freshly tinted vermillion thread around her neck, the sindoor at the parting of her hair, fresh flowers adorning her braid, a dozen new bangles clinking on each arm, and what definitely looks like a new green and beige silk saree. Good heavens, I think, rather taken aback! She certainly looks like a newly wed bride. Is it possible she’s eloped? It’s unthinkable, and interesting emotions churn through me.
She struggles to answer my question. Finally, she twists her bangles around unhappily, and says, without meeting my eyes…My husband was suspecting me, madam. He said I don’t do a regular job, I am working at a “guest house”, he did not want me to continue, so we had a terrible fight, and I left his home…
I wait, but she has finished what she wanted to say, and is waiting for me to hand over her money. I sigh, not knowing what to think, and give it to her. I don’t tell her about the phone calls either.
She takes it and walks away, without a backward glance, without saying thanks. What hurts most is that she does not mention D even once – she does not ask after the one who loved her so unconditionally. Perhaps she was hurting more.
As I write this, I wonder where she is and what she is doing now. What sort of life did she lead? Had things gotten so ugly that she had to leave her home? Or perhaps she has really run away with someone else, and started a new life somewhere else.
I get a call this evening also from her husband – she has still not gone home. There is a quiet desperation in his voice. I wonder what he thinks. Does he regret his words, and thoughts, and deeds? Or is he waiting to show her who’s boss? I wonder what he tells his little son, who wants his mommy. Will that son grow up with a core of resentment embedded in his heart? Will he be one of the juvenile delinquents who wind up in jail for years awaiting trial? Or will he be strong and conquer all odds?
A story - the ending of which I will never know.
* Name changed to protect identity [Gosh! I'm thrilled that I could use that line!]
“So?” I ask.
“The settlement madam…we spoke over the phone…”, her voice is steady, but low.
“OK, that’s fine, but what happened?”
There’s a struggle going on inside her, as she seeks the right words to explain her week of absence. I look at her and I am reminded of the day we first met her, just about five months ago.
********
The doorbell rings sharp at 1.30pm. That’s a good sign – she’s punctual.
I open the door, and take a sharp breath. Her attire reminds me of a village mela – strings of scented jasmine on her hair like the flower-sellers; colorful jangling bangles on both arms, like the bangle-sellers; bright patterned orange sari with matching blouse, like the cloth-sellers; and surprisingly dainty sandals, like the shoe-sellers. She is small and compact and stylish, and her bright, brown eyes are active within their kajal borders.
The decision to hire a nanny was almost natural. I could see that li’l D. was growing bored within the confines of our apartment. I could see that urge to run around and play in the sand and mud and flowers and grass building up within her, and expressed by her hyperactive tendencies. She was quite bored having me around her all the time. It was time for a change. We agreed a nanny would make things better for everyone concerned. D. could have her fun-in-the-sun time, and I could definitely do with some relief.
We were apprehensive, of course, when it came to the selection. Finally, a recommendation from a friend helped us.
She says her name is Neera*. She’s come with her brother-in-law. We try to agree on the timings – I need her in the evenings really, but she comes from a long way off, and it’s simply not feasible. We try to agree on the rate – I find her a bit on the expensive side. We don’t really make much headway – I tell her I’ll call back.
After much discussion, we decide it’s advantage Neera. So, I give her a call and tell her she can join immediately. She’s to work half a day only.
She is a diligent worker. Doesn’t need much supervision. D. just adores her. I begin to relax. Everyone is happy. It’s hard to believe she’s just 24, and yet married, with a 7-year old son. I wonder how she must have felt as a teenaged mother. Her son, she tells me, is scared of only her. He refuses to listen to anyone else.
Her grandma passes away – she doesn’t come for three days. Her son falls sick – she takes a week off. She falls sick – she takes four days off – she comes back and tells me that someone poisoned her food – she describes the symptoms, and it looks like an attack of appendicitis to me. She says she got herself detoxified through a tantric. It really makes me wonder if I know her at all. Her sister-in-law consumes poison for unspecified reasons – she takes three days off.
Still, when she arrives, D. goes into raptures of excitement. Neera begins to show a marked affection towards D, sometimes even appearing jealous when D insists I be around. I reciprocate likewise – whenever D shows a preference to her nanny, I get all worked up and anxious – perhaps I’m not being a good mother after all!
We convert her schedule to a full day schedule, on a revised salary with a big jump. It’s not a very taxing schedule – D’s at her play school or sleeping most of the time, and I bathe and feed her. Meanwhile, I am waiting on milady, hand and foot, with breakfast and lunch served on a platter. I quell my misgivings about this seemingly one-sided arrangement, consoling myself that she’s looking after D. quite well.
As the days pass by, Neera seems to grow more silent and sullen. Though she is the same with li’l D, I sense rather than see the change in her. And then, the phone calls come. On holidays. Has she come to work today? Will she be coming? When will she come? I don’t really pay much attention to the calls; perhaps I should have. I don’t mention them to her either.
I give her a day off – I’m spending the day at my friend’s place. The next day she doesn’t show up – no call either. That’s a little unusual – she’s always very prompt at calling in when she’s going to absent herself. I mutter something to myself about unreliable domestic help, but it doesn’t really affect me. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s to be totally unfazed even if the domestic helpers don’t show up – I know I can manage quite well even without them, and that fact gives me confidence when dealing with them.
The call comes late in the night, two days later.
“Madam, there’s a tremendous fight going on in the house”. She is tight-lipped about it. “I will come to work on Thursday”.
Thursday comes and goes with no sign of her. A call again. Same minimal information. And then there’s a sudden uneasy quiet. I don’t hear from her at all for over a week.
Then the other calls begin to come. Where is she? Has she come to work today? I get irritated. Who is this, I ask. Her husband, is the reply.
My mind goes on overdrive. What’s going on here? I come up with a million storylines, all worse than C-grade movies.
Then one fine morning, I get her call again. She says she’s staying with her brother-in-law. She says it’s very far off, so she would like to quit work. And when can she come and collect her dues? Come tomorrow, I say.
The next morning, I get a call from her husband. He says they had a terrible fight. He says he didn’t want her to work late, but she insisted, saying she liked her job. He says she disappeared since, and he doesn’t know where to find her. I hesitate, strangely reluctant to give out any information about her. I tell him she hasn’t turned up for work for the past ten days. Lying by omission.
So here we are, she and I. Facing each other for what could possibly be the last time. I notice the freshly tinted vermillion thread around her neck, the sindoor at the parting of her hair, fresh flowers adorning her braid, a dozen new bangles clinking on each arm, and what definitely looks like a new green and beige silk saree. Good heavens, I think, rather taken aback! She certainly looks like a newly wed bride. Is it possible she’s eloped? It’s unthinkable, and interesting emotions churn through me.
She struggles to answer my question. Finally, she twists her bangles around unhappily, and says, without meeting my eyes…My husband was suspecting me, madam. He said I don’t do a regular job, I am working at a “guest house”, he did not want me to continue, so we had a terrible fight, and I left his home…
I wait, but she has finished what she wanted to say, and is waiting for me to hand over her money. I sigh, not knowing what to think, and give it to her. I don’t tell her about the phone calls either.
She takes it and walks away, without a backward glance, without saying thanks. What hurts most is that she does not mention D even once – she does not ask after the one who loved her so unconditionally. Perhaps she was hurting more.
As I write this, I wonder where she is and what she is doing now. What sort of life did she lead? Had things gotten so ugly that she had to leave her home? Or perhaps she has really run away with someone else, and started a new life somewhere else.
I get a call this evening also from her husband – she has still not gone home. There is a quiet desperation in his voice. I wonder what he thinks. Does he regret his words, and thoughts, and deeds? Or is he waiting to show her who’s boss? I wonder what he tells his little son, who wants his mommy. Will that son grow up with a core of resentment embedded in his heart? Will he be one of the juvenile delinquents who wind up in jail for years awaiting trial? Or will he be strong and conquer all odds?
A story - the ending of which I will never know.
* Name changed to protect identity [Gosh! I'm thrilled that I could use that line!]
posted by thoughtraker at 11:52 AM
3 Comments:
Touching.
Its so strange that human drama continues even if we r not a part of it.No one can know what was going on in her head.justifications,explanations,right or wrong is all part of the game, the true feelings are known only to her. wish we can read someone's heart from their face, but then it isn't like that, life goes on,
a very good post on human sentiments,heart felt, keep going.
hey ano, leaving my footprints here...
you have nice blogspot here. went through some of your previous blogs too. i throughly enjoyed reading them, especially the cario ones. i will be back to check your fiction blogs.
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